#lambheart

After a long walk—during which Buzzardfur nearly slips on the wet rocks multiple times—Bouncerumble comes to an abrupt stop next to a fallen tree trunk that spans the river. “Sit,” they say, and Buzzardfur does, staring into the water that sparkles beneath Silverpelt.

“This is the place?” 

Buzzardfur winces at his own stupid questions, but Bouncerumble simply nods. “Touch your nose to the water,” they instruct, “and let your mind be free. StarClan will visit you. I know they will.”

Buzzardfur is still dubious as he crouches down next to the river, but he obeys nonetheless. 

It doesn’t happen right away, but it doesn’t take too long, either. One moment, all he sees is the inside of his eyelids; the next, Buzzardfur finds himself in the center of a grassy clearing, his fur drenched in silvery starlight. He looks down at the ground and rubs one paw against the thick grass beneath it; he knows—thinks—he hasn’t physically moved, but it feels as real as the wet rock had just a few moments ago. 

Why is he alone, though? Where is everyone? Surely some cat is supposed to be here to greet him—nine of them, if they’re planning on giving him his nine lives. But …

“Buzzardfur.”

Buzzardfur starts, the fur on his back raising, and whips around, but when he sees who it is, his haunches settle. It’s nobody he knows, he thinks, not even anyone he’s seen at a gathering, but somehow, the cat who’s greeted him—a small, silvery-white tom with black swirls in his fur—is familiar, like an old friend. “You’re … Do I know you?” he asks, and the other cat smiles gently.

“Not yet.” The other cat shakes his head, though the smile remains. “I’m here to watch over you and the cats you lead. My name is Lambheart.”

“Lambheart,” Buzzardfur repeats. “Are you … are you from the original WaspClan?”

The smile on Lambheart’s face falters. “I was, yes,” he says after a beat, a hint of sadness in his voice. “It was a good clan when I knew it. We were …” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I’m here to talk about. There’s a new WaspClan, Buzzardfur, and I want to help give you the power to lead it.”

Buzzardfur’s questions are still myriad, but he doesn’t protest, as much as he wants to. “Right. I’m ready,” he lies, and shuts his eyes.

When Lambheart touches his nose to his forehead, Buzzardfur hardly has a moment to register it before a wave of intensity washes over him. There’s no other word to describe it: it’s not a good feeling or a bad one, just … intense. Over the pounding over his heart in his ears, he makes out Lambheart’s words: “Take this gift, to help you endure in the face of hardship.”

Buzzardfur opens his mouth to reply, but finds himself speechless. When he manages to open his eyes, he finds himself surrounded by wispy, starry figures in the shape of cats. Some of them are strangers, but some he recognizes—his sister Stripekit, who’d died of redcough; his father’s best friend, Wolftooth, who’d been slain by a SaplingClan warrior. His voice fails as he tries to call out to them, but just seeing them fills him with warmth.

“We grant you your remaining eight lives,” they say, a chorus of meows filling the air. Over and over, Buzzardfur is hit with swirls of energy, stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. “Use them well, with our blessing.”

The StarClan cats’ voices are still echoing in his mind when Buzzardstar opens his eyes—his real ones this time. He stares at the star-speckled water of the Moonfalls, breathing heavy. Buzzardstar, Buzzardstar, Buzzardstar!

“Buzzardstar?” Bouncerumble asks, and the voices fall silent.