Redpath's hope crumbled when more joined the elder. Mallowpaw. Sablepaw. Oakbelly. Lichenlight. Sagefur, bringing Cardinalkit with her.

She did not plead for them to stay. She had no right. 

And now, here she was. In the cold of a leafbare afternoon, she had ForestClan in her paws. Broken, cold and afraid, like a baby bird pushed out of the nest, looking at her with fear and acceptance. 

Redpath finally tore her gaze away from the snow, and looked at her Clanmates properly. 

Iciclepool, her friend, her closest ally. Lightfoot, her blue eyes soft with understanding. Ferncreek, standing beside his son, Windpaw; both toms looking tired and wary. Cloudthunder and Barleywave, two young warriors who dared to hope for something greater. And Chicoryglint, her expression unreadable. 

Eight. ForestClan used to have twenty cats. Now, there were eight. She didn't expect that to hurt as much as it did. But the longer she thought about it, the more it stung. She was not trustworthy. Certainly not to Lakestar's loyalists, not to her elders, not to clanmates she watched suffer under Lakestar's rule. She did all of this for them, but in the end, only eight remained. 

She hoped, and prayed, that StarClan still saw them as a Clan. That her friends still saw themselves as a Clan. 

Lightfoot let out a soft purr, breaking the tension among them. "Well, this is wonderful, isn't it?" 

Everyone stared at her with puzzled expressions. 

"I think we'll make a great new ForestClan together. I wouldn't trust anyone else with the task than those who are here," Lightfoot meowed, twitching her whiskers in amusement. 

"Lightfoot, come on, two thirds of us just left," Cloudthunder mumbled. 

"I know. And I know we're disappointed by it." Lightfoot's tail swished. "But this is a new beginning, now, with Clanmates who chose to stay. And that matters." 

Barleywave looked away, hiding ripples of feeling. Redpath couldn't blame him. Falconclaw was his father - and as much as he hated him, he grieved the father he never had. Cloudthunder blinked at Lightfoot tiredly. Iciclepool seemed lost in thought. 

Lightfoot continued calmly. "I think we should take an afternoon to grieve - perhaps make ourselves a meal, no? Barleywave, you always wanted to learn more cooking tasks, didn't you?" 

Barleywave flinched from being called upon, staring wide-eyed at the older molly. "Uh…I mean…yeah, I did, but, you know…" 

Lightfoot tilted her head. 

"Are you sure you want me to set everything on fire?" he joked dryly. 

Cloudthunder exhaled sharply. Her whiskers twitched. "Come on, you aren't that bad." 

Redpath blinked. "It would be fitting to make ourselves a meal, though. A new start?" 

Ferncreek stood up. "I'll start the fire." He padded away before anyone could object, and Barleywave groaned. 

"Oh good, I guess we're doing that now." 

"Ferncreek has decided," Lightfoot teased.

"...Are we holding a Ritual for the Lost?" 

Chicoryglint's voice came quiet and unassuming, but cutting. Pelts bristled on all ends as eyes fell on the old protector of secrets. Chicoryglint kept her composure, licking her paw before adding, "It's not necessary, of course. I do not expect one."

Liar. Redpath knew what kind of cat Chicoryglint was and she could tell the immediate backing down of her true intent. She saw it all the time whenever Lakestar showed a hint of animosity towards one of her questions.

"What do you think, Chicoryglint?" Iciclepool hissed, her ears flattening. 

Chicoryglint faltered. "I - " 

"Actually," Ferncreek interjected, a growl in his throat. He turned towards her. "I want to know why you thought we'd honor a tyrant in the first place." 

Chicoryglint's dark blue eyes shielded her emotions like glass. 

Windpaw bristled and stood up. "W-Wait, she didn't mean it like that. Chicoryglint and I...we're protectors of secrets. The Ritual of the Lost is used to reach StarClan, that's all. It's not about Lakestar." 

"After everything Lakestar's done, why should she get the opportunity to reach StarClan?" Iciclepool hissed. 

Windpaw turned to Redpath. "Redpath, you're the new secret keeper. You get to decide, not us." 

"Windpaw, Redpath just tossed the foxheart to the woods, I don't think she wants to honor her," Barelywave hissed. 

Redpath fought to stop her lips from curling. No, she did not want to have a funeral for the monster she just deposed. 

However, despite everything, Lightfoot's presence and words always surprised her. And nothing surprised her more than this. 

"I think we should." 

Iciclepool whirled towards her. Her eyes widened with hurt. 

"Uh...Lightfoot, do you have bees in your brain?" Cloudthunder asked, looking less angry; more concerned. 

Lightfoot gazed towards Redpath calmly. "Redpath, can I explain?" 

Redpath met her gaze incredulously. Out of all the cats - after seasons of watching Lakestar deteriorate and hurt and kill cats she loved, she did not understand why Lightfoot wanted a funeral. For a moment, she felt betrayed. She remembered every lash, every insult, every scream and hiss and order of execution Lakestar made. She remembered day after day, having to support her cruelty. She remembered every cat's hateful gaze; every spiteful whisper when they thought Redpath couldn't hear them. She hated every moment of it. She only tolerated it with the single-minded ambition of one day wrenching the lives from Lakestar's body and finally, finally, leading a Clan. One where no one would ever have to be afraid ever again.

One of the few cats to keep her sane and remind her that she was not a monster, was Lightfoot. 

Lightfoot's expression was kind, and unchallenging. The older molly blinked slowly. 

Redpath swallowed the knot in her throat. "...Explain yourself." Her command was sharp. Lightfoot bowed, then spoke. 

"I think we should have a funeral, because I believe the actions of a new ForestClan cannot be ones that prioritize vengeance over hope, and growth. Our reasons for killing Lakestar cannot be remembered by lorekeepers as pure vengeance. If that is what we build our Clan on, then we will carry this with us as we rebuild ForestClan. I think we should have a Ritual of the Lost. Not to honor Lakestar, but to remind ourselves what the purpose of her death served. We all had our reasons beyond vengeance to overthrow her. We wanted a better future." Lightfoot's tail flicked. She held her composure as the entire Clan stared at her. "Before Lakestar became leader, I remember how she looked towards Birchstar. She was resentful of his rule. Large parts of the Clan were. They saw him as a coward." She looked out towards her Clanmates. "Do any of you remember the territory-search patrols, a long time ago?" 

Iciclepool's pelt flattened, parsing Lightfoot's question. "Yes, I do. I think…I think I remember many cats being sent out, and…never coming back." 

Cloudthunder's eyes widened. "Wait, really?" 

"Once Birchstar died, Lakestar wanted to find us new territory, far from these woods," Chicoryglint added. Her gaze fixated the floor. "She…she sent out patrols of cats who were willing to make long journeys. But…none of them returned." 

Lightfoot nodded. "It seemed like Lakestar wanted to make ForestClan better at first. But…" Lightfoot's ears folded back. "I don't know. After my uncle Rootgrove died, it was as if she gave up. I can't say I knew Lakestar before her madness began, but I can say one thing for sure," Lightfoot's gaze was sharp. "She was a profoundly angry cat. Her desire to seek new territory was to spite Birchstar, not make things better for ForestClan. Which is why I believe we can't move on without letting that go." 

Redpath tensed. "...I'm sorry, Lightfoot. But I cannot forgive Lakestar." 

Lightfoot recoiled, looking offended. "Forgive? Don't be mousebrained, I'm not forgiving a cat who sent our family and friends to die," she hissed. After a second to cool off, Lightfoot's ears perked back up. "Rather, I want to set a precedent. That we should be built on mercy, and looking forward." 

There was a heavy silence that followed Lightfoot's words. They seemed to reach into everyone's hearts, and stir their sense of hope.

But for some, the hope was rooted in justice, and righteousness. Ferncreek's ears threatened to fold back. His tail twitched, and his eyes narrowed. 

"Mercy to an enemy cannot come at the cost of their victims."

Redpath felt her claws rake the dirt. She agreed with Ferncreek. 

"Mercy to a dead body does not create victims," Lightfoot stated. 

"Lightfoot, I…if we have a funeral, I will have nothing merciful to say," Iciclepool added.

"I know, lovely Icicle." Lightfoot looked at her with softness, and empathy. "And I'm not expecting anyone to." 

Barleywave rolled his eyes. "So, what? We're going to sit around in a circle and go, 'Lakestar, you're a foxheart, but we didn't hate you'? Like, that's a lie." 

Redpath listened closely to Lightfoot's proposal. She absorbed her reasoning. In the turmoil of her pain, she grasped to Lightfoot's words. 

Her desire to seek new territory was to spite Birchstar, not make things better for ForestClan.

She wrapped this thought like a caterpillar weaving a cocoon. She draped it in other thoughts, other stories. Like the stories of other revolutions that happened in ForestClan's history - leaders overthrown, replaced by new ones to change rules, only to fall again. No records of any overthrown leaders buried or marked on the oak tree. Change, built on pain until collapse was inevitable. But it never truly changed, not really. 

The prophecy of the gentle camp, ringed in spears. Of a camp filled with cats of all shapes, sizes, beliefs and cultures. Of mountain lions with heads of hair like sunlight, and stripes like black branches. Kittypets with toys for kits, and stoic lynxes standing guard. Impossible, illogical, irrational peace, after generations of death and murder. 

And outside those walls - spears ringed in starlight, fighting anything that dares to threaten them. 

They did not have weapons inside the camp. They did not teach hatred or fostered vengeance in the camp. There were stories in ForestClan of cats dying to cougars and lynxes before. And yet, they were in the camp too. 

"Uh, Redpath?" 

Redpath blinked, and she realized that her Clan was staring at her. She paused, then shifted uncomfortably. 

"Ah…yes?" 

"What should we do?" Iciclepool asked. 

Redpath stared out in front of her, lost in thought. 

The butterfly was emerging from the cocoon. 

I am seeking a better world for ForestClan. I did not kill Lakestar out of vengeance alone.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She…she was the leader of ForestClan now. She could change things. Make things different. She didn't have to be beholden by tradition, or habit, or the stories of the past. 

She only hoped that her Clan - her friends? - would have the courage to follow her. 

"As the leader of ForestClan, I…I seek to adjust the code we follow."

There was a murmur of confusion and a ripple of apprehension. 

"I wish to add a ritual. A type of funeral. One that I will use for this evening, and only for this evening." She opened her eyes, and felt the eyes of her Clan upon her pelt. "A…A Ritual of…" She hesitated on a name. She remembered both Lightfoot and Ferncreek's words. She sighed, and started again, more firmly. "A Ritual of Mercy. For the victims of Lakestar's reign. For ourselves. The only difference is that we will tell Lakestar what her death served. We did not kill out of vengeance. We had reasons to do what we did. Good reasons. Visions of hope, of a better future. We will cement those reasons, and remember what ForestClan, our new ForestClan, is built upon." 

There was an uneasy silence that lingered around them. Cats gauged each other's reactions, but all seemed as uncertain as the other. 

Barleywave frowned. His ear twitched. "...Am I going to have to say nice things about her?" 

Redpath scowled. "You better not. We're not doing that." 

Cloudthunder rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Dear Lakestar, you died so that I could finally leave camp and there's nothing you can do about it."

Barleywave laughed in response, and a flicker of levity surged through the rest of the cats. Redpath smiled. "Well, yes. Things like that. Appreciation for what we will do in the future, for the sake of a better Clan." 

"Lakestar, you died so that cats could leave camp in the future!" Cloudthunder corrected, yelling at the sky dramatically. 

A mrrow of amusement was echoed between a few cats, and Lightfoot beamed as she got to her feet and shook out her fur. 

"Dear Lakestar, you died so that I would be allowed to teach Barleywave how to cook properly," Lightfoot joked. 

"Lakestar, you died so that I had the right to burn camp down," Barleywave chuckled. 

"No, absolutely not, you're not burning it down," Iciclepool called out, getting to her feet with a smile. 

Redpath watched as her Clan - sans Chicoryglint, who scuttled to the medicine den to find cooking herbs - gathered around the cooking fire and started making one-off declarations of grandeur. They cracked jokes, expressed hopes over what they would learn and do in the future, and started teaching each other how to properly cook.

Redpath's heart thundered. She had to have hope. 

********

It took half an hour of cooking and preparing for the Clan to finally gather around the High Rock. Chunks of roasted mice were served on flat stone plates. Lakestar's favorite food was roasted vole, but they had none, Redpath wasn't going to find one for a tyrant's sake. She allowed them to eat their fill first - it gave her time to think of a better script than the one used for the Ritual of the Lost. She certainly wasn't going to ask StarClan to guide Lakestar's spirit…although, truthfully, she didn't know where she'd be. She didn't know why StarClan gave lives to Lakestar to begin with. She decided to put that thought aside. Lakestar was dead. That was all that mattered.

It felt strange, standing on the High Rock. A place where Lakestar stood to make these rituals, and issue her commands. 

I will turn it into a place of hope, not fear.

As her Clan finished eating, and one by one they turned to look at her, she took a deep breath, and began.

"Spirits of our warrior ancestors, we call upon your love in our time of grief. We partake in this meal, to fill us with warmth, and remind ourselves of what matters to us most. Tonight, StarClan, we do not ask for you to guide a soul. We ask that you witness our mercy, and our promise to make ForestClan a better place to live, for all cats." 

"Hear hear," Lightfoot called. 

Redpath suppressed a small smile, continuing. "For Lakestar's death, we take time to remember our reasons for doing this act. Not out of anger, or rage, but out of hope. We remember." 

Her Clan echoed back. "We remember."

Redpath curled her tail around her paws. She knew already what she wanted to say. "I did not kill Lakestar out of vengeance alone. Although I was fueled in part by it, it is not why I killed her. If there were any other path I could've taken - if she would've accepted exile, or step down, then I would've accepted it. But Lakestar would not permit herself any other way." Her ears flattened. "I was tired. Tired of watching cats refuse to band together to fight Tendrils. I was tired of watching young apprentices be sent to their deaths. I was tired of watching cats suffer and feed the woods. And so," her breath shook, "Lakestar died so I could make a Clan where that didn't happen. With Lakestar's death, I will make a Clan where no cat will ever have to feed the woods again. Where my nine lives will be used to satiate them for seasons to come. Where no kit will ever have to seek approval from the woods before becoming an apprentice, and where Clanmates stand together to fight the woods. I…I killed Lakestar, so that we could make a better Clan. And that is why she died." 

Redpath turned towards her secret keeper's apprentice. Iciclepool nodded, then stared down at her empty plate. Her copper eyes flickered with feeling. 

"...I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to be a queen. None of those are meant to be. No thanks to her. She hated me. She was happy to see me suffer. And I was tired of it." Her bitterness was palpable, and a few cats gave a purr of sympathy. "Lakestar died so that no apprentice would ever be sent to die again. So that no queen would ever have to lose all of her children ever again from pointless cruelty." Her eyes narrowed, and her ears flattened. "And if any leader dares to try it again, I will not show mercy. No one will." 

Redpath's heart tightened. She knew Iciclepool did not mean to direct it at her. But her hate was palpable. 

I promise I won't ever become her, Redpath thought. I promise no kit, queen or apprentice will ever suffer from apathy and cruelty ever again, Iciclepool. I made a promise to Cliffstep.

Iciclepool turned her head curtly to Cloudthunder. One by one, Redpath's Clanmates spoke. 

"Lakestar died so that no cat will ever have to feel like a prisoner in their own home. Cats will learn that the world beyond our walls can be dangerous, yes, but not horrible all the time. I want more cats to see the Glimpse Clearing, and the Rocky Stepps, and the vernal pools, and the fields, and - look, the world is beautiful, okay? I know the woods are horrible. But I refuse to feel like we can never just exist in the world. This is our home too, Lakestar's death will let me - and other cats in the future, hopefully - actually experience that." 

"Uh…Lakestar died so…I…man, guys, I'm terrible with speeches. I dunno. Lakestar made me feel hopeless. I guess made others feel that way too. Her death means that we can actually have hope now. If…that's okay to say. Yeah? Okay great. Uh…your turn." 

"I…will continue to be a good healer. Lakestar died because…she made many cats angry and afraid. Hopefully there will be less of it now. I will…keep being a good healer. And a good mentor." 

"...Um…do…do you all remember Beauty? The young loner who was hurt on our border? I…I wanted to help her. But Chicoryglint, I…I remember you told me no, because Lakestar wouldn't allow it. But…maybe, in the future now, we can invoke the Law of Asylum more. At least to cats who just need a single stem of horsetail. I hope ForestClan can be a Clan where we can help more cats freely, now." 

"...Lakestar died so the pain could end. All of it." A long pause. "...I'm sorry. I have nothing kind to add." 

"That's alright, Ferncreek," Lightfoot murmured. Finally, with her turn, she sat straight. "Lakestar, wherever you may be - maybe you had good intentions for ForestClan, once, a long, long time ago. Maybe you really did want to help ForestClan, back when you wanted to find new territory. But your intentions mean little, when your actions hurt everyone around you." Lightfoot sighed. "You became a monster hellbent on making everyone fear for their lives, terrified of setting foot outside the walls of camp. You killed those who disagreed with you, and threatened the children of those who spoke out against you. You had to die, because you held no hope for your own future. You feared the woods more than you cared for your Clan. Lakestar, may your death serve as a lesson for future lorekeepers. Fear poisons and corrupts the soul, and hatred is the bastardization of love. May our new ForestClan be lead without fear, and for our love of ForestClan to outweigh all hatred we hold to our enemies." Lightfoot turned towards Redpath with a smile. "May Redstar's reign be one of hope against the threat of despair." 

Redpath's heart swelled, and a purr escaped her. Her affection turned to embarrassment as her Clanmates began slowly, then picked up, "Redstar, Redstar! Redstar! Redstar!" 

Redpath licked her chest fur, surprised to feel openly embarrassed. When was the last time she had allowed herself to feel this? 

I will do my best, Lightfoot. I promise.

********

"Redpath?" 

Redpath turned towards her secret keeper's apprentice - no, she corrected internally, her deputy - as she padded up to her from across the clearing. After the Ritual of Mercy, the Clan had decided to spend a day or so to reorganize, and discuss basic reforms to their Warrior Code. Besides, after Chicoryglint's insistence that clear moonlight would be needed for a leadership ceremony, Redpath couldn't face StarClan immediately. Although, she highly questioned Chicoryglint's words. 

Iciclepool's tail twitched. "I wanted to report that I've sent Cloudthunder and Ferncreek out on a border patrol. I've told them to be careful of any scent trails from Falconclaw or Cricketwing. I don't know if they're still in our territory, but…" 

"That's good. Thank you," Redpath nodded at her. "How's our wall restructuring?" 

"Barleywave is working on it - slowly. We have enough to repair the larger patches of rotting wood, but after that, we'll be almost out of sap. We won't have much until we can start collecting again in late winter and early spring." 

Redpath sighed. "That's not good. Are you sure we can't preserve more?"

"Yes, I'm sure. It's the least of our worries, given the herbs ruined to frost earlier this month," Iciclepool meowed tightly. She stiffened. "We can find other binding agents." 

"I…yes, I agree." Iciclepool paused, and her tail drooped. Redpath blinked back at her. "...I'm sorry, I didn't mean for the question to sound combative. I'm not used to being able to…agree with you so freely." 

Iciclepool relaxed. She sighed, her copper eyes filled with fatigue. "You're right. I'm so used to hearing otherwise. I knew your words were all a ruse to gain Lakestar's trust, but…" 

"But it was hard," Redpath finished. Her jaw clenched; remembering every argument she held with Iciclepool. How sharp her words were. How every small challenge Iciclepool made received Redpath's retort. In private, on silent patrols held in twilight, the two of them would always apologize. Reiterate their desires to remove Lakestar from power. Confirm again that it was not what Redpath earnestly thought. Iciclepool always said she understood, held herself tall, and repeated that she believed in her. If Lakestar wanted a show to inflate her ego, she could have it - whatever it took for Redpath to infiltrate Lakestar's circle. 

But that didn't come without strife and hurt feelings. 

Iciclepool looked away, distant. "I was surprised when you named me apprentice - sorry, deputy," she corrected. "I know we had discussed it before. You told me that you would, but…" 

Redpath's heart tightened. "You doubted me." 

The deputy bristled defensively. "That's not it - " 

"Wait," Redpath interjected, lifting her paw. It came out quiet; almost pleading. It was so unlike her that Iciclepool's fur flattened. "I'm sorry. I spoke sharply from…from habit. Habits I learned to survive, but aren't good for me now. Give me a moment to phrase it again." 

The two mollies sat in silence. Iciclepool tilted her head, and let out a small chuff. 

"That sounds like something Lightfoot would've said." 

Redpath let out a dry laugh, the grip around her heart loosening. "Is it that obvious?" 

"Wait, I was kidding. Did she really?" Iciclepool let out a mrrow of amusement. 

"She, ah…advised me to start thinking things over before speaking. I was the leader now, and everyone who was left, trusted me. If they didn't, they would be gone." 

"I agree with her. Well, except for…" 

An unspoken agreement was shared as their gazes drifted towards the medicine den. Chicoryglint agreed to rename herself from protector of secrets to 'medicine cat', but she was very placid and agreeable to everything, given the circumstances. She was always an enabler to Lakestar's cruelty, disguised as compassion. Redpath sighed and shook her head. She didn't think Chicoryglint was the kind of molly to plot something in the background. She was too meek for that. Quite frankly, she didn't know what Chicoryglint wanted. 

"...To circle back to what I said before…I meant to say something like…there was a lot of doubt, leading up to…to Lakestar's death," Redpath finally said. 

Iciclepool sighed. "I think I was just…scared. We've lived our whole lives only knowing Lakestar's cruelty. Really, the only reason we believed things could be different was from Lightfoot's account of Birchstar." 

Redpath nodded. "And I promise that we will be." 

Iciclepool blinked slowly at her in response. 

After a few moments, Redpath glanced across the clearing, and watched as Barleywave stood on his hind legs to reach a crack located high on one of the inner walls. His tail twitched in annoyance as he held a bundle of rope in his mouth. His eyes darted around him, trying to figure out a plan. Lightfoot stood a few tail lengths behind him. Her tail tapped the snow-covered ground patiently. After a few moments, she spoke, and Barleywave retorted. Lightfoot rolled her eyes and approached him. 

"Oh, there she goes," Iciclepool giggled. Redpath watched as Barleywave's frustrated protests disappeared as Lightfoot spoke in a low tone. Redpath couldn't pick up what she was saying, but Redpath could tell based on Barleywave's expression that she was getting through to him. Responding with compassion, kindness, and understanding. Reminding him that he was better than this. He wasn't alone, and no one was going to lash out or criticize his work anymore. 

Redpath and Iciclepool watched the scene unfold. Emotions surged through Redpath as she watched Lightfoot finally convince Barleywave to let her help, and watched the pair work together to repair the wall and re-secure bindings. For years, Lightfoot had been their pillar of hope during times of despair. She reminded them that things always changed, that the world always craved stability, and that chaos and despair was not something to build a Clan on. She pushed them to be the best versions of themselves, and to remember the stories of old - ones where good prevailed, even in all the death. Redpath remembered when she was a kit, and Lightfoot turned to her and told her about one of the last prophecies they received from StarClan - the vision of the gentle camp, ringed in spears. 

That prophecy kept her going for so many seasons. And so did Lightfoot. As she watched Barelywave's entire demeanor change, and as she caught Iciclepool's gaze softening, she realized that Lightfoot chased hope for her Clan like it was the only thing that could feed them. 

She pondered. 

"Iciclepool?" 

"Yes?" 

"I have…a thought. Lightfoot is an exceptional cat, yes?"

"Of course," Iciclepool's eyes widened. "She's…well, I think she's one of the reasons we've made it this far. I'll be honest, I think part of my doubts about being your deputy was just…" She chuckled a little. "Well, I'm just surprised you didn't make it Lightfoot instead." 

"But I promised I'd make you my deputy, that day we started our plans. Everyone knew about that promise, Lightfoot included. Do you have any idea how mad she'd be if I asked her instead?"

Iciclepool laughed. "Oh, you're right. She would be mad if you dared to ask." 

Redpath purred, her tail twitching. "But, Lightfoot has been so vital to us. I want to do something for her. Let me know your thoughts on this?"  

Redpath presented her idea. Iciclepool agreed wholeheartedly. 

*******

Redstar obtained her nine lives. Her Clan greeted her with cautious hope. She confirmed her new name, and ForestClan rejoiced. 

"But, now that I'm the true leader of ForestClan, I have one last announcement I want to make." Redstar climbed up onto the High Rock. She did not feel the need to order a Clan meeting - her Clan was all here. Instead, she spoke. "Lightfoot - please step forward." 

Lightfoot was dumbfounded. She looked at the rest of her Clanmates, all of whom were equally confused. Safe for one - Iciclepool, who sat at the bottom of the rock to Redstar's left. Her tail was raised high, and her eyes beamed. Iciclepool nodded to the dark molly, beckoning her to approach. 

Lightfoot tilted her head, now curious. She padded towards Redstar and sat before her, looking up at her new leader. 

Redstar smiled, her tail lifted high. "Lightfoot," she began, "I want to acknowledge your role in keeping us together - as friends, and as a Clan." 

Lightfoot let out a mrrow of amusement. "Aw, Redstar, come on, you don't have to make an announcement out of that." 

"Let me finish. For many seasons now, Iciclepool and I have felt like you have been vital in helping us create a better ForestClan. Yes, Iciclepool and I resolved to defeat Lakestar. But you were there to orient us, to remind us of why we were making difficult choices. From what Iciclepool told me, it's because of you that Cloudthunder and Barleywave joined our cause. It was because of your kindness, and your stalwart faith in a better future that we kept pursuing this goal." Redstar's expression turned solemn. "Distancing myself from clanmates and playing the role of the right-hand to a tyrant was difficult, and isolating. I remember many moons where I felt bitter, and angry. Sometimes I doubted that others could ever trust me, after the things I've done. But you kept us together. You reminded us all of what we were fighting for, and that despite temporary pain, it was worth fighting for. I know you try to downplay that, but I don't think you realize how important that is." 

Lightfoot looked stunned.

Iciclepool nodded, softening. "The day we killed Lakestar - I was hurt when you suggested we hold a funeral for someone who caused us so much pain. But doing so reminded us of what we actually fought for. Not for revenge, or for retribution against our tormentor. But for peace."

"And Iciclepool and I agreed, that a better ForestClan could not be built on any cats' worst impulses and feelings. My hate - or, I suppose our hate - for Lakestar cannot be what this Clan is built on. And this will be what makes our home a better place." 

Cats murmured in agreement, and it seemed like Chicoryglint and Ferncreek caught on to what their leadership planned to do. Lightfoot herself also caught on, a look of shock and wonder placed upon her shoulders. Her pupils dilated. 

"I…I just believe we're made for more than this. I've always believed that," Lightfoot meowed. 

"And I believe you are more than that," Redstar replied. With a purr, she recited, "I call upon our warrior ancestors to look upon this cat. She has transcended what a warrior is expected to perform in service of their Clan, and I call upon you to honor this cat, as I bless them with a name that suits their actions." 

"Oh, mousedung, an honor name!" Barleywave shouted from the sidelines excitedly, receiving a few laughs and a single "shhh" from Ferncreek. 

Redstar hopped down from the High Rock and placed her tail on her friend's shoulder, her heart bursting with pride. "Lightfoot, do you wish to accept this honor name?" 

Lightfoot laughed nervously. "Do I have to?" she meowed with full humility. 

"Oh, please!" Iciclepool gave Lightfoot a wide-eyed, pleading look like that of a kit. 

Lightfoot burst with laughter, heat rising to her cheeks. "Ah, mousedung, how can I say no to a face like that? Very well, lovely deputy, just for you," she teased. She turned to face Redstar, her leader and friend, and gave her a smirk. "Okay, Redstar, you've got me. Yes, I do." 

"Then by the powers of StarClan, I grant you your new warrior name." Redstar recited this almost too quickly, as though Lightfoot was going to rescind the offer - although deep down, she knew she wouldn't. Redstar thought deeply about this name, she hoped that her friend would like it. "From now on, you will be known as Hopechase. StarClan honors you for your determination and endless positivity." 

Before the newly-named Hopechase could finish licking Redstar's shoulder, cats already chanted with enthusiasm. Hopechase was filled with joy. She purred loudly and pressed against both Redstar and Iciclepool.

"Thank you. Both of you." Hopechase meowed. 

Redstar let out a purr of amusement and flicked her tail. "Ah, that's quite alright. I was about done anyway." The leader rolled on her stomach and yawned, stretching her legs out and spreading her claws. She shook the sleep out of her face and gave the three moon old Shiverkit and five moon old Morningkit a small smile. "How can I help you two?" 

Shiverkit still looked embarassed, sitting down and grooming her paw once. "Um, uh, well…you see, I wanted to know, what's the oldest story?" 

Morningkit shifted, then spoke quickly, "I'm really sorry Redstar, I-I tried asking Iciclepool, but she said that as the lorekeeper, you would probably know more, but I didn't want to wake you from your nap…" 

"Morningkit, it's alright," Redstar let out a purr of reassurance, her tail flicking. "I was asleep for a few hours; I am rested," she added with a short yawn. Redstar tilted her head a bit. "Hm…the oldest story, though…that's a tough one." 

"Why?" Shiverkit mewed, tilting her head. 

"Well, there's a few old stories. But the oldest stories are often very disjointed, and sometimes quite long. Like…say," Redstar looked at them with amusement. "Didn't Hopechase try to tell you about the epic of the Fire that Saved the Clans?" 

Morningkit let out a groan, one that she immediately regretted as she stared at the ground. "I'm sorry, it's just…that one went for a very long time." 

Shiverkit looked at the older kit incredulously. "What? But that story was so cool! Fireheart was trying so hard to make his Clan believe his loyalty - " 

"I know, but it went on forever!"

"Then why didn't you go?" 

Morningkit's eyes widened. "That would be rude to Hopechase!" 

Redstar rolled her eyes and suppressed a mrrow of amusement. Ah. Hopechase knew exactly what she was doing when Iciclepool said she needed a break from the kits, then. Poor Morningkit. At least Shiverkit didn't seem to mind. A new storyteller, then? That would be nice - Redstar was a lorekeper, but she didn't consider herself a terrific storyteller. But, she would do her best. The oldest story ForestClan knew was steeped in analogies, using terms that would've carried different meanings back then. She fully anticipated that it would go over their heads. But oh well. It was an interesting story nevertheless.

Redstar got to her feet and determined the angle of the sun. It would be almost lunch time. She looked towards the cooking fire, and saw Cloudthunder showing Talonpaw how to remove the pelt from mice cleanly. "Tell you what - let's sit in the shade near the cooking fire. Maybe once I'm done, food will be ready." 

"Okay," Shiverkit bounded to her feet excitedly, her tail high. 

Redstar padded across the clearing, with Shiverkit and Morningkit not far behind. She sat at the base of a tall-growing bush, its leaves providing dappled shade. They were far enough away from the cooking fire to not disturb Talonpaw's lesson, she figured. 

"Alright," Redstar began. "ForestClan has kept a lot of stories - at least, as many as we can hope to remember." She ignored the pang in her chest. The loss of Tawnyshadow hurt her the most out of those who left ForestClan last leafbare - she hoped that wherever she was, she was warm and safe. "The oldest known story we have is the myth of the gardener and the winnower." 

Morningkit's eyes widened to the size of moons. "G-Gardener? L-Like the monster?" 

Redstar bristled. "No. Who told you about those?" 

Shiverkit tilted her head. "Oh, mama told us about how there used to be other Clans. A big monster called a Wretch hurt them, but we were kept safe because of the walls. They keep us safe from a lot of things, like Woodcrawlers, and Gardeners." Shiverkit's ears slowly folded back as her leader's expression tightened. Maybe this wasn't a story Iciclepool was allowed to tell.

Morningkit bristled and sputtered, "P-Please don't be mad at her. It's my fault. I was nervous and I kept asking how we're sure that the walls would keep us safe, and…" 

Shiverkit looked at Morningkit with her mouth open in protest. Redstar lifted a paw up for silence, then sighed. "It's no one's fault. I'm not angry at anyone. It's just not a story for kits." She did not want kittens to grow up terrified for their lives. "Gardeners - the Deep Root entity, to be clear - haven't been seen for many, many years. I've never seen one myself, so I wouldn't worry about facing one any time soon. But, it also shows why this story is so old, doesn't it? When I say 'gardener', it's meant in its original definition - someone that tends to plants and flowers." 

"What's 'winnower' mean?" Shiverkit asked.

"A winnower is also an old word - someone that separates chaff from grain." 

"What's chaff?" 

Redstar blinked. Oh no. This story was going to take forever, wasn't it?

"Er…alright, a better comparison - someone that separates fresh prey from rotten prey. But with plants instead of prey." Redstar needed to set ground rules, so that she wasn't interrupted for definitions every few seconds…great StarClan, she wasn't used to changing her language to speak to kits all that well, but…

You were given a life for teaching the young. You better make use of it. 

"Now, before I begin, a few rules," she started. "First, listen carefully. No interruptions. If you're confused, raise your paw. Second - the story is a very old myth, and it's what our ancestors used to explain how life began, and how StarClan came to be." 

At this, Morningkit and Shiverkit leaned in, a flicker of surprise and excitement prickling through them. Redstar took a deep breath, and began. 

"Before the world as we know it existed - there was…well, nothing yet. Hm…give me a moment…" Oh no. Redstar heard this story as an apprentice, and even the words used then were confusing to her. She was not going to say that the gardener and winnower were 'principles of ontological dynamics', whatever that meant. Come on, think…how did Tawnyshadow dumb it down again…? "From this nothing, there were…ideas. Like dreams, but without a dreamer. We don't know what forms they really took. But, how we describe them in this story is the best explanation we have. So, once upon a time-before-time, a gardener and a winnower lived together in a garden of possibilities." 

Redstar checked to see if they were confused. To her reassurance, both kits nodded in understanding, entranced. Redstar forcibly relaxed, and continued. 

"In this dream, mornings were eternal, and nights were a flicker against a grain of sand. Ideas flourished, worms wriggled in the dirt, insects buzzed around flowers, and eventually, in the center of their garden, grew a tall tree with silver leaves. It was all because of their joint cooperation that this garden flourished. In the morning, the gardener would plant seeds, and see what kind of plants would grow. By the evening, the winnower would reap the crops, separating the seeds from plants that flourished, and those that failed. But during the day, to pass the time, they played a game of possibilities." 

"Hey Redstar, are you talking about the gardener and winnower story?" Cloudthunder called out.

"Yes, I am! At least, I'm trying to," Redstar replied.

"Do you mind if Talonpaw joins you?" Talonpaw squeaked and looked at Cloudthunder in embarrassment, and the warrior laughed. "He's been distracted." 

Redstar bristled and groomed her shoulder, her ears hot. "Ugh - sorry, Cloudthunder. I didn't mean to distract. I could move over to my den?" 

"Nah, don't worry about it. You and Barleywave can teach him how to roast mice tonight for dinner instead." Cloudthunder let out a mrrow of amusement before swatting Talonpaw's back teasingly. "Alright, go on. Off with you!" 

Talonpaw offered a humble apology before trotting over. He groomed his arm and gave Redstar an apologetic stare. "I'm sorry Redstar, I didn't mean to interrupt my own training," he mewed. "It's just, um, I never heard this one before." 

Redstar offered a slow blink. "It's alright, Talonpaw. Consider this a history lesson, then. It's more in the realm of mythology, but myths are important as well." 

"I could help you remember too," Morningkit looked up at Talonpaw hopefully. 

"Ah, it's fine, Morningkit. Gotta do my training right." Talonpaw sat upright, a flicker of resolve in his blue eyes. "I'll pay attention to this one, I swear." 

Redstar twitched her whiskers. "Alright. I'll hold you to it. Now, where did I leave off…Oh, right, the game of possibilities.

"The game took place on a large grid of squares, and they used flowers as playing pieces. It was a game of strategy. Depending on how many neighbours a flower had, they either suffocated and died, or reproduced and spread. The only move the players could make was the initial starting placements on the board. Then, the game would unfold automatically, with pieces dying, reproducing and spreading. When the game was in progress, the board was colorful and lively. However, the game would always end one single way - one pattern would dominate all others, overpowering every other possibility. The winnower was pleased by this outcome. But the gardener, over time, grew dissatisfied.

'Oh, winnower, it always ends the same. It's always this one, invasive weed that succeeds.' 

The winnower didn't notice how vexed their partner was - er, sorry Shiverkit, I see your paw, it's the word 'vexed', isn't it? It's another word for being upset, or frustrated. Are we good? Ah, good. Back to the story - upon hearing the gardener's frustrations, the winnower replied, 'I know. Isn't it a beautiful pattern? It proves itself strong and adaptable above all others. A magnificent crop.' 

'It is dull. It consumes everything, and suffocates anything new that blooms.'  

'I don't understand. This is how the game is played, gardener. There must always be a winning pattern.' 

'But every time we play, it's always this one pattern that wins. A boring exploit where one pattern finds the most optimal path to victory, and that's all they ever care about. They do not evolve, or diversify, or even develop culture. They kill, conquer and multiply. There's so many patterns with beautiful colors, shapes and sizes that we'll never get to see because of this…pest.' The gardener angrily snuffed out one of the weeds, forcing its roots to die out. But the surrounding spaces quickly filled it with more of the same weeds. The gardener frowned and said, 'I am going to do something about it. I will add a new rule to the game.' 

At this, the winnower grew wary. 'What do you mean?' it asked. 

'We should add a rule that rewards those who make space for new complexity. A power to help those who prioritize change, and diversity, and move the game away from gridlock.' A flicker of excitement came across the gardener's face. 'Oh, we should make the rule run parallel to the game itself - a token that can only be gifted to a certain pattern every game. This way, it does not cause the game to spiral completely out of control…'

'All you will do is delay the end. The dominant pattern will always emerge victorious. You will create cancers and cysts, and tell rotting patterns to keep living despite it all.' The winnower's voice grew angrier, and more fearful. 'Gardener - whatever we create only exists, because it must exist. You will prolong suffering with your rule.' 

'No. I am a gardener. I am the growth and preservation of possibilities. I am gentle rain and nurturing sunlight. I tend to the field and promise its diversity. I breed the flowers and weave their vines together to create new shapes. I will make myself into a law in the game.' 

'And I am a winnower. I am the end of needless suffering, the preservation of strong patterns and proven success. I trim the overgrowth and separate the chaff from the grain. I remove rot and blight. If you insist on destroying the health of our game, then I will make myself into a law designed to stop you.' 

And with this declaration, the winnower looked down at its hand, and unsheathed the first weapon. The gardener ran, crushing leaves, berries and petals as the winnower chased them around their garden of possibilities. Grapes popped under their feet, creating the detonations that made the sun, and poured juices that would create rivers and lakes. Their steps in the mud created mountains and valleys. Landscapes were made from the winnower slashing at the undergrowth, and the gardener's panting made mist and hot air. Eventually, in a fit of rage, the winnower cut down their garden centerpiece - the tree of silver leaves. It toppled and rolled into the meadow, and from its stump, a black hole appeared and swallowed everything around them, like a gaping mouth - taking all the plants, stars, insects, water, the dominant weeds, the diverse flowers, the ivies and the worms, and the gardener and winnower themselves - and spat everything out the other side, creating our world as we know it." 

Redstar decided to pause for a moment, as the two kits' eyes widened to the size of plates. She let out a chuckle. "Are we still following? Nothing too confusing so far?" 

"Wait, wait wait - so what was the game? Was it real? Why did they have to fight?" Morningkit squeaked. 

Redstar turned towards Talonpaw. A surge of affection rushed through her heart as Talonpaw's expression was a mixture of awe and deep thought. His tail swished back and forth. 

"Talonpaw? I'd like to hear any thoughts, if you have them," she prompted. 

"Well…uh, I have a few, I guess," he meowed, tilting his head. "Are the gardener and winnower…life and death? 'Cause it sounds like they are. It would explain why the gardener got bored of the game ending with everything dying all the time."

"Very good observations. Did the game really end with everything dying?" 

Talonpaw frowned. His tail twitched. "Hmmm….Well - " 

"The game ended with invasive weeds!" Shiverkit exclaimed, getting to her feet. "You said the entire board always ended in one pattern, right?"

"Yes, that's right, Shiverkit," Redstar chuckled. "But you interrupted Talonpaw. You have to wait your turn." 

"Oh! Sorry," Shiverkit mewed and sat back down, tail curled around her paws patiently. She brushed her paw across her ear timidly. 

"It's okay! Shiverkit's right, I forgot the game ended with one pattern still alive. I'm with the gardener on this one, like…well done, mousebrains! You became so efficient that you forgot not to kill everything else. Now what?" Talonpaw said this lightheartedly, but Morningkit stared at the floor. A thought occurred to her, and her pelt bristled. Redstar lowered her head towards her, concerned. 

"Is everything alright, Morningkit?" Redstar hoped she sounded gentle. 

Morningkit startled, her eyes wide and tail puffed. "Ah! Um, um…yeah, I'm okay. It's just, um…" She looked away and pawed the ground nervously. "...T-This is just a story, right? It's not real?" 

"Yes, Morningkit, it's just a myth - an explanation our ancestors made for things they didn't understand. It's not like the Deep Roots. The winnower and gardener aren't real," Redstar reassured calmly. Poor thing - she knew Morningkit was easily frightened. "And besides - this is only half the story." 

"Yeah! You said it explained how StarClan exists?" Shiverkit piped. 

"I missed hearing that part! Does it really explain StarClan?" Talonpaw's eyes flickered with excitement.

Redstar let out a mrrow of amusement. "Alright, alright. Let me continue.

"So, the gardener and winnower were pulled out of their dream world. Now, they were real, and so were their patterns. The patterns took on their true forms - fish, birds, rabbits, deer, dogs, Twolegs - everything we know was once a cultivated pattern in the garden."

"Even grass?" Shiverkit gasped, staring at the green blades beneath her tiny paws, her blue eyes wide with awe. 

"Especially grass. The gardener regained their bearings, and shouted, 'Go, my little seeds. Grow, and bloom into wondrous forms never seen before in our game. Unite, and diversify. To those who are curious, and thoughtful, and merciful, I will watch over them. To the pattern who touches my heart, I will grant them the gift of my new rule. Everything you touch, you change.' 

But the winnower also recovered, and cemented its goal to stop the gardener. They turned to their patterns and cried, 'Go, my thriving vines. Conquer, multiply, and spread far and wide. Take what you need to survive, for if you do not, another will take it from you. Snuff out patterns to sustain your own, and never forget those who tried to strangle you. Become hungry, and feed. Prove your right to exist, or else fail to exist.' 

With these last commands, the winnower chased the gardener, and the gardener fled. The patterns obeyed their creators' final words, and lived. They were hungry, and they had to eat, so they ate each other - in accordance to the winnower. Trees rooted themselves in soil, and fed on water and sunlight, and caterpillars devoured the tree's leaves. Birds hunted the worms and plucked them from the ground. Foxes chased the birds and crushed them in their jaws. With enough time, some animals began thinking about the gardener's commands, and wondered if they could be stronger together. So, birds created flocks. Deer made herds. Twolegs made villages - " 

"And cats made Clans!" Shiverkit exclaimed. 

Redstar laughed. "No, not yet! But we're getting there. Cats were mostly solitary, but still formed small colonies and family groups.

"There were brief moments in time where the winnower would lose sight of the gardener during their chase. In these moments, the gardener would transform into different animals, and speak to its former seeds. One day, it stumbled upon a cat patrolling the forest. It watched the feline, wondering what kind of decisions it would make. The cat spotted a mouse foraging in the undergrowth, and stalked it. The gardener was chagrined when it watched the cat kill the mouse. But then, it saw something they hadn't seen from any cat before. 

The cat placed a gentle paw over the mouse's corpse, and closed their eyes. 'Thank you, dear mouse. My teeth are sharp, meat is my sole diet, and I am sorry that you were my prey today. I spared others of your kind - those pregnant, and too young. I hope they multiply, so that cats can do the same. May your kin run, hide and escape us often, so that we, too, can learn the thrill of the chase and the triumph of a successful hunt.' 

Touched by the respect the cat gave the mouse, the gardener revealed itself in the shape of a loner. The cat was wary, and it understood immediately that this was the gardener. 

'Dear cat - indulge my curiosity. Your kind are children of the winnower's rules - hunters by nature. What compels you to honor your prey?' 

'Dear gardener - why shouldn't I honor them? I may not be a mouse, but I know how I felt when my littermate was killed by a coyote. It held no malice to my sibling. The coyote was hungry. But when it ran off and refused to acknowledge the life it took, I was deeply hurt. The coyote and I are the same - we can only survive on the meat of others. I will not forget the lives I take, and I will teach my kits to do the same. I do so in the hope that one day, another animal, bigger and stronger than I, will honor me like I have done for this mouse.'

It was then that danger struck - the gardener was complacent, and the winnower snuck up on them in the shape of a wolf, their jaws open wide. To the gardener's shock, the cat leapt at the winnower, giving the gardener time to escape, at the cost of their life. The gardener hid in a hollow tree, and the winnower lost sight of them, eventually leaving the area. 

When they knew they were safe, the gardener approached the cat's body, and wept. Here was a pattern that was on the brink of diversifying; something unique and different from all the others, and it was snuffed out before it had the chance to proliferate. With hope in its heart, the gardener made a choice.

'Today, I invoke my new rule. My token of power will be placed upon this pattern. From now on, when cats die, they will not disappear. Their spirits will live on forevermore, becoming a part of the world. Cats who are willing to lead and guide other cats to diversify, will have long reigns - nine lives gifted by nine spirits of their own ancestors. For this gift, I sacrifice my voice, and take to the stars above.' 

And so, it was done. The gardener's shape turned into smoke, and rose to the skies above. The body of the dead cat miraculously healed, and it came back to life. The very last thing the cat heard was, 'Unite, and diversify. When you need guidance, look to the stars. And now, my silence begins.'

The cat, blessed with new life, took the gardener's words to heart. Even though they could not see them anymore, they spent the rest of their eight lives reaching out to other cats, uniting them, and diversifying together, creating Clans. The one thing that kept all Clans connected above all else, were the spirits of their ancestors, now united in the stars below the silent gardener.

And…that's it. That's the end of the myth," Redstar finished. She looked to see the awed faces of the young cats before her, and a purr escaped her throat. 

Shiverkit's tail twitched with excitement. "StarClan was really created by the gardener's power?" 

"Well, maybe, maybe not. It's a myth to explain how StarClan came to be, but we don't really know the truth," Redstar explained. 

"But…what happened to the winnower?" Morningkit mewed. 

"The story doesn't say. Sorry, Morningkit." 

"That is so cool." Talonpaw's pupils dilated. "I've never heard a story like this before. I like it a lot!" 

"I'm gonna go tell mama about it!" Shiverkit jumped to her feet.

"Wait Shiverkit - I think your mom is on patrol right now, and lunch must be ready soon. Why don't you and Morningkit go see Cloudthunder? The patrol will be back soon, I'm sure." Redstar beckoned her with her paw towards the kitchen.

"Okay! Thank you for telling me the story, Redstar. I really enjoyed it. I'll tell others about it!" Shiverkit mewed before bounding away. 

"Oh - wait for me! Be careful of the fire!" Morningkit jumped to her feet and trotted after Shiverkit.

Redstar smiled, then looked towards Talonpaw. "As for you, Talonpaw, I still need to make sure this was a lesson of some kind, at least! I'll have to question you on it." 

Talonpaw straightened up. "Lay it on me, I got this!" 

"Eager! I love to see it," Redstar chuckled. "This is an old myth, the oldest one we have on record. Other old stories are the epic of the Fire that Saved the Clan, and the Journey to the Desert. How does this one differ from them?" 

Talonpaw groaned and threw his head back. "Ugh, I thought I was just supposed to remember this one! Sorry - I'll be good. Hold on, let me think about it," the young tom grumbled as his tail tapped the ground. His ears swiveled as he thought things over, and Redstar couldn't help but beam. She had grown fond of the apprentice - he was always eager and willing to learn and explore, even if he made mistakes. He was a wonderful apprentice for the start of the new ForestClan. "Okay, uhh…I guess the language of this one was different, it seemed way more...mysterious? I think? The Fire and the Journey are long, but their language was still…normal? Straightforward!" Talonpaw's ears perked. "Yeah, straightforward! That's the word. Sure, the prophecies in those stories are metaphorical, but it was like this story was just one big StarClan prophecy. There's words that meant something back then that mean something way different now, too, which means it's really old. Like, living things were 'patterns', like we were all weaved linen or something. Today, we'd just say we're animals or plants. The word 'gardener' must've been something else back then too, 'cause today, I can't imagine a story with a Gardener as a good guy, you know?" 

"Good observations! What do you think this story could tell us about how our ancestors lived?" the leader prompted. 

"Well, for one, Gardeners must've not been named Gardeners yet. And if this myth did exist, then I think whoever named Gardeners was either crazy, or bad at naming things. Err, sorry, maybe a bad thing to joke about, heheh," Talonpaw licked his chest fur nervously before looking back up. "But, it sounds like they were grateful for anything they caught, just like we are today!" Talonpaw purred, holding his tail high. "Sure, they didn't thank StarClan - but that's because StarClan didn't exist yet! I think it's cool that our ancestors thought what made us different was gratitude!" 

"That's an excellent takeaway from that myth, Talonpaw. Anything else? What about the gardener and winnower as entities?" 

"Uh…I mean, I guess it's weird that we don't ever talk about them anymore! Just StarClan. Dunno why though," Talonpaw shrugged. "I think the story is really cool!" 

"I also thought it was curious that we never mentioned them in any ceremonies as a child. I assumed that it had to do with the gardener's unfortunate name." 

"Yeah, that's too bad. Although…something else bothers me." Talonpaw's brows furrowed with thought. 

Redstar blinked at him, a prickle in her chest. "What is it?" 

"I…guess it's more of a question than anything. Do we…know how old Deep Roots are?"

The question caught Redstar off guard for a moment, her blue eyes wide. She mulled over the question, then returned the frown. "Hm…I'm sorry Talonpaw, I wish I knew the answer. If it was known, we've since lost the information. All I know is that they did exist before the Wretch first appeared, but in much smaller numbers." 

Talonpaw's blue eyes widened. "Then…hm…ah, no, I'm overthinking it," he mumbled nervously. "Sorry." 

"No no, go on. There are no stupid questions, Talonpaw." 

"Well, it's more of a wrong conclusion, really. 'Cause at first, I thought, if the Deep Roots were here for a long time, and hurt our ancestors as much as they do now, then I wonder if the 'dull weeds' in the garden of possibilities - yannow, the ones that always took over everything? - I wondered if maybe those were meant to be Deep Roots." 

Redstar's neck fur bristled. 

"But, uh, I guess not, since they weren't that big an issue before." Talonpaw didn't notice Redstar's discomfort, and a flicker of realization skipped across his face. "Oh! Maybe they were talking about Twolegs? I mean, from the stories I know, it doesn't sound like they're all evil, but those that are, really are, apparently? It doesn't sound that different from cats. But they keep terraforming everything, and I've heard some really wild stories from Olive! Did you know that Twolegs can apparently communicate with each other from really far away, using black rectangles? That's so weird to me!"  

Talonpaw's change of subject forced Redstar to redirect her attention. Her neck fur flattened, and she entertained the boy's curiosities and adventurous spirit. As she listened to him talk about the things he learned, the two cats padded back towards the kitchen, to a small handful of cats who were now gathered around, prepared to eat a warm meal, and chattering about their day. Shiverkit in particular wanted to recount the story to anyone who would listen, despite Morningkit's attempts to redirect her. 

Redstar never thought too deeply about the story of the gardener and winnower. It was a myth, not a historical event - so everything that was mentioned in it was nothing but a religious parable, if anything. 

But, maybe Talonpaw had stumbled across a thought that her ancestors also held. And she had no way of knowing. 

PREFIX: RED-

"Red" is a fairly common prefix, if unoriginal. It's about as normal as calling a kit by any other color prefix, like "White", "Black", "Ginger", "Golden" or "Silver". It is almost always named after the primary color of a kit's pelt - which suits Redstar's tortoiseshell pattern.

While ForestClan typically use color prefixes to refer to a cat's pelt, there's still some occasional connotations that come with them, by association to other elements found in nature. When a cat thinks of the color "red", positive elements can be tied to autumn leaves, raspberries, raw prey, and sunsets. Red landscapes are often tied to the leaf-fall season and its rush of energy for harvesting herbs and hunting before the cold leaf-bare settles in.

However, there are two negative images associated with "red". The first is deathberries, hiding from untrained minds as berries acceptable to eat. The second is blood, and flesh, and all the wretched associations that come from staring at the maw of an active Woodcrawler den. Considering the horrors tied to those things, it's expected that any cat with the prefix "Red-" should definitely have a suffix tied to their appearance or something unquestionably positive, if they can help it.

SUFFIX: - PATH

"-path" is an unusual suffix that is rarely seen in ForestClan, but when it does appear, it carries some degree of seriousness - unless, of course, the prefix makes it sound beautiful or whimsy.

A cat with the suffix "-path" is often one that is perceived with a hint of ambition, stubbornness or faith. When a cat thinks of a path, it's not complicated - it's a road that is travelled, and a well-tread path is one that can be deemed reliable by many. Especially if more animals than just cats find it helpful! A path can be anything - a log across a river, lines of plants and grasses parted away under the feet of animals that have tread through it. Lilypath or Bluepath sound like beautiful trails lined with flowers, for instance. Woodpath or Riverpath communicate actual passages - and a cat that bears them might be seen as having an affinity with traveling them.

Alternatively, a path could be a metaphorical one. When one decides what kind of role in the Clan they will take, that is a path that they have chosen for themselves. Or when one has a strong goal that they wish to pursue in their life, or a belief they hold to their heart - that is a path they have chosen to walk. It can apply to faith, stories, philosophies, anecdotes about how the world works - whatever a cat holds close as an expression of themselves and how they choose to carry their life.

FULL NAME: REDPATH

Redpaw was a young cat that asked a lot of questions. A lot of questions. But when she was given an answer that held no further line of inquiry, she accepted it at face value. Redpaw's mentor, Cloverdash, noted to Lakestar that she was sharp and pursued answers to their satisfaction, and if there was a historical basis for it, she devoured the knowledge and used it to her benefit. Even Lakestar herself noticed that Redpaw would press her without fear. While at first this agitated her, the fact that Lakestar could simply tell her the truth of apprentice trials - that they existed to keep the Woods at bay and that no, Lakestar could not just give her lives to the woods to do it...well. It impressed her when Redpaw accepted it with no outward horror or aggression.

Redpaw grew into a warrior with a keen eye, good hunting skills, and a level of ambition that boiled at the surface that Lakestar couldn't identify. Perhaps it is deep in the roiling subconscious of her mind, some nagging force that told her this cat would leave something behind, that made her give the name Redpath. Really, it was reflexive. She mulled over it. Thought about giving the name Redleaf, or Redheart. But no. Redpath, she decided before she stepped on the High Rock.

It was a visually pleasing name, at least at first. Redpath's well-mannered and witty personality gave her clanmates, at first, the impression of "a path layered in red autumn leaves." But as Lakestar's insanity dived further and further, and Redpath's heart grew colder and colder, the positive image lost its luster, and perhaps finally, Lakestar's hunch came to fruition. Now, she was perceived as "a path soaked in blood."

But as the lives poured out from Lakestar's body, the other interpretation of her name came to her as her last thoughts. "A bloodstained philosophy."

Redstar wonders sometimes if Lakestar knew the path she would take, secretly. A road that involved a lot of blood and pain. Perhaps she just didn't think it'd be her blood.

Iciclepool and Hopechase still stare at their friend as she leaves at night to try and feed the woods over and over. Trying to die and spill her own blood for the sake of those she loves.

HISTORY OF THE NINE LIVES CEREMONY

The leadership ceremony, much like in the Warriors canon books, is an extremely old rite of passage granted to deputies who rise to leadership status. When the prior leader dies or retires, the medicine cat would guide the deputy to their sacred site by nightfall to commune with StarClan. They would fall into a deep sleep, and awaken in the starry fields with their ancestors. When ready, nine StarClan cats, usually ones that the deputy knew in life, would grant them one life each, filled with memories, strength and traits the StarClan cat hopes will help guide the deputy in their leadership. Once complete, the leader is granted the suffix -star, and is welcomed as their Clan's new leader.

When there were five Clans around the lake, it was generally expected that these lives were used to protect and defend their clanmates at all costs. Leaders were expected to lead border patrols, frontline any battle, and in times of sickness, act as plague doctors alongside their medicine cats. After all, if a leader has nine lives to spare, then it's only reasonable for a leader to subject themselves to cats with greencough instead of some other cat, or a vital cleric. Leaders that sat around in camp all day or tried to deal with inner-camp workings were seen as meek or timid - they had a deputy to do tactics and organizing, their job was now to actually lead.

However, once the Wretch decimated the four lost Clans and left the surviving ForestClan without a way to speak with StarClan, leaderships were often quick and unstable. Without the ability to attain nine lives, and with the sudden increase of aggressive Woodcrawlers, leaders became less and less willing to throw themselves into danger, reasonably. Fear and superstition lead to the rise of kits being stolen by Living Tendrils and apprentice trials becoming common place - in part to allow leaderships to last at least somewhat longer, in theory, at least. But truth is, most of ForestClan's leaderships during this time were governed through fear of the woods, and rigorous control. It's a surprise that the very concept of StarClan survived this time in ForestClan's history.

By the time the Half-Moon Dome was discovered, StarClan reestablished proper communication with ForestClan, and told them the truth of why they remained silent for many seasons: the Iris' dangerous gaze and the origin of the Deep Root entities. In an attempt to give hope to the surviving Clan, StarClan reinstated the nine-lives ceremony, and medicine cats could commune with them again. The titles of "secret keepers" and "protectors of secrets" were adopted during this time.

Despite how helpful it might seem for StarClan to grant additional lives to cats other than leaders in this day and age, it's actually paramount that they don't. When a life is given to a cat, the StarClan cat's pelt and energies condense and form inside of the living cat, emitting electromagnetic waves. Needless to say, if the Iris were to suddenly pick up on a living object that radiated the electromagnetic pulses of nine entire stars, it would be incredibly suspicious, even more so if it sensed this on other cats as well. The cats that grant nine lives must now act as a leader's "heavenly guard", shielding any electromagnetic waves that passively emit from the leader.

StarClan always give these lives with the hopes that the leader will do what leaders of old once did - sacrificing themselves for the sake of their clanmates. But they are not gods, and they do not have any way to enforce this. Much like a cat must simply have faith in StarClan's power, StarClan must simply have faith that their leaders will use their strengths wisely.

Alas, faith without works is dead faith.

LEADERSHIP CEREMONY

Once the former leader has lost all of their lives, the lead cleric brings the deputy to a secluded corner of the camp, where the rest of the Clan are ordered to not disturb or approach them as a part of the ceremony. Before they head towards the Half-Moon Dome, the medicine cat recites the following:

---

MC: "[Deputy's Name], you have been [Previous Leader]'s apprentice for many moons. They chose you because they had faith that you could lead ForestClan once they were long gone. They chose you under the watch and approval of our ancestors, with all the burden that comes with it. Do you still accept that responsibility?"

Deputy: "I do."

MC: "In addition to this responsibility, your world will change forever. If you accept StarClan's lives, you must also accept to carry the same burden the clerics are entrusted with - StarClan's greatest held secret. This knowledge is not one of honor. There is nothing valued in it. We think of our Clan as a powerful culture, but what is being withheld is dangerous and repulsive to us. This secret is one you must hold, and keep to your heart, and burden no other. Only you, and your clerics, will know the truth. This is your final warning. If you cannot accept this burden, speak now."

Deputy: "I accept this burden."

MC: "Then by StarClan's light, may you find strength to carry it."

---

If the deputy decides at any point in this process to reject the burden, then the deputy must decide within the day who will be their successor instead. When they return to camp, the medicine cat will take the stand and declare that while the former deputy is and honorable one, it takes honor to know their limitations, and to know whether or not they can accept StarClan's ceremony. Under StarClan's eyes, they spoke who will be their true successor, and nominated a new cat.

If all responsibilities are accepted, the deputy is escorted to the Half-Moon Dome by the next nightfall. The eldest cleric usually guides them alone, but more clerics can join if the lead cleric chooses, or if the deputy insists upon it.

Once they descend down into the ruined bunker and approach the Half-Moon Dome, the eldest medicine cat emphasizes the deputy's responsibility. The following script is recited: ---

MC: "Before StarClan's gaze, I repeat again the responsibilities you will carry. Your life will never be the same. Your view of our world will be changed. You will know of StarClan's greatest secret, and be made to keep it until you lose your final life. In return, you will be granted nine lives with which to carry your leadership, and ensure ForestClan's survival. You will have the support of your clerics, and know that StarClan is by your side. Do you accept this?'

Deputy: "I do."

MC: "Then press against the Half-Moon Dome, and dream of our ancestors."

---

The deputy will then do as instructed, and so will the cleric, and any other clerics if they are present. A dream from StarClan should occur, and the deputy should be standing in a starry field of blue grasses. The clerics will be sitting at a distance, leaving the deputy in a clearing. If all goes well, the following should occur.

---

StarClan: "Greetings, [Deputy's Name]. Are you ready to receive your nine lives?"

Deputy: "I'm ready."

---

From the aether, nine starry cats should materialize in a half-circle around the deputy. The cats are usually those that the deputy has known in life, but that's not always the case. There is no restriction to what age or rank a StarClan cat needs to be in order to give a life, with the exception of newborns.

One at a time, a StarClan cat will approach the deputy and give them a life with the following script, or some variation thereof:

---

SC Cat: "With this life, I give you [quality, virtue]."

---

Usually the cat giving the life will personalize their message, either relaying them what they should use their life for, or emphasizing the importance of the virtue granted. Usually, StarClan grants virtues that they determine the deputy may be lacking in, or require reminders or more insight on. Once every life is granted, the final cat will finish the ceremony.

---

SC Cat: "And now, your old life is no more. We hail you by your new name, [Leader Name]."

[The voices of StarClan will chant the new name. Once the chant is finished, the StarClan cats will dematerialize.]

StarClan: "[Leader Name]. With our lives, you have also accepted to carry our greatest secret. We wish we did not have to speak it to you. But we must. So you can understand the nature of the woods, and know why we cannot speak freely."

[The world will darken, and the grasses will wilt. A vision very similar to the one seen by Shiverpaw at the final part of Moon 6 will occur, where set pieces will appear alongside StarClan's script.]

StarClan: "The Iris. That is the name of our true enemy. The thing that sent the omens to the lost Clans. The origin of the mockeries of nature. It is something beyond cat-kind. Beyond the lifespans of ancient Twolegs. Beyond the existence of the land you walk on. We fight it, every single moment. Even now, we disrupt its voice and slow its arrival towards Earth. But it will not be enough. We do not know if anything will be enough. But we must try. The Iris must not see StarClan. It cannot know that cats can speak with us. It has already targeted Twolegs under its cruel gaze for their intelligence and power. And this is why we do not speak to you as freely as we once did with your ancestors. We must hide. We must stay away from its gaze. And so must all of you. You know now the secret of the woods. The creatures of the woods cannot be stopped. They cannot be run from. So long as the Iris looms in the void beyond the furthest skies, the woods will always try to feed. But please. Don't be afraid. We hide your dreams from it. We reflect its attempts to hurt you, and are always searching for answers. We love you, and we are so, so sorry that you must be burdened with this. We hope you can forgive us, and know that we love the Clans. Be brave, [Leader Name]."

---

The vision will end with a blinding light that engulfs the new leader's vision, and from there, the ceremony will end. The leader and clerics will wake up from their slumber, and from there, they can either choose to sleep the rest of the night at the Half-Moon Dome, or they can return to camp and sleep there. It's typically recommended they spend the night at the bunker, in order to give the leader time to recuperate and process the incredibly heavy burden they were given before facing their clanmates.

The cleric usually spends several minutes after the ceremony answering any questions the leader has - and there are usually many. It's not every day you're told that an eldritch planet is the source of the Woodcrawlers, and that it's slowly approaching the Earth.

By the next morning, the new leader is hailed and Clan operations resume as normal.

CULTURAL IMPACT

The leader's capacity to have nine lives, by itself, is enough for many cats to believe in StarClan - after all, cats don't simply come back from the dead. By that measure alone, leaders are often seen as symbols of StarClan's will alongside clerics. This has resulted in a lot of superstitious and tumultuous history, as many cruel practices like apprentice trials were occasionally excused or justified by warriors as a part of StarClan's will.

The knowledge of the Iris is definitely a curse upon ForestClan, and it's the reason why the titles of leader and medicine cats used to be "secret keepers" and "protectors of secrets". While the knowledge is imparted to them specifically so they can make decisions that promise wide survival over comfort, one wonders if that burden is worth it. Chances are, that knowledge is given so that when the leaders and clerics ultimately do pass on, they understand right away that as the ones closest to StarClan with the brightest stars in their pelts, they know their responsibility to deflect the Iris' electromagnetic waves.

But that certainly must have an impact on the choices the leaders make, no? One wonders if leaders who upheld apprentice trials did so because they believed nothing ForestClan did against Woodcrawlers actually mattered in the long run - the Deep Root entities would always exist thanks to the Iris, and at least in death, apprentices and any ForestClan cat could see that the Woods were horrible - but that thing looming in the depths of space was so, so much worse, and StarClan needed as many cats to fight it as possible. A twisted belief based on cursed eldritch knowledge.