âIs this something?â Ermineclaw pawed awkwardly at the sad, withered and brown plant poking up out of the snow. However, there was no answer.Â
âHeatherbrook?â He looked up with a small huff of irritation. Heatherbrook was staring at something on the bank, her back arched and fur bristling in alarm.Â
He looked around nervously, ears pricked and jaws parted. âWhatâs the matter? Is it a fox?â
Heatherbrook still stood transfixed, her breathing becoming heavy pants, her whole body drenched in fear-scent. Ermineclaw followed her terrified gaze to see she was gazing at a spot down at her paws. It took him a moment before he realized what she was staring at. It could have been easily mistaken as a clump of snow, but now that he was paying more attention, he could make out a limp shape covered in white fur.
Thinking sheâd found a dead kit, Ermineclaw bounded over, ready to check for signs of life, but soon halted with an exasperated hiss.
âItâs just a weasel. Silly thing must have drowned.â He sniffed tentatively at the corpse. It was damp and covered in a thin layer of frost, its mouth open in a death grimace, bearing perfect white teeth. A trickle of blood remained frozen in crystals down its muzzle and throat.
âNo⌠itâs not a weasel.â Heatherbrook rasped, not once looking away from the still, frozen body on the embankment.
âGoodness, whatâs got into you?â Ermineclaw prodded the body. âItâs probably good to eat, right? We can take it back as freshkill- unless you think it died of something catching? Whatâs your professional opinion, as a medicine cat?â
âI-I need to speak to Icestar.â Heatherbrook stammered, backing away. âThis is a message from Starclan.â
âWhat- really?â Ermineclaw chased after her as she started to run back towards camp the way theyâd come. âSo does that mean we canât eat it?â
***
Heatherbrook was one of Ermineclaw's biggest advocates in RiverClan. They weren't close as friends, but she saw he was a good cat - a terrible deputy, but a good cat. One who definitely didn't deserve to be murdered.
And the fact that StarClan sent her an omen in the first place meant it was because there was a chance to change the outcome, and she wasn't about to let that go to waste, no matter what Icestar said. She was a medicine cat, and that meant it was her sworn duty to save the lives of her clanmates.
I haven't drawn Heatherbrook before so I'm not sure I'm satisfied with how this came out. I only have Heather's human and taur au self, and one color reference for the warrior au.
Please feel free to leave comments! I love hearing from you!
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    Fern sat down and yelled. Not any words, just vowel sounds in a very exasperated tone. The swirly furred cat simply screamed his ire at the few stars peeking through gaps in the snow-spewing clouds overhead.
    It was the middle of leafbare, and all the prey were too damn stubborn to show up. He hadnât eaten more than a couple of shrews in a week. He had set out from his cozy and warm little dirt-filled cave in search of something, anything, to soothe his aching hunger, only a few hours after the sun had risen, and now the sun had just slipped below the horizon and he still hadnât caught so much as a hint of a scent of something to eat. Fern had even strayed far from his own territory in his desperation.
    These thoughts and others ran through his head as his shout tapered off into silence. Fern continued to stare upward, his head lost in clouds much like the ones he gazed at. He thought he vaguely recalled those stars once holding all the hope he had had. The faith that he now unburied from deep underground. But that didnât matter now. Neither earth nor sky seemed to hold any food. He heaved a sigh. He had to find his way home. Heâd spend the night hungry, sure, but at least at home heâd be dry and warm. But he was in unfamiliar territory now, and in his hunger had failed to pay attention to where he was going. It would be a long night. He stood, then froze.
    In the fresh silence, he noticed the sound of several other cats breathing. As cathartic as a good scream could be, he realized in hindsight that maybe he shouldâve waited until he was home and safe before announcing his presence at the top of his lungs. Oh well. Too late for that now. âShow yourselves. I donât feel like fighting anyway,â he shouted as he took a defensive stance. Two cats, one amber and yellow in front of him, one grayish brown from off to his right, stepped into view. He heard a third, off to the other side and a bit behind, he thought, but when he turned to look there was nothing. Wait, no, there was a third cat, shades of white and blending in with the snow. All female, judging by their scents. All angry, judging their faces. The yellow one looked angriest of all.
    âWhat do you think youâre doing on our territory?â The yellow cat asked, her voice as rough as her mood. âAnd which clan are you from?â Meowed the white one, whose voice sounded much more inviting. But her eyes, Fern noticed, felt colder than the snow they all stood in. Fern hesitated, suddenly very aware of the danger he was in. âW-well, uh,â he stuttered, uncertain where to begin, âYâsee... I was, um... hunting, apologies about that. I uh... I wouldâve stayed off your turf, if I had bothered to... to notice... that I was trespassing. I-I didnât actually... catch anything, so uh... hopefully not as big a deal it couldâve been?â He added. The amber cat scoffed, âNot a big deal,â she put on a mocking voice, ââOh donât worry I was just trying to steal your preyâIN THE MIDDLE OF LEAFBARE MIND YOUâbut itâs ok âcause I didnât actually manage to do itâ. How stupid do you think we are!?â Fern wanted to laugh at that. He didnât, âcause she had her claws out and he wanted to keep his fur thank you very much. âDo you think Iâm stupid enough to underestimate a new enemy? Nah... I prefer to be honest about stuff... even if that honesty might get me in more trouble... Although.. I donât know what lie could get me out of trouble here, so... why even bother with it?â He trailed off, turning his gaze away from the glares of the brighter two cats. His eyes rested on the grayish cat, instead. He was taken aback by the look in her eyes; the anger was gone, replaced by an emotion he wasnât sure he could place. âWistful or longingâ was his best guess.
    âWho are you?â The question came in the form of a soft mew. Before Fern could respond, the amber cat cut in, âYes, who exactly are you and which clan are you from?â He hummed, unsure of how to answer, but the gray cat spoke up and made it easy for him. âI donât think heâs from another clan, Amberthorn. No cats in any clan have fur like that,â she said. âLike what?â Amberthorn replied sharply. âA couple of facial stripes? Whatâs so special about that?â
    The white cat started to speak, but Fern cut in. ââScuse me, my turn to interrupt,â he said with a smile. Fern didnât give her the opportunity to speak. Quickly he turned in place, aiming his left flank at the yellow cat. Suddenly feeling relaxed and confident, as if in his own territory, he continued. âIâm the only cat Iâve ever met with spirals like mine. Iâm quite proud of my appearance, I must admit. And I know Iâll know my family if I ever meet them, because theyâll have spirals just like me,â he mused.
    âNo they donât,â the gray cat stated. Fern hmmed at her, his head tilted. âYa sure âbout that? Didja happen to meet them, âcause Iâd love to,â he purred. âFern- ... Fernbranch, itâs me, itâs HeatherbrookâHeatherpaw when you knew meâyour sister. Donât you remember?â
    No, in fact, Fern did not remember. Or did he? Hard to say, really. He sifted through his memories, they were so jumbled. Memories never really mattered when there was no one but the dragons lurking in his dreams to speak to, and those were more interested in sharing their own memories than in looking into his. He ummed and hmmed and huhhed, âtil suddenly he came across a memory from his early days.
    In the eldersâ den, Fernkit laid near the entrace, looking over his shoulder for his sister. A cranky old white and brown cat, Snowpatch, had complained about being hungry, and Heatherkit had run off to find him freshkill, leaving Fernkit alone with the elders. It had been long enough she should be back by now. âWhereâd my sister go?â he asked. Snowpatch snorted at him. âI donât know about any sister of yours,â Fernkit winced, but the old tom meowed on, âbut Heatherkit probably went off to find a warrior. There wasnât any freshkill when we woke, or else I wouldnât be hungry now.â
    Another elder, this one an pale gray, scolded Snowpatch, âWhat do you mean, âany sister of hisâ? Heatherkit is his sister, Snow, whether you like it or not.â He groaned, âNot this argument again. Look Ash, I think just because her mother took the boy in doesnât make them siblings, and you know you wonât change my mind about it.â Fernkit buried his head in his paws. âDonât go starting with that nonsense again, Snow,â Ashtail got to her paws, furious. âI donât know why you feel the need to insist that this kitten is an outsider or that his mother is a liar. And right in front of him no less! You realize youâre bullying an innocent kitten for something, if itâs true, is completely beyond his control.â She glowered at Snowpatch, daring him to respond. He stared at her for a moment. âFind me another clan cat with swirls like his, and Iâll believe heâs a clan cat himself. Even then I wonât believe heâs Puddlepeltâs kit. Just smell âim. Nothing like her or Heatherkit. Now, I think itâs best we change the subject already, or else weâll end up clawing each other,â he said with a huff, and turned away. In a moment, the sourness in his face melted away. âLooks like Heatherkitâs back,â he purred. As she entered, Fernkit jumped up and ran away. He wanted to cry, to hide. He thought he heard someone shout after him, but he didnât bother to listen.
    Fern swallowed hard. He hadnât thought about that moment in years. He hadnât cared about any of that in years. But the memory of the pain was enough to hurt him now. Heatherbrook stepped to him. âAre you alright? Whatâs wrong?â He shook his head. âI donât have a sister, Heather. Not in any clan, at least. Just ask Snowpatch that.â Heatherbrook tried to argue. So did Amberthorn. Fern didnât listen. He walked away. When they followed, he ran. He wasnât worried; he had always prided himself on his quick stride. He could lose them. He could find his way home, just as soon as he was alone. He just wanted to be alone.