#floodstrike

“Do you feel that?” she asked.

“Hm?” Floodstrike seemed to only have just remembered she was there. “Feel what?”

“Like something’s watching us,” hissed Fogstalker secretively. 

Floodstrike took a moment to tilt his ears around, to breathe and observe the area before responding. “It’s probably those cats up there,” he said, nodding in the direction of the empty lot beside the twoleg den. Fogstalker looked and sure enough, there were a group of cats huddled in the lightly dusted snow, watching them approach. There were probably six or seven all together, some of them with notched ears. 

“Oh, maybe,” she said, but the answer didn’t feel right. She could have sworn the thing was behind her. 

“Let’s just keep walking,” he said, shivering in the cold. “They’re probably just hanging out there.” 

As they drew closer, the cats shifted uneasily, talking amongst themselves, although the sound was swallowed by the falling snow. After a moment, three of them got up and began moving to cut her and Floodstrike off. Floodstrike’s body tensed beside her, but she hopped a half step forward to try and meet them before he did. 

It wasn’t until they were close that she noticed something was off about them. 

They had varying pelt patterns -- a ginger tabby, a dingy-white-furred cat, and a dusty brown one -- but they all had a dark stain of grime from their chins to their chests, as if they had dipped their necks in filth. As far as she could tell, it was just dirt, maybe ‘oil’ like Ghost had told her about, but the sight of it made her feel dizzy and sick to her stomach for some reason. 

“Whatcha doin’?” asked the ginger tom, cocking his head to the side. He had a notched ear and a scar over his left eye that gave him a perpetual squint. “Goin’ out to wild territory in the middle of a snow storm?” 

“Yep,” said Fogstalker, trying to push through her discomfort and do her job. “Just heading back home. What about you?” She meant it in a friendly way but the gaggle of toms seemed to take it as some kind of threat. 

“They’re wild cats,” said the white one as if he’d caught them in a lie. The stain on his chest was the boldest of the three and Fogstalker tried to resist the grimace she wanted to make when she saw that it went all the way up to his gums, like he had opened his mouth in whatever substance he’d used to make it. 

“This one’s definitely the traitor’s little bastard,” said the dusty one, tail lashing. 

Fogstalker squinted in confusion. The traitor? Did they mean Ghost? Who had he betrayed? It took her way too long to realize they must have meant Sardine.

Luckily, Floodstrike was much quicker on the uptake. Before she had even finished processing, he was stepping in front of her with his tail arched in warning and saying, “We don’t want any trouble. Just leave us alone, alright?” 

“What if we want trouble?” sneered the white one. “You think of that, smart guy?” Floodstrike rolled his eyes a little, lip curling in unimpressed contempt. 

“I’m a mediator,” Fogstalker said, frightened despite herself. “We were here for, uh,” she tried to remember the word Scorch had taught her, “diplomatic purposes. We have a truce with the Speaker, you can’t attack us.” 

“The Speaker is dead,” declared the white cat, “long may he reign.” 

“Long may he reign,” the other two repeated in chorus. This was clearly something they’d said before and the way they said it sent shivers up her spine. They weren’t talking about Rudy, were they? No, she didn’t think so, and the implication there deeply unsettled her. 

Floodstrike let out an uneasy growl. “Don’t do something you’ll regret,” he warned, unsheathing his claws and puffing up his thin fur. The snow was coming down thicker now, big and fat and wet. It settled over their backs and added to the chill growing in Fogstalker’s bones. It created a bubble of sound, their voices stopping a few tail lengths away, no other sounds reaching them through the storm. It made her feel suddenly and intensely isolated. 

“I- I can’t fight!” Fogstalker hissed under her breath to Floodstrike. She was a mediator! She wasn’t supposed to lift a claw, even if she’d been trained to do so. 

The rogues looked at each other as if making a decision. The white one took a step forward and-

The second he moved, Floodstrike struck out and jabbed him right in the throat with the butt of his paw. The tom coughed violently and stumbled back and the others bristled furiously in shock. Floodstrike took advantage of the momentary pause and lunged for the next nearest cat, slashing out at the ginger tom’s eyes. He managed to draw blood on his brow and it dribbled into the tom’s eyes as he pulled back, blinking, a noise of disgust escaping his throat.

Floodstrike wasted no time in turning on the dusty one, snapping with his teeth at the tom’s throat. The rogue scrambled back with a frightened yelp and Floodstrike pursued him a step with a series of quick strikes from his paws. It became clear to Fogstalker that he was focused on keeping them back, away from her. 

The white one snarled, having caught his breath, and swept in with an overhead swipe. Floodstrike caught it out of the corner of his eye and spun around so that the swipe barely nicked his leg, then turned that momentum on his attacker and went for another jab to the throat. The white tom was prepared this time and fell back a half step, then lunged again, but Floodstrike didn’t fall back with the typical dance of a battle. He kept moving forward, head ducked, and the other tom crashed into him, being hit once again in the throat by the crown of Floodstrike’s head.

He choked and lost his footing, tumbling into the snow, and Floodstrike bore down on him with teeth and claws bared. He tore the cat’s ear in his teeth, raked his claws over the front of his neck and chest. The tom screamed and writhed beneath him, making shapes in the thick, wet snow. 

“Get off him!” the dusty tom cried in distress and reared up to bat at Floodstrike’s head and Floodstrike fell back, taking up a defensive stance just in front of Fogstalker. 

“I warned you,” he snapped, spitting out blood into the snow. “Back off.” 

“Fucking, savages!” the cat’s ears were pressed against his head and his tail bristling. “Just get out of here! Shit!” The white one was rolling to his feet, shaking blood from his dingy white pelt onto the stark white snow. 

The ginger tom growled in frustration and threw in, “Yeah, go back where you belong, degenerate scum.” 

Fogstalker was frozen for a moment as her brain caught up with what had happened. But Floodstrike interrupted with a, “Come on, let’s go,” which pulled her out of her stupor. 

“Yeah, okay.” She slank along beside him as they skirted the others and quickly trekked out into the snow. It wasn’t long before the rogues disappeared into the haze of the falling snow. 

“That was close,” Floodstrike grumbled. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” she said glumly. 

“It’s fine,” he flicked an ear to dismiss the apology. “You’re a mediator. I get it.” 

“You were amazing, though,” she brightened a bit. “That was so cool!” 

He chuckled bashfully and flicked his tail against her side. “Thanks. I did feel pretty cool.” 

“I love the throat punch!” she went on, bouncing in her steps now. “Just ‘cha!’ and bam!” She punched out a paw of her own and laughed, her steps wobbling so that she careened into him before bouncing back to her own path. He laughed and shook his head and that creeping sense of dread she had felt started to melt away. 

“Nothing,” Scorchplume said with a dismissive wave of her tail. 

“Nuh-uh!” Fogpaw insisted. “You just admitted you were being careful about what you say!”

“No I didn’t,” said Scorchplume in her performatively offended voice. “Those words never came out of my mouth.”

“But-! You basically said that!”

“Did not.”

“What are you hiding!?” Fogpaw groaned. She could tell that Scorchplume was being deliberately obtuse to avoid answering her question. Determined to get answers, she decided to start throwing out explanations and seeing what got the biggest reaction out of Scorch. 

“Is it… bad news?”

“Mm.” Scorch didn’t even glance at her. It probably wasn’t that.

“Okay, it’s good news,” nodded Fogpaw.

“Who said that?”

Fogpaw growled in playful annoyance but otherwise ignored the comment. “Okay, good news, good news… Are you pregnant?”

Scorchplume spluttered and stopped walking immediately. “B-gh-What?!” 

Fogpaw was startled by the intensity of her reaction. “Well, you’re mates with Yarrowshade now, I thought maybe-”

“First of all,” blustered Scorch, “we are not mates-” (“Oh, okay.”) “-and second of all, I can’t have kittens. I’ve been caught by the twolegs, remember?”

“Oh, yeahhh,” Fogpaw frowned. “Okay, so it’s not that.”

“It’s not anything, Fogpaw,” insisted Scorch, resuming the walk back to camp. “You should really just drop it.” 

“But it’s clearly something or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to make me drop it.”

“Fine,” Scorch gave in, and for a split second Fogpaw’s stomach fluttered in triumph, “think what you want! But I’m telling you, there’s nothing important going on today.”

“Wait, so it’s an event?” Fogpaw gasped and Scorch laughed and rolled her eyes. 

“You’re reading too much into things,” she said. 

Just then, they crested the hill into camp and Goldenstar’s voice called out, “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Stoneperch for a Clan meeting!” 

Fogpaw gasped again and her eyes snapped towards the Stoneperch where Goldenstar was smiling at them. Beneath it sat Slatepaw, her fur brushed up in excitement, and Fogpaw realized very suddenly what Scorch had been hiding. She looked back at her mentor and found a smug grin across her face.

“Well, we certainly don’t want to miss that, now do we?” she said.

“Oh my stars,” Fogpaw shouted, “I can’t believe it!”

“Volume,” winced Scorch and Fogpaw blushed shyly. 

“Whoops. Sorry.” 

“Fogpaw, come on!” called Slatepaw. Scorch gave her a shoulder shove and sent Fogpaw scrambling down to sit with her sister in the front of the crowd. A few of the cats gathering around chuckled and she couldn’t tell if they were laughing at her but she chose to believe they weren’t. These were her Clanmates, her friends. They wouldn’t do that.

“Can you believe it?” she asked Slatepaw.

“I know, right?” grinned her sister. “We’re going to be warriors!”

“Yeah,” Fogpaw’s smile fell a little bit. She had been thinking about that lately, about what she wanted to be in life, and she had been planning for this moment. She hoped that Slatepaw wouldn’t be upset by what she was going to do. 

She didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, as Goldenstar began the ceremony proper.

“Well, I think we all know why we’re gathered here today,” she said, smiling down at the apprentices. “Slatepaw and Fogpaw have trained long and hard and their mentors have both reported that they are more than ready to receive their warrior names.” 

Behind them, trying to be quiet but not going unnoticed, someone said, “Careful, careful. You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” grunted a voice that Fogpaw instantly recognized as Ghost’s. She whipped around to see Jagg guiding him down the slope into camp. He winced with every step, leaning heavily on her shoulder as they walked. 

“Dad!” Fogpaw beamed, her tail shooting up to greet him and he gave a pained smile and nod. 

“Focus,” whispered Slatepaw self-consciously, looking sidelong at her as she stayed focused on Goldenstar. Fogpaw laughed nervously and turned to sit upright like her sister. She would have to say hello to Ghost later. 

Goldenstar, at least, didn’t seem upset and continued without issue. “Today, we honor you both and how far you’ve come. I, Goldenstar, leader of RisingClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two resilient apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code and I commend them to you as warriors in their turn.” 

She hopped down from the Stoneperch to join them in front of the crowd, her head raised nobly, and said, “Fogpaw, Slatepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“I do,” they both said, exchanging an excited glance. 

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior names. Slatepaw, from this moment on, you shall be known as Slateheart. StarClan honors your kindness and devotion to your Clan and we welcome you as a full warrior.” 

Goldenstar stepped forward and rested her chin on Slateheart’s head and Slateheart licked her shoulder as the warriors cheered her name. Fogpaw joined them, hoping to cheer the loudest of all. Slateheart blushed and preened under the praise as she stood back, tail swishing demurely over her paws. Fogpaw opened her mouth to congratulate her sister but Goldenstar turned to face her and continued the ceremony.

“Fogpaw,” she said, “from this moment on, you shall be known as Fogstalker. StarClan honors your bravery and conviction and we welcome you as a full warrior of RisingClan.” Purring, she dipped to lick Goldenstar’s shoulder and the crowd cheered again. Floodstrike in particular calling out her new name with enthusiasm. 

Fogstalker turned in a circle to see the crowd’s faces, to smile at her Clanmates. Scorchplume had a warm smile on her face that made her heart soar. Floodstrike, Barleybee, and Sparrowsway were all sitting side by side and Floodstrike grinned toothily as she looked at him. Near the back of the crowd, she could see Jagg and Ghost sitting together and Ghost was even smiling a little, although it looked almost like he was wincing. 

She turned to smile at Slateheart and her sister smiled back and that was when she realized that someone very important was missing. She looked at an empty space near the front of the crowd and tried to imagine her mother sitting there and smiling too but she couldn’t get the shapes to stay in place or look right. 

What did her mom look like again? Surely her face wasn’t exactly like Slatehearts, right? She frowned slightly and Slateheart seemed to realize what she was thinking, laying her tail over Fogstalker’s flank quietly. 

“Well!” Goldenstar’s voice pulled their attention back up to the front, “I know you just got back from training so why don’t you both get something to eat, take a bit of time to talk with your loved ones, and then you’ll start your silent vigil.”

“Wait,” Fogstalker blurted. Goldenstar blinked in surprise.

“Fogpaw!” Slateheart hissed quietly, only catching herself after she had said it. 

Fogstalker wasn’t deterred. “Goldenstar, I’ve been thinking and…” She glanced back over her shoulder at Scorchplume whose brow was furrowed uneasily. “I think I want to be a mediator. Like my mom.” The words felt right as she said them and she nodded confidently as she turned back to face Goldenstar. 

“You’re sure?” Goldenstar asked. “You don’t have to make that decision now, you know.”

“I know,” Fogstalker nodded, standing straighter. “I’m sure. I want to help people like she did. I want to be a mediator.”

“Well, in that case,” said the leader, straightening her own posture, “Fogstalker, you have chosen to take up the duties of a mediator. Do you swear to stand apart from the rivalry between Clans and cats and to strive to resolve disputes peacefully, even at the cost of your life?” 

Fogstalker took a deep breath and nodded. “I do.” The air was scintillating with magic and she could feel it prickling through her pelt. 

“Then by the powers of StarClan,” said Goldenstar, “I place this responsibility on your shoulders and welcome you as a mediator of RisingClan.” 

There was more cheering. Fogstalker couldn’t help but feel like this round of cheers was quieter. She looked around to find Scorchplume and Russetfrond both silent. Even Floodstrike was more subdued this time around. To her dismay, she realized that Slateheart wasn’t cheering either. She met her sister’s gaze in confusion and Slateheart looked away. 

“With that, our meeting is adjourned,” said Goldenstar to the crowd. “You two get something to eat, I’ll come grab you when it’s time for your vigil.” 

“Goldenstar,” Russetfrond grunted, stepping forward. “A word?”

Goldenstar sighed slightly but nodded, beckoning him towards her den with a curl of her tail. As they left, the crowd moved to congratulate the sisters but Fogstalker couldn’t help but lean in to Slateheart.

“Hey,” she whispered, “what’s wrong? Why weren’t you cheering for me? Are you angry?”

“No,” Slateheart whispered back. “I mean… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Fogstalker shrugged, “I didn’t tell anybody, I was just thinking it.”

“But we’re sisters,” said Slateheart, turning to study her face. “You should have-”

“Congrats you cuties!” Ospreymask interrupted cheerily, butting her head up against Fogstalker’s shoulder, causing her to bristle in surprise. “Your warrior names are so beautiful! I love them!”

“Thank you,” demurred Slateheart, leaning in to touch noses with the pregnant warrior. 

“Yeah…” Fogstalker hummed distractedly. She wasn’t done talking with Slateheart but, already, more people were swarming closer to try and get their attention, pulling them in different directions.

“Wow, a mediator!” Songdust said, “Your mother would be so proud, kiddo.” 

“Yeah?” Fogstalker smiled a little  as she turned to face the elder.

“Yeah,” nodded Songdust. “You’re gonna do amazing.”

Floodstrike stepped in to lay his tail over Fogstalker’s back. “You did it, Foggy. You managed to get a half decent warrior name.”

“Half decent!?” she exclaimed. “My name rules!”

“Agree to disagree,” Floodstrike said, winking to assure her it was a joke. She laughed and rubbed up against his chin. 

“You two should hurry up and eat,” she heard Sparrowsway saying. 

“Oh, right,” blushed Slateheart. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Maybe we can share with dad!” Fogstalker gasped, turning to try and locate him through the crowd.

“I’ll grab you something,” said Barleybee, “go get settled.” 

Fogstalker didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped through the crowd, smiling and nodding as people gave her passing congratulations, and eventually broke away from the throng and bounded the last few tail lengths to meet him.

“Dad!” she purred, moving to rub her cheeks against his “I’m so glad you came! How did you know it was happening?” 

Ghost stiffened under her touch but managed to reciprocate after a moment. “Uh, Scorch told us to come.” 

“Really?” Fogstalker’s chest swelled with excitement. “That’s amazing!” 

“We wanted to be here for your big day,” Jagg smiled. “Congratulations, Fogstalker, a new name is a huge honor.” 

Slateheart padded up to join them then, smiling softly. “Thanks for coming, dad.” 

“Yeah,” Ghost cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted his weight with a wince. “Happy to be here.”

“You’re wincing a lot today,” Fogstalker observed. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“He just has a bit of arthritis,” explained Jagg. “He’ll be okay.”

Slateheart frowned. “Oh, we-” 

“We can have Oddstripe give you some herbs for that!” offered Fogstalker brightly. Slateheart lashed her tail once, gaze sinking.

“Thank you,” Jagg said, “both of you.” That made Slateheart smile a little and Fogstalker gave her a friendly nudge. 

Shortly after, Barleybee brought some prey across camp for them to share. Fogstalker enjoyed the conversation and the food but it was hard not to think about how Slateheart was upset with her. As Ghost and Jagg bid them farewell, sent home with some juniper berries for his joints, and the Clan dispersed for the night, she approached her sister and tried again.

“Hey, can we talk about earlier?” she asked.

“We have to start our silent vigil,” Slateheart said evasively. 

“Right, but we have a second before-”

“Fogstalker, it’s fine,” she said firmly, as if that ended the conversation. “Can we just forget it?”

Fogstalker frowned. “I… I guess, but-”

“Alright, girls,” Goldenstar said as she approached. “Are you ready for your vigil?”

“Yes,” said Slateheart and Fogstalker’s heart sank. 

“Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged.

“Alright,” smiled Goldenstar, although she seemed a bit concerned. “You’ll have to stay silent until the sun touches the Stoneperch, or in the case of emergency. Got it?”

“Got it,” they both said. 

“Good luck,” said Goldenstar. “Your vigil starts now.” She turned and headed back to her den and Fogstalker’s vision was drawn to where Scorchplume was waiting for her. She tilted her head curiously at her mentor as if to say, ‘why weren’t you cheering?’ and Scorch offered her a smile that was hard to read before slipping into the den. 

Fogstalker sighed and began to pace in a wide circle around camp.

“Floodstrike!” she purred. “I was looking for you!”

“You were?” he asked, one brow rising above the other. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, settling down next to him. “Scorchplume said I had to go hang out with people my age and you’re the only cat here that I know.”

“I’m like six moons older than you,” he laughed. “I remember when you were born.”

Fogpaw rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, Slatepaw isn’t here and the EarthClan apprentices think I’m weird. Besides, we’re close enough. I like hanging out with you.” 

That managed to cheer Floodstrike up just a bit. “Yeah, I like hanging out with you too.” 

Fogpaw beamed. She ran her tongue over one bloodstained paw and started trying to groom the rest of the blood from her fur which was difficult, given how white it was. 

Floodstrike chuckled and started grooming his own pelt. “How are you doing? Like, with the battle and everything.” 

“I’m okay,” she said and seemed to mean it. “I’m really glad Scorchplume let me come help. It was kind of scary but also really exciting, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, remembering the battle where Ospreymask had killed a cat right in front of him. How young and naive he was back then. “It can be a lot to get used to but you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Do you think I’ll get my warrior name for it?” asked Fogpaw. 

“I don’t think so,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re probably gonna stay an apprentice forever.”

“I’m serious!” she laughed. “I wanna be a warrior so bad!” 

“You’ll get there eventually,” he said, cuffing her ear lightly. “Just be patient.” 

“Floodstrike!” the call made him sit up straighter. Fishtrick came out of the crowd, her own white fur stained with blood and dusted with bits of straw. 

“Fishtrick!” he grinned and jumped to his feet. “How’s Boldmoth?” 

“Her leg is broken,” said Fishtrick with a wince. “Stormwhisper says we probably won’t have to amputate it but it's probably gonna heal crooked.”

“Damn,” he pursed his lips, ears wilting. “I’m so sorry. I was right there, I should have grabbed her.”

“You saved Erminepaw, didn’t you?” Fishtrick twitched her ear. “You can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he sighed. 

Fogpaw inserted herself into their conversation. “If you want, I can give you a charm to help her leg heal properly!” Floodstrike tried not to wince. 

Fishtrick looked Fogpaw up and down with a scathing quirk of her brow and said, “A charm?”

“Yeah, like an item with a spell in it!” Fogpaw continued, seemingly unaware of the warrior’s disdain. “It’ll help the bones grow straight!” Fishtrick glanced at Floodstrike with a tiny laugh through her nose. 

“She’s just goofing around,” he covered for Fogpaw, wrapping an arm around her neck and giving the top of her head a ruffle with his nose. “Always telling jokes about spells and stuff.”

“No, I’m not,” Fogpaw frowned, throwing his lifeline away. “I’m serious, it’ll help.” Floodstrike wanted to scream. 

“I think I’m good,” said Fishtrick in a way that made Floodstrike's skin crawl with embarrassment. She smiled at him with a look that said ‘can you believe this?’ and he laughed instinctively. 

Fogpaw frowned and looked between them with an earnest, “What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Uh, why don’t you go see what Branchbark is up to?”

“But I thought we were gonna hang out,” she said, ears falling backward. 

Floodstrike was acutely aware of Fishtrick’s eyes on him as he replied. “Yeah, well, now I wanna hang out with Fishtrick. I’ll hang out with you later.” Even as he said it he felt guilt wriggling in his stomach and Fogpaw’s pained frown only made it worse. 

“Okay, fine,” she said, stepping backwards out of his embrace. “I didn’t wanna hang out with you anyway.” Floodstrike had to clench his jaw to stop himself from apologizing right then and there. Fogpaw turned away and stormed off into the crowd, hunched low, tail twitching. Once she was out of earshot, Fishtrick laughed. 

“Wow, some cats just can’t take a hint,” she said and the guilt in Floodstrike’s stomach writhed. 

“Yeah,” he swallowed. “I guess.” He would have to apologize to Fogpaw later. 

Fishtrick was already moving on. “Did you hear the kittypets are bringing catmint?” 

“No,” he said, frowning in confusion. “What for?” 

“For fun,” she said. “Like, just to roll around in.”

“Woah, no way.” He couldn’t believe it. His dad had always been so precious with the stuff. The idea of using it so casually was alien to him. 

A sudden cheer went up from the southern edge of the crowd and they both turned their attention towards the sound. 

“That must be them,” Fishtrick sat up taller, grinning. “Come on, let’s go get some!” 

“Okay,” Floodstrike said. He still felt hollow aside from the guilt in his belly but he was willing to try and have some fun. Sticking close to Fishtrick’s tail, he followed her through the gathered cats, weaving through the gaps wherever they could until they hit the thick wall of bodies at the front of the crowd. They could smell the heady smell of the catmint now and the kittypets who had brought it. 

The cats closest to them were eagerly waiting for a chance to move forward but, with his height, Floodstrike could see cats peeling away around the edges of the crowd like water parting around a stone. Their eyes were all blown wide and their energy was higher, more unruly. Excitement started to build in the hollow space within him. 

A cat at the front of the crowd caught his eye and he said, “No way, is that my dad?” 

“Where?” Fishtrick reared up on her hind quarters to follow his gaze. 

“There,” he said, leaning in to point with his nose. “It totally is!” There was Oddstripe, laughing with a face covered in catmint particles. Aldertail was leaning heavily on him as they made their way deeper into the clearing.

“Damn!” laughed Fishtrick, dropping back onto her paws. “Get it, Floodstrike’s dad!” He laughed at her phrasing and shoved her with his shoulder. 

“Don’t be weird,” he said, “He’s still a healer.”

“So?” she flicked her tail in his face. “Everyone knows Stormwhisper broke the code with somebody, what’s stopping your dad? It’s not like he’s never fooled around before.” She jerked her nose at him as if to say ‘you’re proof of that.’

Floodstrike grimaced. “Do not make me think about that.” 

“About what?” she smirked, “about your dad getting all hot and heavy with some handsome stranger?” 

“Stop!” he nearly gagged, “What is wrong with you?” She laughed heartily and he couldn’t help but join in. 

“I’m just teasing, Floodstrike, loosen up! You’re too easy!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

By now they had reached the front of the group and the smell of catmint nearly burned his nose. There were several kittypets, each with their own little pile of it, making sure that everyone got a good roll but didn’t take more than their share. Floodstrike recognized Wes and Schmidt among them but the rest were all strangers. He and Fishtrick shuffled towards a kittypet with a similar pattern to Fishtrick’s -- all white with a rich, chocolate tail -- a flat nose, and a cobby build. 

She waved them forward with a wide grin and said, “You two look like hell!” Floodstrike didn’t know what ‘hell’ was but he glanced down at himself regardless, suddenly reminded of all the blood in his fur. 

“The curse of a white pelt,” Fishtrick laughed. 

“Wish I’d been there!” the kittypet sighed wistfully. “I’m Binx, by the way.”

“Cool,” Fishtrick said in the same voice she had used with Fogpaw. “Can we get some catmint now or…?”

“Oh! Right!” Binx shook her head with a bashful laugh and swept a paw invitingly over the buds spilled out before her. “Help yourself!” Fishtrick glanced back at Floodstrike before flopping onto her side to roll in the herbs indulgently. 

Floodstrike felt awkward just staring at her so he met Binx’s eyes again. “You fight much, Binx?”

“Nah,” she shook her head. “I want to though. I think it’s so cool that you wild cats let girls fight just like boys.” 

“City cats don’t?” he asked with a frown. He went over the battles he had seen in his mind, thinking, surely that can’t be true, and realized with a sudden shock that he hadn’t fought a single female kittypet since they ambushed the hunting encampment. 

“Not really,” Binx shook her head. “You’ve really got to prove you’re tough for anybody to respect you as a fighter if you’re a girl.”

“Weird…” Floodstrike’s gaze fogged distantly only for Fishtrick to startle him out of his thoughts with a playful swat to the face. 

“Floodstrike, you’ve gotta try this!” she said, her pupils big and round. 

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, giving her a shove and she batted at him until he surrendered and dropped into the catmint. The smell was intoxicating and he quickly lost himself to the simple pleasure of rolling back and forth in the little pile. When he finally remembered himself and sat up, he shook his head sharply.

“Woo!” he cried, a laugh burbling in his chest. 

“What did I tell you!” Fishtrick grinned. “Come on, I bet you can’t catch me.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he smirked, dropping into a crouch in preparation. 

“Yeah.” She dashed around the edge of the crowd, heading for the Cornerstones themselves and he tore after her, laughing. 

Over his shoulder, he distantly registered Binx calling, “O-okay, bye!” 

He wasn’t concerned about that for long though. He felt intensely alive, like he could run to the city and back without stopping, like he could catch a hundred mice or jump the river in a single bound. Fishtrick seemed to feel the same and she led him all the way up the Cornerstones to the top of the leaders’ perch. He pounced for her tail as they reached the summit, giddy and out of breath, and she sprang back at him, knocking them both off the back side of the structure. 

“Woah!” he cried, twisting to land on his feet and she landed right behind him. 

“Fox-dung!” she hissed under her breath, “I think I twisted my paw.”

“Oh, yikes,” he grimaced and leaned in to sniff at the ankle she held tenderly by her chest. “You need to go home?”

“No, it’s fine,” she shook her head. “It's fine. Let’s just take it easy for a bit.” 

“Alright,” he nodded, “fine by me.” 

Another cheer came from the crowd on the other side of the Cornerstones and Snowstar’s voice barely carried above the din. “Eat your fill! Tonight it’s all on SkyClan!” The crowd cheered again, louder this time. 

“That must be Fernspeckle with the prey!” Floodstrike said. 

“Oh, I’m starving,” moaned Fishtrick. “Let’s go get some.” He nodded and they made their way back to the throng which was now clustered tightly around a cluster of SkyClan cats. Eventually, they bumped into Fernspeckle who had a patch of cobwebs over his eye and a heavy perch in his mouth.

“There you guys are!” he grinned, “I was just coming to find you!”

“Give me that!” Fishtrick purred hungrily and snatched the fish’s tail in her teeth, shaking her head and swatting at his face to make him let go. Floodstrike laughed and flopped sideways against her, too overcome with enjoyment to stay upright. 

Fernspeckle dropped the fish with a mildly concerned smile. “Woah, what’s gotten into you two?” 

“Catmint!” Floodstrike grinned, licking the dust of it from his whiskers. “You should try some.” Fishtrick pulled the perch close to her chest and started greedily picking its flesh from its bones, unconcerned with the mass of cats shifting around her. 

“What,” Fernspeckle laughed, “you guys steal some from Stormwhisper while Boldmoth was getting patched up or something?”

“No,” Floodstrike shook his head, “the kittypets brought a ton for everyone!”

“Really?” Fernspeckle’s jaw hung open in surprise. 

“Yes,” Fishtrick said after gulping down her mouthful of food. “Southern side. Go get some.”

“Fox-dung, okay,” Fernspeckle said, backing up towards the southern side. “Save some of that fish for me!”

“No promises!” Fishtrick shouted after him and Floodstrike snorted with laughter, dropping down to have a few bites of his own.

It wasn’t long before Fernspeckle returned and the three of them started reducing the perch to bones in earnest. Floodstrike had never laughed so much in his life or felt more like he belonged than he did in that moment. He wished that Boldmoth could have joined them but knew that navigating the crowd would likely have been a nightmare for her broken leg. 

He was about to suggest they go visit her when a new voice called his name over the noise of the crowd. 

Gaping, he turned and said, “Luna.” There she was, trying to smile at him despite her obvious nerves. She held one paw close to her chest, glancing this way and that whenever a cat bumped against her or spoke too loudly. Floodstrike blinked a few times, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining her.

“Who?” Fishtrick yelled, trying to hear him over a group that had started singing nearby. 

“Uh,” that galvanized him into action, “guys, this is Luna!” He hopped up and moved to bump his forehead against hers in greeting. Luna smiled and pressed herself against his side so tightly he could feel her heart thumping madly against his ribs.

“There’s so many cats here,” she said, barely audible above the noise. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked at an appropriate volume as he guided her back over to sit with him and his friends. 

Luna cleared her throat and stood up taller as if she had to in order to raise her voice. “I wanted to see you!”

“Oo-ooh!” Fishtrick taunted and Fernspeckle joined in. 

“Shut up,” he laughed, smacking Fernspeckle hard in the face. He rolled away from the strike and swatted lazily back at Floodstrike. 

“Wow,” Luna breathed, “you wild cats are so rowdy!” 

“You kittypets are boring,” Fishtrick snapped back and Luna’s silky soft fur fluffed up around her. 

“Luna,” Floodstrike said, hoping to move past that, “this is my friend Fishtrick. That idiot there is Fernspeckle.” 

“Who you calling an idiot?” Fernspeckle frowned jokingly. 

“You, moron!” Fishtrick rolled her eyes and swatted at him. Floodstrike laughed, settling down onto his side. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Luna said politely, still struggling to raise her voice. 

“How did you two meet?” asked Fernspeckle.

“She was there when we went to find Songdust,” said Floodstrike as he laid his tail gently against hers. Luna blushed and preened under the touch, sinking down to lay against his side. He purred, struck with how amazing it felt in that moment. He even leaned over to rub his head against hers. 

“Wow,” Fishtrick grinned impishly, “you RisingClanners sure love your kittypets, huh?” 

“Do not,” Floodstrike blurted immediately, then, remembering Luna, added, “I mean- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fernspeckle laughed outright.

Grinning smugly, Fishtrick sing-songed, “Floodstrike and Luna down by the river, give ‘em two moons and she will deliver!” 

“What are you saying,” Floodstrike blustered, ears pressed back against his head. Was that a common song in EarthClan or was she just loopy on catmint?

“You know what I’m saying,” she said, leaning in with a snarky wobble of her head. “First Russetfrond, now you. Stars, Goldenstar’s got her own kittypet too, doesn’t she?” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Floodstrike dismissed her with an annoyed flick of his ear. 

“Isn’t that weirdo, Fogpaw, half-kittypet too?” she pressed. Floodstrike’s stomach dropped into a pit of guilt again.

“No, just half-city cat,” Fernspeckle said, squinting as if he was thinking very hard. “They’re not all kittypets.” 

“Guys, stop being horseflies,” Floodstrike said, wanting to squirm. “We’re just friends.” 

“Oh,” said Luna, sounding like she was trying to sound unconcerned. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re just friends.”

That caught Floodstrike off guard. “Oh, are we- Did you not-” He searched her face, suddenly worried he had been a jerk and she waved him off with a paw, blushing shyly.

“Oh, no, no, it’s- it’s fine I just thought, since we were having kits together, you know-”

“We’re what?” Floodstrike gaped as his friends hollered wildly at his expense.

“Yo!” Fernspeckle bellowed, holding back laughter.

Fishtrick cackled and rolled onto her back, pointing a vindicated paw at Floodstrike. “What did I tell you! They’re crazy for kittypets out there!” 

Floodstrike tried to tune them out as he asked Luna, “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded and they both stood. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said distractedly to his friends, wrapping his tail over Luna’s back to guide her away. 

“Don’t take too long!” Fishtrick jeered.

“Or do!” snorted Fernspeckle. Floodstrike ducked his head, cheeks burning, and shoved his way through the crowd until they broke out into the chilly woods. 

Luna spoke first. “Oh, Floodstrike, I’m so sorry! That wasn’t how I wanted to tell you, I- I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much!”

“It’s- It’s fine,” he said, trying to force his racing mind to focus on her face. “But, wait, are you serious?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, pursing her lips against the smile spreading across her face. “Isn’t it wonderful?” 

That hadn’t exactly been his first thought. “I- yeah, I guess so- I just- I feel like-” Like she was springing this on him? Like they had both understood that they were just friends? With a sinking feeling, he realized that he had never had that talk about expectations with her like Goldenstar had suggested. “I didn’t realize you felt that way about me.”

“You didn’t?” blinked Luna. “I thought I was being pretty obvious.” She pouted and dragged her paw through the pine needles on the ground despondently.

“Well- I mean,” Floodstrike blushed and smoothed his chest fur down with his tongue, “I knew you wanted to have sex with me, I just didn’t realize you wanted more than that.” 

“Well, of course I do!” Luna looked hurt. “That’s what sex is for, isn’t it? Having kits?”

He puffed up at her tone, extremely confused. “I thought the twolegs- err, your Folk took them away! It’s not like we’re going to raise them together.” 

“It’s still a big commitment!” she said, eyes big and round and glistening with the start of tears. “You made me a woman, you’re supposed to take care of me now!” 

“I what?!” He couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement. 

“I thought you were honorable,” she sniffled. “I didn’t think you were some- some ruffian who would use me up and leave me behind!” She was starting to cry now, her expression crumpling with despair and he stepped in to rub his head against hers despite his confusion. 

“Hey,” he said, “I’m not trying to abandon you or anything, I’m just confused, okay?” She pressed her head firmly against his, seeming to take comfort in his touch which was a relief. 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she sniffled wetly.

“It’s alright,” he sighed. After another moment he sat back and said, “I’m gonna go grab Goldenstar real quick, okay?”

“Goldenstar?” she sniffed hard to pull a bead of snot back up into her nose. “Wh-why?” She fluffed up again, looking suddenly very worried and he shook his head to reassure her.

“No, it's okay, we’re not in trouble or anything, she’s just really good at this kind of stuff -- talking about it I mean -- and I think she’ll be able to help us like… actually communicate, y’know?” 

“Okay…” Luna nodded slowly. She was definitely unsure but Floodstrike was certain that bringing Goldenstar in on the conversation would make everything so much easier. 

“Just stay right here, I’ll be back in a flash.” He gave her one more firm press of his head and then bounded back towards the crowd to try and find Goldenstar. It took a bit of time, some asking around, but he eventually found her lounging near the area where the catmint had been given out with Scorchplume, Yarrowshade, and a pair of kittypets, including Wes. The other was a chocolate tortoiseshell who seemed to have fallen asleep. 

Goldenstar was purring loudly against Scorchplume’s side as Floodstrike approached, Yarrowshade flopped against hers. He almost felt bad interrupting them but he knew he needed her help right now. 

“Uh, Goldenstar?” he asked, hovering closeby. “Can I borrow you for a little bit?” 

Goldenstar paused her purring to sit up and stare at him. It took a long beat before she managed to speak. “Oh, Floodstrike. Sure, what’s up?” She stood, dislodging Yarrowshade who moaned in protest, reaching out for her with his forepaws. 

“It’s Luna,” he said, “she came to see me and I, uh, need your help talking to her.”

“Luna?” Wes’s ears perked, his expression suddenly focused. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Um, it’s complicated,” he said, shuffling his paws. “It’s about the stuff we were talking about earlier?” He winced at Goldenstar, hoping she got the message. 

She seemed to, understanding dawning in her massive pupils. “Oh. Alright, sure. I’ll be back in a bit, guys.” 

“Aww, okay,” Yarrowshade pouted, scooting to snuggle up against Scorchplume instead. 

“You big baby,” Scorchplume shoved half-heartedly at his face. 

“I’m comin’ too,” Wes said, rising to his feet. “I need to make sure Miss Luna is okay.”

“Okay,” Floodstrike said, his mouth suddenly very dry. “She’s just out behind the cornerstones right now.” Wes started off towards the forest immediately and Floodstrike glanced at Goldenstar worriedly before hurrying after. 

When they arrived, Luna flushed with embarrassment. “Wes! What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were here,” he said, moving to sniff at her. “Is everythin’ alright?”

“It’s fine,” she said, clearly still a bit upset from earlier. 

“What did you need my help with?” Goldenstar asked Floodstrike, blinking sluggishly at him. 

“Well, you know how you said I ought to talk with Luna about, like… expectations and things?” he said. “I kind of… forgot. And now we’re kind of talking past each other and I thought you could help.”

“Expectations?” Wes frowned. 

“Yes,” Goldenstar nodded, “for their relationship.” She seemed mildly disappointed and Floodstrike felt his shoulders sagging apologetically. 

“Their relationship?” Wes repeated again, this time sounding suspicious. 

“Mhm,” said Luna. “Floodstrike and I are mates now.”

“What?” Wes looked at her in shock before he quickly pivoted to fixing Floodstrike with a stern glare. 

“That’s the problem,” Floodstrike said, “I thought we were just friends!”

“But we-” Luna pouted on the verge of tears again. “We were… intimate. Just friends don’t do that!” She blushed again, glancing at Wes. His presence seemed to be extremely uncomfortable for her. Wes scowled at Floodstrike as if he had threatened her.  

“Sure they do,” Floodstrike felt extremely confused again. 

“I think I see the issue,” Goldenstar sighed. “The city has very different ideas about intimacy than we do so you both have very different understandings of what it meant when you had sex.” Luna blushed brightly at the phrase. 

“Miss Luna,” Wes said, “if this young man took advantage of you-”

“No, no!” Luna shook her head fervently, “It was my idea, I promise!” She reached up on her tiptoes to try and get onto Wes’s eye level. “I practically had to beg him, please don’t be mad.” 

Wes frowned, his eyes twitching over her face for a good long moment before he sighed and said, “Alright. I just wish you’d thought about this more. This kinda thing, it has- it’s not to be done lightly.” 

“So, Luna,” Goldenstar cut back in, trying to smile invitingly, “I’m gonna start by asking you about what you think your relationship with Floodstrike means, then I’m going to ask him what he thinks. I want you both to try not to interrupt the other while they’re talking. I’m going to help you sort things out once you’ve both had a chance to talk, okay?” 

“Okay,” Luna nodded, chewing her lip. Floodstrike nodded too, trying to take a deep slow breath. Goldenstar was here. It was going to be alright. 

“Great,” said Goldenstar, settling down and curling her tail over her paws. “So tell me, when you imagined how things would go, what did it look like?”

Luna sniffled and shuffled her paws and said, “Well, I mean, I thought he was going to be there for me, like a proper mate, especially since… um…” She glanced sidelong at Wes with big wet eyes. 

“Since…?” Goldenstar prompted. 

“Since I’m… well…” Luna looked away, blushing again. 

“Pregnant,” Floodstrike said, just wanting to get this awkwardness over with already. Wes’s scowl darkened again. 

“I see,” Goldenstar frowned too. Now it was Floodstrike’s turn to wilt in shame. “When you say ‘a proper mate’ what does that mean to you?”

“I don’t know,” Luna shrugged defensively, “He’d bring me food, protect me, we’d be best friends. And I’d raise the kits and support him.” She shrugged again. “And, I don’t know, maybe he might eventually come to live with me and my Folk.”

That hit Floodstrike like a monster. “What?!” The idea was borderline offensive! “I’m not gonna be a kittypet!” Luna’s lip quivered and Wes laid his tail protectively over her back, still scowling. 

“Floodstrike, let’s calm down a bit, okay?” said Goldenstar. “Why don’t you tell me what you were picturing?”

Floodstrike shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know,” he said, looking guiltily at Luna, “I thought we were just having fun. I didn’t realize it was, like… serious.” 

Wes sighed. “These things are very serious, son.” Floodstrike balked at the term but Wes continued. “It ain’t honorable to take advantage of a lady like that.” 

“But I didn’t take advantage of her!” he protested, “She said so already!” Goldenstar laid her tail over one of his paws but it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting worked up. How was he the bad guy here?

“You might not have meant to,” said Wes, “but usin’ a girl for pleasure and then leavin’ her t’deal with the consequences on her own, it ain’t right.” 

“Like I said,” Goldenstar seemed to be making an effort to stay the calm one in the situation, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. In the Clans, there’s no shame in having casual sex like that, especially not shame that falls more on any one gender. Plenty of cats raise kits on their own and are happy to do so. Stars, Ospreymask has been trying to get pregnant for moons and she’s never had any interest in a long term partner.”

“Well, that’s swell for her,” Wes said, starting to bristle, “but it ain’t like that in the city. Havin’ kits is a commitment. Cats who fool around are…” he stopped himself, as if he’d just remembered Luna was listening to him. “It’s irresponsible to treat somethin’ so sacred as a… a cheap thrill!” He twitched an ear to shake off the idea which had clearly unsettled him. 

“Sacred?” Floodstrike was even more confused now. 

“Yes, sacred!” Luna sniffled, “It’s a holy bond! A gift from the Folk!”

“That’s crazy!” Floodstrike laughed in disbelief. 

“Floodstrike,” Goldenstar didn’t manage to interrupt him in time and grimaced. “Let’s be respectful. Clearly this is very important to them.” 

“It is,” sniffled Luna. “I thought you were gonna take care of me a-and our kits!”

“And I’m sure Floodstrike is very sorry that he didn’t communicate his intentions clearly from the start, right?” Goldenstar looked back at him with a prompting nod. 

“Yeah,” he said, feeling like a leaf drifting down the river. “I’m really sorry, Luna.” 

“But you’re not going to step up and do the right thing,” Wes said, a statement more than a question. 

“The ‘right thing’ is subjective,” Goldenstar frowned. “If there’s something specific that Luna needs, maybe Floodstrike can help with it, but he shouldn’t have to commit to a relationship just because he got her pregnant.” 

Luna started crying again and Wes pulled her close against his side with a defensive glare at the Clan cats. “I’m disappointed in you,” he said, “both of you. I thought you were better than this.”

“Floodstrike was careless,” Goldenstar said firmly, “but he isn’t being cruel. Relationships are messy. It’s an unfortunate situation but you can’t expect him to agree to a commitment he didn’t realize was expected of him.” 

“I guess not,” scoffed Wes. “Come on, Miss Luna, let me walk you home.”

“O-okay,” Luna cried into his shoulder, staring at Floodstrike with the most miserable expression he’d ever seen. Despite Goldenstar’s insistence that he wasn’t doing anything wrong in the moment, his stomach still writhed with guilt like he’d swallowed angry snakes. Goldenstar let out a disappointed sigh as the two kittypets disappeared into the undergrowth. 

“I’m sorry it went down like that, bud,” she said. 

“It’s my own fault for not talking about it beforehand,” he sighed. 

“Well, she should have done the same,” said Goldenstar. “You share the blame equally and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it. They’re making this into a way bigger deal than it has to be.” 

“Why, though?” he looked at her with pleading eyes. “Why are they so… weird about this stuff in the city?! First they have rules about only being mates with ‘opposite genders’ and now they’re acting like we broke some kind of code just because I don’t wanna become a kittypet or whatever!” 

“I don’t know, bud,” sighed Goldenstar again. “They’ve got some… complicated traditions, to be sure. Come on, let’s go back to the celebration. You’ll feel better when you’re with friends.” 

Floodstrike hesitated. “I dunno. Fishtrick and Fernspeckle are gonna tease me so bad. I think I’m just gonna go home.” 

“If you’re sure…” she said with a sympathetic smile. 

“Yeah, I am,” he said. The break in festivities had left enough room for thoughts about Lakepaw to slip back into his mind and the idea of going right back to pretending like everything was fine just felt wrong. 

“Alright,” she said, rubbing her nose against his ear. “You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will.” He took the long way around the crowd, tail dragging in the dirt. The laughter and celebration around him only served to make him feel more alone. He had no doubt Fishtrick was going to tell every cat she could about the news. He wanted to peel his skin off in embarrassment. 

And he wanted to make Luna understand that it was gonna be okay. He didn’t want her to think of him as some kind of deadbeat like Ghost. He liked her! He just didn’t like her enough to be exclusive or anything. Was that so wrong? Should he at least try it, for her sake?

The thoughts were clouding around his head as he walked through the ferns until a voice shook him from his stupor. 

“Floodstrike? Why are you sad?”

He looked up to find Fogpaw trailing after him. “Oh, uh…” He swallowed and said, “I dunno. Lots of reasons.”

“Oh.” Fogpaw said. There was a pause, then, “Do you want me to walk with you?” 

“Yeah,” Floodstrike said, realizing he did as he said it. He stretched out his tail in invitation and she trotted quickly to affix herself to his side. 

“Man, when did you get so big?” he groaned. 

“I’m almost twelve moons old!” she laughed. “Why does everyone keep forgetting?” 

“‘Cause we don’t wanna think about how old we’re getting.” 

“You’re not that old,” she scrunched her nose in confusion. “You’re barely half a year older than me.” 

“Ew!” he groaned even louder. “Don’t remind me!” 

She laughed again and rammed her head against his shoulder fondly. They walked in silence for a moment, the noise of the celebration fading behind them. 

His smile faded too and he eventually managed to say, “Hey, I’m sorry about earlier, with Fishtrick. I shouldn’t have sent you away.”

“Why did you?” she asked quietly. 

“‘Cause…” How could he say this without hurting her feelings? “‘Cause I’m dumb and I didn’t want you to embarrass me in front of Fishtrick.”

“Why would I embarrass you?” she frowned. 

He grimaced again. “I dunno, Fishtrick just likes to laugh at people and I didn’t want her to laugh at me because I’m friends with you.”

“But why would she do that?” Fogpaw pressed. “Is that what was funny before? Were you guys laughing at me?” 

“Yeah,” he said and cleared his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it. “I’m sorry, Fogpaw. That was fox-hearted of me.” He couldn’t look at her, only on the stones that were starting to replace the undergrowth as they neared the river crossing. 

After a long quiet moment, she said, “It’s okay. I forgive you.” 

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“I’m not a kid,” she huffed and he laughed again. 

“Maybe not technically,” he said, “but you’ll always be younger than me and that makes you a kiddo.”

“That’s dumb,” snorted Fogpaw. “If I’m a kiddo, then you’re an elder.” 

“Ew! Do not call me that!”

“Whatever you say, old man,” she smiled innocently and he shook his head with laughter.

“Dammit, your mentor taught you too well.” 

Slatepaw still didn’t seem convinced, so he butted his head against hers and purred as loudly as he could. “You’re gonna do amazing, Slatepaw. Just pick a place and hunt until sunfall. You’ve got this.” She closed her eyes and leaned down into his touch and he took a moment to just appreciate how much she had grown. 

When they parted, her jaw was set bravely and she nodded. “Okay. I won’t let you down.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” he smiled. 

She took a deep, slow breath, and headed up to the top of the hill. After looking around a bit, she turned and padded out of camp towards the east. Pantherhaze gave her a few seconds head start and then slank up onto the ridge after her and followed her stealthily through the grass. 

The sun was already hanging solidly over the forest behind them, cutting long shadows out in front of their paths, and Pantherhaze had to be careful to position himself so that his shadow didn’t give him away to her. It had been a while since he’d run one of these hidden assessments and he’d missed them. He was pretty sure that this style of assessment had been invented largely so the mentor could have fun slinking around. 

It wasn’t long before Slatepaw found her first target, a pair of sparrows foraging where the grass was thin. Pantherhaze took the opportunity to circle around her, moving her out of the path of his shadow. He could barely see her through the grass as she crept slowly closer to her prey. 

He held his breath. 

The wind shifted. 

Slatepaw pounced. In a flutter of wings, the sparrows took flight and she barely managed to hook her claws into the wing of one of the birds, pulling it down where she could give it a killing bite. The catch was clean. When the wind shifted, she didn’t let it get under her fur, she just adjusted course and even managed to catch one. 

Slatepaw didn’t seem satisfied, though. She sighed heavily, then glanced around to try and find him and, unable to do so, cached her prey glumly. 

That was a good catch! he wanted to tell her, You’re doing great! but he had to stay silent. 

They ventured south, southeast, and of the next four attempts Slatepaw made, she caught two of them. He could tell she was having a hard time with the results by the hunch of her shoulders. It took all of his restraint not to run up and comfort her. Three out of five was a great score! He wished it were easier for her to see that. 

Then, as the sun was starting to touch the tops of EarthClan’s trees, a pungent smell wafted over him from behind and he stopped dead to try and locate its source. The smell was familiar yet alien, an animal, certainly, a predator. He glanced at Slatepaw and she had frozen too, mouth open to drink in the scent. Her ears were flat against her head and her whiskers trembled. 

Pantherhaze made a decision. Striding through the grass, he made his way quickly to Slatepaw’s side, giving her a warning chirp as he approached. Despite his warning, she flinched and hopped back before recognizing him. When she did, her shoulders slumped in relief and she glanced out over the grass again.

“What’s that smell?” she asked. 

“I think it’s a coyote,” he said softly. “Your assessment is paused for now. Let’s gather up the prey you caught and head back to camp.”

“Okay,” she said, looking down at the dirt.

“Hey, you’re doing great. We’re just gonna go somewhere safer, okay?” 

“Okay.” She gave him a little smile and they started back through the grass together. 

A sudden rustle in the grass set Slatepaw on edge. “What was that?!” 

“Easy,” urged Pantherhaze, “It’s alright. Probably nothing. A bird, maybe.” Still, they stood frozen for a moment, ears perked, bodies low. A breeze shifted the grass in a gentle murmur around them. Pantherhaze swore he could hear a whisper underneath the sound but he couldn’t tell what it said. 

When no coyote appeared to devour them, he shook his head and nudged Slatepaw to keep walking. 

---

That night, after Slatepaw had finished her assessment with flying colors, Pantherhaze led Branchbark and Floodstrike back out to where they had found the scent of coyotes. Somewhere nearby, Russetfrond was leading his own patrol cautiously through the grass. It was dark, a bank of clouds covering the moon and stars, and the fall wind swept through the grass in hushed waves. 

“Right around here,” he said quietly as they reached the spot. “It’s staler than it was.”

“That’s a good sign, right?” asked Floodstrike. 

“Maybe,” said Branchbark. “It depends on where they went from here.”

“Then let’s find out,” Floodstrike said, stepping forward to follow the scent deeper into the grass. Pantherhaze reared up on his toes to peek over it, hoping his dark pelt would hide him from any predators that might be watching. Unfortunately, his height posed a bit of an issue and he wasn’t able to see much farther than a few fox-lengths.

They continued East for a bit before they discovered a trail of tracks. 

“Two sets,” hummed Branchbark. “That’s more than the last sighting.” 

“Can we take two coyotes?” Floodstrike asked, perking his ears and Pantherhaze was impressed by his caution.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “But we don’t have to take them, we just have to find out where they went and report back.”

Floodstrike nodded seriously. “Got it.”

“They’re moving southwest,” concluded Branchbark, standing up from the tracks. “Let’s move.”

The patrol slipped into the path left behind by the coyotes and padded quietly on until they started to hear yipping up ahead. It was quiet, conversational even, Pantherhaze thought. Carefully, he poked his head up over the grass again and there, several fox-lengths ahead of them, he saw the backs of two coyotes. One seemed to be digging for something, tail up over its bent frame, while the other yipped softly at it. 

“There they are,” he whispered, dropping back down onto all fours. 

“Where?” asked Floodstrike, lifting his head.

“Shh!” hissed Branchbark. 

Ahead of them, the yipping stopped and an eerie voice sing-songed out, “Little friends? Cat friends?” 

“It talks?!” Branchbark swallowed, his pelt bristling. 

“Yeah, Fogpaw said they talk,” whispered Floodstrike. “She also says they do magic?”

“Then maybe we can reason with them,” said Pantherhaze, ignoring the second half of that statement. Carefully, he reared up on his hind legs again and said, “Hello?” 

The coyotes had both turned towards them and the one that had been digging was smiling at him with its long, toothy maw. “Hey-lo, cat friends! Good hunt-ing?”

“Um, yes,” he said, swallowing his nerves. “What are you doing here? Uh- If I might ask?”

The second coyote yipped something quietly to the other but it ignored him. “Den find-ing!” it chirped happily and Pantherhaze’s spine prickled. “Is good digg-ing place.” 

“Den finding?” Branchbark hissed under his breath. “That’s not good.” Floodstrike shifted his stance into something a touch more battle ready. 

“Oh, dear,” said Pantherhaze, still perched on his haunches, “I’m afraid this is our territory. You can’t build a den here.” 

The coyote’s eyes narrowed, its smile fading, and the other one yipped something again. It turned its head and yipped something back to him and he bared his teeth. The other coyote quickly shook its head.

“No,” it said, “no fight-ing!” Then it seemed to repeat itself in its native tongue. Pantherhaze was shocked. A peaceful coyote! Who’d have thought! The second coyote shifted his stance a bit, glaring warily at the cats, but didn’t leap to bite just yet. 

Relieved, the first coyote turned back to smile at Pantherhaze. “We not cause-ing trouble! We just nest make-ing.” 

“Yes, but this is our hunting ground,” he said firmly, “We can’t share prey with you, I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry,” Floodstrike scoffed under his breath. Pantherhaze twitched his tail but kept his smile in place. The coyote that had been speaking hissed in clear displeasure and its tail angled up towards the sky slightly. The patrol held its breath, tensing for combat, but the beast eventually took a deep breath and forced its fur to lie flat.

“Oh-kaye,” it said with a smile, “We keep find-ing.” It turned to head deeper into the territory and Pantherhaze raised his tail in alarm.

“Uh- you’ll have to go at least a few days’ travel that way if you want to find unoccupied territory.” 

“Few days?” repeated the coyote questioningly. 

“Yes,” nodded Pantherhaze, “Uh, a few suns, maybe?”

The coyote muttered something in its own language and then let out a harsh, scratchy sound as it ducked its head sharply. The other coyote yipped at it and they exchanged words for a short time -- Stars, it was so weird to think of coyotes exchanging words -- before the one that was speaking smiled again, this time with a strained tightness to the expression. 

“Oh-kaye, we go few days. We good friends, cat friends.” 

Pantherhaze couldn’t help but feel squeamish at the expression. There were far too many teeth involved. He nodded tensely and tried to offer a smile of his own. The patrol beside him shifted uneasily. There was another long beat where the two groups stared each other down before the coyotes turned and loped deeper into the territory, heading west. 

Once they had gone, Pantherhaze let out a sigh of relief and all the muscles in his body fell slack. “Phew! That was so stressful."

“I do not like those things at all,” Floodstrike shook his head. “The way they talk is just… creepy.” He shuddered and flicked his tail as if to toss the unsettling feeling off of himself. 

“We should warn EarthClan,” said Branchbark. “Just in case.”

This was… less than ideal, to put it mildly. They were pincered between two enemy forces in an enclosed space and there was no telling how many wild cats were coming up behind them. Sardine calculated the odds of his escape while he danced out of the way of Rudy’s strikes. 

“Stop dodging and fight, you coward!” Rudy snarled. He lunged and Sardine leaped into the air meaning Rudy caught the back of his hind quarters and took him to the ground. He writhed, slashing madly at Rudy’s face to try and get away while Rudy sank his teeth into one haunch over and over again. Sardine rolled over and clawed his way across the floor, managing to get one leg free and kick Rudy in the eyes a couple times, forcing him to let go of the other foot. 

He scrambled to his feet, tried to bolt, but Rudy was on him again, this time sinking claws into his pelt and dragging him backward. 

“No!” he shrilled in a rather undignified manner, his heart hammering in his throat. “No!” He twisted and slashed at Rudy’s paws, managing to draw blood. Then a heavy white paw thumped against Rudy’s skull and he ducked backwards, releasing Sardine. 

“About fucking time!” Sardine cried, rushing to put Casper between himself and Rudy. “What use is a bodyguard who won’t fucking guard you?!”

“I was preoccupied,” grunted Casper as Rudy slashed a red gash through his white fur. He retaliated by rearing up and swatting at Rudy’s face, leaving Sardine feeling exposed. 

“Fine, whatever,” he hissed, keeping low, “Just get me out of here!”

“What about killing Rudy?” Casper growled, slamming up against his opponent. The two bulkier toms grappled for a few seconds, trying to push the other over or sink their teeth into the other’s neck. 

“Forget that!” Sardine demanded, looking around to make sure no one was sneaking up behind him. “Your bodyguarding takes precedence over any other objective and right now I do not feel particularly well guarded!”

“Coward!” Rudy roared. “You’re no leader!” Casper struck him across the face and sent him stumbling. 

“Whatever you say, Your Excellence,” Casper shrugged and stepped back to cover Sardine with his body. “Come on.”

“Thank you,” Sardine sighed in exasperated relief and followed as Casper plowed a path through the nearest cat, heading for the side of the room. 

“Get back here!” Rudy shouted after them and Sardine chanced a glance backward, satisfied to see that another cat had moved to keep the brute occupied. 

Casper carved his way through the Skyraiders, knocking them back or throwing them down long enough for Sardine to slip past them or hop over their body and then surging forward to meet the next one. Sardine couldn’t help but smile, feeling confident in having chosen Casper for this purpose. Despite the battle, he managed to feel safe when he was moving in tandem with the bigger tom like this. There was a power to it, a sense that together they were untouchable. 

That feeling ended when he felt a pair of jaws clamp down around his tail and yank him backwards. 

“Casper!” he shrieked, whirling around to try and fend off the attacker, a wild cat with white fur and crooked blue eyes. Casper rounded on her as well and reared up to come down on her spine but a spotted grey tabby launched himself into Casper’s chest and toppled him to the ground. Sardine squawked and slashed out at his attacker’s face. 

“Let me go, you filthy bitch!” he cried and she did, only to launch herself at him with claws extended. 

The wild cat tackled him easily and sank her teeth into his shoulder, causing him to scream out in pain. With desperate kicks, he shredded at her belly like it was his favorite salmon toy. She rolled sideways to kick back at him and he shoved her away, managing to pull something painful in his leg somehow. Wincing, he scrambled to his feet and looked for Casper. He found him just as he rolled on top of the grey tabby who had tackled him, white fur streaked with blood. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Sardine cried, darting around to put his bodyguard between himself and the savage who had attacked him. “We need to go.” Casper didn’t say anything, simply swatted the savage beneath him over the head and turned to shove Sardine forward with his head. The gesture sent adrenaline spiking through Sardine’s belly and he took off bolting despite the pain in his ankle.  

Across the room, there was a loud, rattling clang as someone toppled a shelf full of empty milk cans and assorted tools into the crowd. Sardine swallowed fearfully and focused on the barn wall ahead of him. The air smelled thickly of blood and the stench of wild cats, overwhelming his senses until all he could focus on was the movement in his legs and the effort of continuing to breathe. 

“Duck,” ordered Casper and he ducked immediately, just in time for a fawn spotted tabby to sail over his head. Casper moved to swat at the savage with his claws but it turned and smacked his paws out of the way, baring his teeth in a furious snarl.

“You!” he screeched, “You killed Sagetooth!”

“Who?!” Sardine couldn’t help the incredulous exclamation. He’d never seen this cat in his life, let alone a Sage Tooth. The cat snarled and sprang towards him but Casper hooked him out of the air with his claws and slammed him hard onto his back. 

“Stay down!” he ordered through gritted teeth. 

“Gotcha!” Another voice behind Sardine’s shoulder announced the arrival of another cat, this one smelling distinctly Exalted. Sardine screeched as teeth sank into the back of his neck and he writhed madly to try and get away. Casper hissed and lunged to his defense, headbutting into the other cat and knocking them free. Before he could retaliate though, the savage was on him, clinging to his back and tearing at his fur with bloody claws. 

Sardine rolled away, his chest heaving rapidly. Blood -- sticky, hot, and wet -- spread across his shoulder and dripped down his foreleg into another, lesser wound. He backed up against the side of the barn, bristling all over, and stared. The exalted cat who had attacked him -- Wes, right? -- advanced with a few short strides. 

“Surrender, Sardine,” he said, “this doesn’t have to end in your death.”

“Damn right it doesn’t!” he spat. He swiped at Wes to keep him at bay, letting him know any time he got too close. “I’m getting out of here and then you and all your treasonous friends are going to pay for what you’ve done!”

“The window!” snarled Casper. “The window is the best way out!” With the savage still on his back, Casper tackled Wes to the ground, shouting, “Go!” Sardine hesitated for a second before fear took over and he sprinted towards a stack of crates leading up to the hayloft. He was a fucking coward. The guilt and shame was hot against his skin, or maybe that was the blood still, but he ignored it as best he could. He had to get out of the barn. He could deal with the rest after.

In three hops, he was on top of the crates, then he was climbing the knotted rope that hung over the ledge. Just like scaling the curtains, he told himself. You’re almost there. Just keep going. 

“There he is!” he heard Rudy shout from below. “Don’t let him get away!”

Sardine was crying. “No, no, no!” He managed to hoist himself over the lip of the hayloft, scrabbling for purchase in the loose straw, and made a break for the window. One of Rudy’s chaff was waiting for him, teeth bared, and Sardine tried to channel all the anger and hatred inside of him into a claw swipe across the cat’s face. 

“Out of my way!” he screamed. “I’m the Speaker!”

“Not anymore,” the cat snarled, shaking blood from his white fur. He danced side to side, blocking each of Sardine’s attempts to reach the window. 

“Come on!” cried a ginger she-cat as she hauled herself up the rope. Sardine’s stomach clenched as he recognized her. She’d killed Tiger. This was really bad.

There were more cats behind her -- a young ginger and white blotched tom, a lanky blue and white one, and a brown tabby she-cat. They fanned out, trying to get behind him and he instinctively backed away towards the other end of the hayloft.  

“Stay back!” he threatened, “I’m warning you!” His feet hit a coil of rope and he backed over it, fumbling for his footing, too afraid to take his gaze away from the cats that were steadily advancing on him. 

“I’m gonna tear you limb from limb,” the blue and white savage growled, voice dripping with hatred. He lunged and Sardine tried to skitter back but the rope tangled around his paws and he fell flat on his face. The tom grabbed one of his ears in his teeth and tore, spraying hot blood into Sardine’s eyes. Sardine tried to roll away but he couldn’t see where he was going and the rope seemed to coil around him like a snake, restricting his movements. 

The savage bit sharply into the side of his neck, near the place where Wes had bit him, and shook his head like a dog. Sardine had abandoned all hope of saving face and clawed blindly at his attacker’s eyes, a shaky, blubbering mess. The cat fell back a bit and Sardine managed to roll away despite the ropes tangled around him.  

“Floodstrike, get back!” cried the cat who had killed Tiger. Someone was running in his direction. In a blind panic, Sardine threw himself out of the way only to find he was plummeting off the edge of the hayloft and into thin air. He twisted, tried to land on his feet, but the ropes were tangled around his neck and legs and he couldn’t get free and then--

With a sharp crack and a pain hotter and more terrible than anything he had ever experienced, the rope went taught and Sardine bobbed in the air. Several people gasped or shouted. Had he heard Casper’s voice? He couldn’t tell. 

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. A beat later he realized he couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he tried. It was like his head had been completely detached from his body. What little he could still feel was burning and begging for air. It felt like the blood was rapidly draining from his face.

“Someone get him down,” a woman cried. 

“No!” Rudy yowled, “Let him hang!” 

Already, the voices were starting to fade into a droning buzz. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow to no avail. This was it. This was how he died. 

---

And then he was falling again. 

He gasped as he hit the ground, squirming at the sudden, unpleasant sensation that something was passing through his insides like a fish through water. He whimpered and pulled away, hunkering down into himself and shutting his eyes. The noise in the room had waned, like it was somehow far away or behind a closed door. 

“Wow, that was ugly,” said a voice Sardine had thought he would never hear again. Eyes snapping open, he looked up in disbelief at the smiling face of Razor. Black ichor dripped from between his teeth and he had a luminescent quality to him, like his pelt was full of glowing red fireflies.

“Y-you’re dead!” he sputtered, watching as one of the wild cats passed through Razor and the gaping wound in his throat that still dripped pitch black ooze. 

“Correction:” grinned Razor, “We’re both dead.” 

Sardine looked down at his paws and found that they too were glowing with the same twinkling lights. “Holy shit,” he breathed. He glanced up at the hayloft and instantly regretted it. 

His body still hung, dangling limply from a tangled mess of ropes by the neck. Sardine shuddered and looked away, trying to compose himself. 

“Can’t believe you were crying,” Razor laughed. “Some Speaker you were.” 

Sardine’s fur bristled with embarrassment. “Yes, well…” He tried to think of a way to spin this as not completely and utterly disgraceful. He settled for flattery. “Clearly there’s no one who could have lived up to the legacy you left behind, Your Excellence.” He straightened up his posture and tried to pretend he wasn’t still shaken from the ordeal. 

“Clearly,” Razor scoffed, unimpressed. Sardine looked around to try and take stock of the battlefield. The fight seemed to be over, most of his forces having been slaughtered. Only a few of the Chaff and one or two Exalted cats had been spared and Rudy’s cats were guarding them closely. Sardine’s chest tightened as he spotted Casper’s body slumped against the barn wall, eyes unblinking and glazed over in death. 

“What a shit show,” Razor huffed. “Come on, the others are waiting.” He turned and started wading through the crowd like it wasn’t there. 

 “The others?” Sardine asked, starting to follow. He passed through a pair of living cats and nearly gagged as their bodies seemed to slog through every inch of his innards until they were behind him. 

“Yes,” Razor seemed unaffected, “the others. They’re outside. You were the last one.” Fear prickled through Sardine’s hackles at the seemingly innocuous sentence and he very carefully followed behind, bobbing and weaving around the living cats like they were puddles of water. A pair of shimmering cats stood to either side of the open barn doors and they dipped their heads to Razor as he passed. One of them, who Sardine recognized as Tinkerbell, glared at him darkly. 

“Is Bella here?” he asked quietly, trying to give nothing away in his expression.

“No,” Razor replied in the same quiet tone, a smirk upon his lips. Then he hacked violently for a second, spitting ichor onto the ground. Sardine couldn’t help but curl his lip in disgust at the wretched sight and the sound of it. When Razor was done, he shook his head and cleared his throat, causing more ichor to ooze from the wound in his neck. 

He continued, “She was… uncooperative. Had too many ideas in her head. I had to end her.” He narrowed his eyes at Sardine. “Permanently.” Sardine swallowed at the very clear threat.

“Good,” he said, his voice higher than he would have liked. “She was completely too ambitious in my opinion. Had no respect for true authority.” 

“Mhm,” Razor quirked a skeptical brow at him. “And whose authority would that be?”

“Yours, of course,” Sardine said obediently. “And the Folk.” 

Razor huffed a laugh through his nose and turned away. Sardine couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad sign. The cats at the door fell in behind them and Razor led the way around the farmhouse to the dirt lot lined with weeds where cats often sparred together. The lot was full of ghostly shapes, cats Sardine had brought with him and more who had died over the last few months for one reason or another. Sardine marveled at the sight. If only he had known they were here, just beyond his senses!

One of the cats sitting near the edge turned and perked his ears at them. Sardine felt a strange twinge of relief to see Casper there. The enforcer was a dull brute but he’d grown accustomed to his presence it seemed. 

“Well, friends!” Razor boomed, drawing the attention of the cats there assembled. “That was a disaster, wasn’t it? But fear not! I have unlocked the secret to life beyond death and I have decided to share it with all of you.” The crowd murmured amongst themselves. 

Clever, thought Sardine. Now they feel like they owe you. He had forgotten just how persuasive Razor could be, those skills overshadowed by the impulsivity that had led to his eventual downfall. Sardine sat down behind the Speaker’s right shoulder and curled his tail around his paws, hoping to appear as a trusted advisor. 

“I have big plans,” Razor continued, “and each of you has the opportunity to be involved in our great work, but loyalty will be integral to the success of what we’re going to do. I’m sure you can all understand that, right?” An obedient chorus affirmed their understanding, Sardine quietly among them. Razor glanced back at him and smiled. That definitely wasn’t a good sign. 

“Just to make sure we’re all perfectly clear,” Razor said, padding in a slow arc towards the crowd, his tail furling comfortably above him, “I have prepared a demonstration of the consequences for insubordination.” He looked at the guards who had followed up behind them and they lurched into action. Before Sardine knew what was happening, he was face down in the dirt with two sets of claws pricking into his back. 

“Wha- Get off me!” he squawked indignantly, trying to twist out of their grasp. Tinkerbell placed a paw on the back of his head and shoved it further into the ground. 

“Sardine here thought he could replace me,” Razor said to the crowd, circling back around to stand in front of him. “That’s not very loyal, if you ask me.”

“You were dead!” Sardine protested, squirming. “What was I supposed to do?” 

“Shh,” Razor hushed him. “It’s nothing personal.” He raised his glittering claws up above Sardine’s head menacingly and Sardine’s squirming intensified. Was there anything after this? Would he cease to exist? 

“Don’t!” he cried, “I’ll pay my penance! Please!” 

Razor sighed as if there was nothing he could do. “It’s a little late for-” Suddenly, he was cut off as something slammed into his side and knocked him back. Sardine couldn’t see very well but one of the guards holding him down leapt to engage the attacker leaving him free to kick Tinkerbell’s back leg out from under her. She stumbled and he rolled away to his feet, tail bristling. 

Behind him, Casper slashed at the guard and they dissolved under his claws, twinkling into nothing. Casper looked surprised and Sardine swallowed in dread. It seemed these bodies were much more fragile than their mortal forms. The dread grew as Razor stood up behind Casper with teeth bared. 

“Look out!” cried Sardine and Casper wheeled around, narrowly avoiding a swipe from Razor’s claws. 

“Bad decision,” Razor snarled, ichor dripping between his teeth. 

Casper backed up a step then made a decision. “Run!” 

Sardine didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and sprinted back towards the wild territories as fast as he could, ignoring the terrible sensation of weeds passing through his insides. Casper was behind him, panting hard, and further back he heard Razor hissing in rage. 

“After them!” 

Several cats yowled a battle cry and gave chase. 

Sardine groaned pitifully. “We are so fucked!” 

“Oi! Up here!” An unfamiliar voice pulled his attention from ahead and he couldn’t believe what he saw. Perched in midair atop a cluster of stars sat a tortoiseshell cat with big, bright eyes. She flicked her tail and a series of platforms appeared before them, leading up to her position. Sardine leapt onto the first one without question and started climbing into the sky. 

“This is insane,” he laughed. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it is,” said the tortoiseshell, reaching down to pull him up onto her platform by his scruff. He scowled at the indignity of it but held his tongue. Casper hopped up beside him and their rescuer said, “Alright, you should be safe for now. Let’s get climbing.” 

“Safe?!” Sardine huffed. The others had been right behind them! How were they safe? He peered down and found, to his surprise, that the platforms they had scaled had disappeared and the cats below were prowling back and forth, unable to reach them. 

“Come on,” said the tortoiseshell. With a swish of her tail, a new set of platforms manifested above them and she hopped to the first one with a welcoming smile. Sardine shared a wary glance with Casper who simply shrugged. 

“I’ll follow your lead,” said his bodyguard. 

“Good,” Sardine nodded, raising himself to his full height. Casper huffed an amused laugh which Sardine ignored, focusing instead on climbing to the next platform. He focused his attention on the tortoiseshell, analyzing her in detail now that he had a chance to catch his breath. 

She was tall and lanky, thin beneath her wispy fur, and her oblong face was split half and half between ginger and black, one eye brown and one eye green. Sardine recognized that she would have been considered attractive by someone who could tolerate females enough to pursue them romantically, something he had never been able to do. 

“Thank you for the rescue,” he said, putting on a smile. “I’m Sardine. This is my bodyguard, Casper.” Casper jerked his nose upward in a casual greeting before letting his attention drift down to the cats below them. 

“I’m Moira,” purred the tortoiseshell. “I’m here to take you to the next life.” She started climbing up towards the sparse, low hanging clouds.

“The next life?” Sardine raised his brows as he followed her. “There’s one after this?” 

“This is a transitory place,” explained Moira. “No one is supposed to linger here. The leader of those cats down there has been causing lots of trouble since he arrived.” 

“That does sound like him,” Sardine mumbled, sparing a glance downward. The cats had started to head back to the dirt lot, growing smaller and smaller the higher he climbed. He wondered how many of them Razor would kill as punishment. 

“You know him?” asked Moira, perking her ears. 

“Yes,” Sardine said, “but you shouldn’t concern yourself with that. Tell me, is it possible to return? To go back to the land of the living?” 

“Sometimes,” Moira hummed. “That’s not my job though. My job is to take you to the next life.” 

“I see,” Sardine glanced at Casper who nodded subtly. “You’re sure you couldn’t take us back? There are people in the city who need us dearly. I hate to think of what will happen to them if we’re gone.”

“Sorry,” winced Moira. “No can do.” 

“Why not?” Sardine frowned, feigning genuine curiosity. “Do you not know how?”

“It’s just not how things are done,” she said. “I’m really sorry, truly, I am, but you’ll like the next life, trust me.” At this point they had reached the bottom of the clouds which opened up for them like a tunnel in the earth. 

Sardine paused on the starry platform and said, “That’s too bad. Casper?” 

Grinning lackadaisically, Casper stepped past his shoulder and advanced on Moira. “This doesn’t have to get ugly, sweetheart,” he said. 

Moira’s smile turned instantly to an appalled frown. “Really?” she gaped. “You’re threatening me?”

“Only slightly,” Sardine smiled smugly. “Just take us back to the land of the living and we’ll leave you be. If not, we’ll be forced to do something barbaric, I’m afraid.” Casper crowded closer to her and she backed into the mouth of the tunnel. 

“What is wrong with you city cats?” she said, shaking her head. She flicked her tail and suddenly Sardine felt the stars beneath his paws vanishing. He cried out in fear, staring at the very distant ground, but suddenly Casper’s teeth were in his scruff and he was hauled up into the cloudy tunnel with breathtaking ease. He shuddered and pressed back against Casper’s side, trying to get away from the dizzying height. 

“That little bitch!” he squawked, spinning to look for Moira only to find she had likewise vanished. “Well, great. Now we’re trapped up here.”

“She’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Casper hummed. 

“I suppose so.” Sardine sighed. “Come on.” He started into the tunnel and immediately found a fork in the path. He opened his mouth to scent for a trail and found no scent at all, just the smell of fog and fresh air. 

“Well, shit!” he griped. “Today is just one fucking thing after another, isn’t it?!” Casper said nothing. Sardine took a deep breath out through his nose and forced his fur to lie flat. Losing his temper wouldn’t do him any good. He had to keep his wits about him. He could think his way out of this predicament. He considered the two paths ahead of him and picked one at random, padding deeper into the mass of the cloud. 

They came upon another fork and then another and Sardine put himself on autopilot, taking whichever turn his gut reaction chose. After a while, his thoughts began to wander and he glanced back at Casper who was padding steadfastly behind him. 

“I suppose I ought to thank you for coming to my aid,” he said, facing forward again. 

“No problem,” said Casper as if that were all there was to it. 

Sardine huffed indignantly and looked back again. “That’s all? ‘No problem’?”

“What? You want an ‘of course, Your Excellence’?” 

Sardine scowled. “I guess I want an explanation. You crossed Razor to save me. Why?” 

“I dunno,” shrugged Casper. “Didn’t seem fair.”

“Hm.” Sardine twitched his whiskers poutily. He didn’t know why that felt unsatisfactory. Turning his attention back to the maze of tunnels ahead of him, he stewed in silence. The silence seemed to overtake him, all sound disappearing into the clouds. It started to feel maddening, like he would drown in it. 

Tail twitching, he cleared his throat to hear the sound. “Well, thank you,” he said. “For saving me.”

“Huh,” was all Casper said.

“Huh, what?” bristled Sardine, scowling back at him again. 

“I dunno,” shrugged Casper. “Sounded like you almost meant it.”