She was barely managing to breathe on her own. The pained, raspy, drawn-out inhales were followed by exhales that always sounded like they would be her last. Sometimes she would pause for a moment too long, distressingly still, before repeating the cycle. Every single breath was agonizing to listen to in the quiet of the night.

Rushroot sat with one golden paw on the senior’s shoulder, where he felt like it would hurt her the least to be touched, scanning her with his eyes. The cancer had spread out rapidly – her chest and belly, shrinking despite her appetite, had grown several hard lumps over the course of a week. He didn’t have to be a healer to guess that it was, internally, choking the life out of her lungs and heart. It was a miracle that she was still alive at all.

“Stars help her,” someone said softly.

Rushroot looked up and blinked. Minnowpounce, a grey-brown-and-white queen, was somehow awake despite her newborn litter taking up so much of her time during the day. She certainly looked sleepy, but her eyes were deeply sad. She had bonded quickly with Nettlecloud soon after she had come to live with the Buzzards while her sons were off doing… something. Rushroot couldn’t help a twinge of anger that they hadn’t come back in the past few days to see their mother.

“Indeed,” he said. He returned his attention to his patient, noting silently that her droopy, thick fur had thinned out and become a little coarse in correlation with the lumps. “I don’t know how long she has. She could be gone by the morning.”

“I hope not.” Minnowpounce shuffled and one of her kits complained with a squeak. “At least, not before her sons get to say goodbye.”

“Wherever they are,” Rushroot muttered. “It’s a marvel they’re not here.”

“The Clast camp isn’t even that far away,” Minnowpounce agreed. “They could afford a visit.” She paused, then added quietly, “If whatever was happening isn’t holding them up.”

Rushroot remembered it, a couple days back – the screams and yowls, carried by the breeze from the direction of the settlement. It had cut off as suddenly as it started, absorbed by the drumbeat of rain and cackle of thunder. Several Scattered cats had walked by their nesting ground and asked if anyone knew what was going on. No one was bold enough to walk right into the most aggressive family’s home after what sounded like a massive fight and snoop around.

“They’ll come, I’m sure,” Minnowpounce said after a moment, “but they need to come soon.”

Rushroot hummed discontentedly, eyes now roaming aimlessly through the nighttime landscape. “We might have to send someone to go get them, if they don’t…”

He paused and squinted. Something, some dark shape, was just barely visible on the horizon.

“What?” Minnowpounce yawned. “Don’t tell me they’re here as we speak.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Rushroot stood up. “Unless they’ve brought friends.”

Minnowpounce sounded concerned now. “Who is it, then?”

Rushroot did not have long to answer that question; in a few moments, the shape grew and spread out into four cats, all running straight for the Buzzard’s temporary camp. At the lead was a tortoiseshell, only visible by the moonlight striking the ginger parts of her fur.

The sounds of rustling grass and heavy footsteps was stirring the rest of the cats behind Rushroot. Minnowpounce was already whispering to their comrades that someone was approaching. Nettlecloud’s breath quickened. Rushroot looked down at her; her eyes were half opened and strained with the effort. He purred quietly to her and raised his head, walking forward to greet the tall newcomers.

“Late for a history lesson,” he remarked. His confusion and alarm raised when he caught the scent of the Fleet off of these cats – and by the size of them, they were all patrollers.

“Sorry to disturb y’all tonight,” the tortoiseshell said. “My name is Newtbite. We’ve come here on order from Fernstar and our deputy.”

The whispering stopped and the air grew tense.

Rushroot kept calm and polite. “I don’t know why. We haven’t got anyone here causing trouble.”

“I would hope not,” Newtbite said, “and that’s why we’re here. The brothers Greyleaf and Mistface are…”

She trailed off, seeming to notice Nettlecloud weakly attempting to raise her head.

“This is their mother?” Newtbite asked, suddenly sounding nervous.

“She is.” Rushroot gently placed a paw on Nettlecloud’s head. “Easy now.”

Newtbite cleared her throat awkwardly. “If you could come with me for a moment…”

Rushroot hesitated only long enough to glance back at the rest of the Buzzards, who were all watching him anxiously. He nodded reassurance and turned back to Newtbite. She turned and gestured with her tail for him to follow her. As he did, one of the patrollers, a calico missing a good deal of her tail, was approaching Nettlecloud and politely inquiring about her health.

Newtbite stopped when they were out of hearing range of the others and turned. She stood tall over Rushroot, but she lowered her head to his level and spoke quietly.

“I told the others to avoid sayin’ this in front of her,” she murmured. “Her sons are wanted by the leaders. Greyleaf was a co-conspirator in a rebel group and he and his partner ran when we came to inspect. They took Mistface with them, along with some others. All of them are to be arrested on sight.”

Rushroot’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Newtbite, unable to find a response.

“The reason we’re here,” she continued, “is because we suspect they may come around this way to nab Nettlecloud and take her with them, wherever they’re goin’. We’re to stand guard and prevent them from leavin’ with her. Or leavin’ at all.”

“That-“ Rushroot fumbled for words. “That can’t be right. They’re both good toms.”

“So Fernstar thought,” Newtbite said, with a cynical chill in her voice. “But here we are. And now me and my crew need to stay here and keep an eye on Nettlecloud. I hate to spring this on you, and I do apologize for the inconvenience. But orders are orders.”

Rushroot couldn’t find anything to say. He looked back at his group, then back to Newtbite.

“I…” He, again, struggled for a response. “I suppose they are. Just, please, don’t ever mention this in front of Nettlecloud. She’s… she’s not doing well, and I can’t let her die knowing her sons are in trouble. They’re everything to her.”

Newtbite nodded, eyes sympathetic. “That’s the plan. We’ll keep our mouths shut. We’ll be out of your way as much as possible, too. No need to worry about feeding us or being bossed around.”

“Thank you.” Rushroot huffed a sigh. It didn’t make him feel any better. “I’ll… I’ll inform everyone else.”

He turned and trotted unsteadily back to the group, Newtbite close behind him. Everyone was awake now and very worried. Nettlecloud’s head wobbled as she looked back and forth.

“Is something wrong?” she rasped, having to take a breath between words.

“Nothing big, ma’am,” Newtbite said quickly. “We’ve just heard reports of a predator around, and we were asked to stand guard and keep y’all protected until you’re ready to move on.”

Rushroot did not miss the double meaning of that statement.

“Ah…” Nettlecloud rattled out, and lowered her head again. “Kind of you, dears.”

The other patrollers stood together, looking deeply uncomfortable. Newtbite approached them and said something Rushroot didn’t catch. He himself turned to the rest of the Buzzards and forced calmness.

“We can discuss this in the morning,” he said. “But they mean no harm. Go back to sleep.”

The Buzzards exchanged glances, but they did as he said, eyeing the patrollers as they curled back up. Rushroot sat down beside Nettlecloud again, continuing his purr until her breath steadied and slowed, and he was sure she was asleep. He met Newtbite’s eyes and nodded curtly. She didn’t look happy to be here.

“We ought to rest a bit,” she murmured, her wide head close to Fernstar’s to keep their conversation private. “It’s been daylight for a while now, and…”

“I know.” Fernstar sighed and looked behind her. Her collective of Fleet cats, from the powerful patrollers to the scrawny scouts, were boldly following after her, but she could see that they were just as exhausted as she was.

As clearly as her tiredness would allow, she announced, “We’ll stop for a few hours. Let’s get as much sleep as we can before we continue. The trail is still fresh.”

There was a collective sigh of relief. Fernstar stopped a few steps away, where a smooth stone allowed her to climb onto it as a perch. She nodded to everyone, and they all barely took more than a step before curling up where they were, eyes shutting at a record pace. Even Fogpetal only did a quick scan of their surroundings before lying down herself. Viceroyclaw jumped onto the stone with Fernstar, lying close enough that their fur brushed. Fernstar didn’t even acknowledge her guard – drowsiness muffled her thoughts, and she swiftly fell asleep.

When she awoke again, she felt much more alert, but she frowned. Something had scratched at the back of her mind in her sleep, just beyond her hearing, and she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Boarpaw was walking past her and paused to rear up a little and meet her at eye level. “You had a bad dream or somethin’?”

Fernstar squinted, focusing, then shook her head. “It’s nothing. Where’s Viceroyclaw?”

“She went huntin’ with Glorypelt and Newtbite. Said they’d be back soon.”

“Good.” Fernstar glanced sideways. The rest of the Fleet were still asleep in the midday sun, which she could see was slowly drying the dew and mud. The warmth sank through her fur and eradicated the last of her shivers. She stretched and yawned. “If you’re tired, you can keep sleeping.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, I’m fine,” Boarpaw said quickly, standing tall. “I was keepin’ watch, ‘case someone came up on us.”

Fernstar gave him a patiently amused smile. “We’re the ones ‘coming up’ on someone.”

Boarpaw looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet, voice quieter. “Well, just bein’ sure.”

“Rest a little more, Boarpaw,” Fernstar ordered in about as gentle of a voice as she could. “We’ll be fine.”

Boarpaw shuffled again, opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then nodded sheepishly and walked away, lying down with his fellow Fleet members. Fernstar restrained a chuckle when she heard him start snoring mere moments later.

The wind picked up a little, parting Fernstar’s fur and sending ripples through the grass in the flatland they were resting in. Fernstar watched the shimmering waves, contemplating whether to sleep again herself or to wait for the hunting patrol to return.

Entirely too soon, her thoughts turned to the current mission, and that disappointed hurt clutched at her heart again. Memories of Redheart as an apprentice directing adults in hunts or solving disputes for her juniors almost made Fernstar’s smile return. When Redheart’s mother had died, she’d gone through a change in activity. Not that she hadn’t been a hard worker before, but suddenly she was foregoing sleep to handle problems and somehow transforming the rowdy Clast cats into a respectable family – or about as respectful as they could get while still getting to wrestle for fun. Fernstar hadn’t waited more than a month or two after her naming ceremony before appointing her as the new deputy, and no one had been surprised. There had, of course, been arguments that Redheart was too young, but anyone who’d known her for even a week knew that she was the best choice. Everyone expected her to become leader one day. So had Fernstar.

So what changed?

Try as she might, Fernstar couldn’t figure it out. Going from being a loyal member of the Clan, working up the ranks to eventual leadership, to recruiting cats to leave the Territory with no end goal stated… there wasn’t a connection that she could think of. Redheart had always been sensible and collected, and she had always made it known that she believed in building a better future for the next generation. Abandoning the safest place in the known world (small as the world was) with expecting queens and apprentices in tow was the complete opposite. It just didn’t make sense.

What also didn’t make sense was the sudden turning of the spies. Mistface, at least, Fernstar could understand. He and Greyleaf were in a very tightly bonded family – Mistface had only been recruited because he was the one cat Greyleaf would trust above anyone else, except perhaps their mother. But the others had no reason to ditch their post and follow Redheart wherever she had gone. Laurelclaw was a very meek, peaceful boy, and Beetlefoot was dedicated to his role as a member of the Fleet. Neither of them seemed like the types to run off.

The really odd one was Darkpelt. Fernstar was very familiar with the spy. She was crafty and practical, and took great pleasure in her work. She had been used by the leaders plenty of times, dropping by to give them reports of troublemakers or ambitious deputies to watch out for. Any cat that hired her to find out information would find their time well spent and the price of prey and herbs easy to hand over. She barely ever demanded payment anyway; she just loved being a secret pair of ears.

This sort of cat did not seem to be the sort to foolishly walk off after a wanted molly. Someone in Clast had recalled overhearing her mention that she ‘had a job to do’, but as far as Fernstar was concerned, her mission was completed. All she needed to do was give her report and then wait for the investigation to be done, potentially followed by a trial (which was now almost certain, as much as Fernstar hated to admit it). Darkpelt had never lingered on spying before. She’d release her information to the leaders and leave it at that until she was called back.

What had Redheart said or done that was so compelling that this particular spy wanted to follow her? Was there something she hadn’t told the others, or the leaders?

“Fernstar.”

Fernstar flinched out of her contemplation. Viceroyclaw had managed to get almost in her face without her noticing, front paws on the stone she rested on, a ground squirrel in her jaws.

“I brought you something,” Viceroyclaw mumbled around the prey.

“Oh-“ Fernstar sat up. “Thank you. Did you catch something for yourself?”

Viceroyclaw nodded at something on the ground. She placed the squirrel at Fernstar’s feet before ducking down and retrieving a much smaller mouse.

Fernstar managed to not snort. “I think this squirrel would be better suited for you.”

Viceroyclaw blinked, confused, before glancing down at the squirrel which was a third of Fernstar’s size and murmuring, “Ohhh…” She replaced the squirrel with the mouse and climbed onto the stone, sitting across from her leader and tucking in quietly.

The two ate for a bit, Fernstar observing the other two hunters waking up their friends with lunch. She waited until she had finished her meal and Viceroyclaw was slowing down on hers before speaking.

“I just can’t understand,” she said. “This whole situation is so bizarre.”

Viceroyclaw hummed and looked up with her eyes, an indication that she was listening as she continued chewing.

“It seems to have come out of nowhere,” Fernstar went on, half to herself. “Redheart isn’t like this. And Darkpelt and her team leaving with her…” She looked at her high deputy. “Do you have any ideas why this is happening?”

Viceroyclaw chomped once, twice, swallowed, and cleared her throat. “No. But I don’t really think it matters, the ‘why’. She and Greyleaf did what they did. They should be punished for it.”

Fernstar’s face must have fallen, because Viceroyclaw hurried to add, “Or at least handled. Whatever you and the others decide to do.”

“Right,” Fernstar muttered. She looked back at the Fleet cats, who were all chatting while they ate. They were all so tightly bonded together – some would argue for them being even closer than any of the regular families’ members. She had no doubt that if one of them were in Redheart’s position, at least a few of these cats would follow them into the night. They were loyal that way.

But as far as Fernstar knew, there was no loyalty to anyone in the runaway group except Mistface to Greyleaf, and Greyleaf to him and Redheart. The apprentice, Littlepaw, was supposedly followed by her pseudo-mentor, so there was a connection there, but they didn’t have anything to do with any part of this. What part of a former seer’s dreams encouraged her to just walk off after an almost-certain-to-be criminal? Wouldn’t StarClan have told her to stay away from Redheart, if they still spoke with her?

Would they find other cats? Would they attempt to recruit evacuees again? Who would go with them anywhere?

A light flickered in Fernstar’s head.

She could think of at least one cat. Perhaps one that they were already on the way to collecting.

“Fogpetal!” she called.

The Fleet deputy raised her head up from the remains of her vole and stood up, excusing herself from the conversation she was in. She trotted up to the rock and silently stood at attention.

“Do you know if the Vultures have moved from their position?” Fernstar asked.

Fogpetal shook her head. “They should still be there. They have kits to raise, from what I heard.”

“Good.” Fernstar was surprised by her own sigh of relief. “Then I want two of these cats to make their way over to their camp and guard Greyleaf’s mother. Her name is Nettlecloud – she’s a grey, elderly molly.”

“Oh.” Fogpetal’s eyes widened in realization. “I see. I can have them collect more guards on the way there, if you’d like.”

“That would be good,” Fernstar said. “Send whoever you think is appropriate. Whoever can at least hold back a healer and his Scattered brother.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Fogpetal said, joking.

Fernstar narrowed her eyes. “We may be surprised.”

Fogpetal immediately went serious again, dipped her head in respect, and returned to her party. Fernstar heard her speaking to them and giving orders. In a moment, a grey-brown tom named Thrashercloud and the tortoiseshell Newtbite set off at a loping canter, calling their 'goodbye's and 'good luck's to the others. Fernstar could respect that they didn’t waste any time.

Fogpetal looked back at Fernstar. “Shall we keep moving?”

“Yes.” Fernstar got up. “Before this trail dries up. Everyone ready?”

The Fleet cats immediately followed after their deputy, all confirming that they were good to go. Fernstar didn’t waste any time either – she jumped off of the stone, Viceroyclaw right next to her, and looked at an approaching Boarpaw.

“Can you track a scent?” she asked.

“Oh, of course!” Boarpaw brightened up, looking much more awake. “Me and my mentor, we can do it.”

“Then the two of you will run south, ahead of us, and make sure the trail doesn’t turn anywhere.”

“Right away.” Boarpaw immediately took off at a run, his pale ginger mentor jogging after him with a slightly frazzled smile to Fernstar.