Darkstar doesn't remember when it all started to fall apart.
No, that was wrong. She remembered somewhere close. After so many wonderful moons of serving DawnClan, she had forgotten what it was like to experience the pain of significant loss, to lose cats near and dear to her. HillClan was like a terrible dream, a nightmare that she had to wake up from.
DawnClan was different. Here, she would not be separated from her friends, her family, her kin. Paradise had been found, and she would cling onto it until her final breath.
But, the pieces of her kingdom slowly began to fall away. In quiet, grieving vigil, she watched as one by one, original founders passed on to Silverpelt to watch over DawnClan from the ranks of StarClan. Lightstripe, Rimebright, Elmstripe... Even those had been mere kits when she had brought them to this safe place had passed, young Duskkit growing into Dusktree, and then falling to illness. But she kept on.
It was what she owed her clan, to swallow down this grief, and to put on a happy face, for she would dishonor the tragedy of HillClan and the hardships of her ancestors to collapse under this weight now.
So, she plodded on, watching as DawnClan grew and flourished, and swelled with pride with it. Yet, there was a darkness gnawing inside of her, eating away like maggots into an old carcass. Eventually, she'd be nothing but bones, and she did not know what she would do then, how she would hide all of these rotting feelings.
It was when Boulderfrost retired that something inside of her began to break.
"I'm tired, Darkstar," meekly Boulderfrost had begun, looking upon where her leader lay curled in her soft moss nest. "I think... I think it's time for me to join the elders. I'm ready."
Darkstar could not conceal the flash of hurt that shot across her face like a bolt of lightning in time, and she recognized Boulderfrost's guilt instantly. Turning away her head, not wanting to burden Boulderfrost more with her turbulent emotions, she knew she was right. Boulderfrost had pushed the limitations of how long she could reasonably serve in her position, and Darkstar would be lying to say she had not noticed how her hunting prowl had slowed and stiffened, how she took longer to bounce back from training apprentices, and how often she overslept and missed morning patrols.
Denial was not a pretty thing, but Darkstar wanted to play pretend. Just a little longer.
Yet, when she peered back, Boulderfrost's weary gaze forced her into reality.
"Of course," Darkstar agreed with a wise nod, swallowing the mouse-bile taste in her mouth, "We'll have the ceremony at sun-down, once everyone is back from patrol. You deserve to rest, Boulderfrost."
Relieved, Boulderfrost had bowed her head, and ducked out of the den to go and find her kits, clearly eager to be able to rest and focus on her family. Darkstar stared gloomily out into camp, watching Brightstorm and Suntuft prance over to their mother. Why could time not slow down for them all? How was it these young kits were already full-fledged warriors?
Brightstorm had recently announced her betrothal to Bayspots, and soon enough, she was sure they'd be announcing kits. It was moving too fast, like a swift river current dragging her under, and no matter how much she tried, she could not get her head above the frigid water, gulping it down and feeling it fill her lungs.
But she had to be strong for her clan. So, as promised, at sun-down, she brought together the clan, and with her perfected, put-together appearance, she proclaimed with great fondness that Boulderfrost had earned her right to the elders' den, where she could now serve her clan with her moons of wisdom.
Oatbright, a promising young cat, was selected--or, promising in her mind, blurred by growing grief, and wanting the ceremony over with. The gathering was a mix of congratulations and mild confusion, for many foresaw Suntuft as their new deputy, or Aspenmoss, one of Slatespots' kits. Oatbright himself seemed uncertain and uneasy, walking it off with tentative confidence.
But it would be okay, for Darkstar knew what she was doing, and she knew best for this clan, as StarClan had decreed for her.
Down, down did she crush her terrible feelings as she led DawnClan with confidence and pride, ignoring how her own joints began to stiffen with the changing of seasons and how much she struggled to get out of her moss nest. It was fine, for she had her clan to motivate her.
But time had other plans.
"Boulderfrost, she's..."
Brightstorm's voice, thick with emotion, felt like another surge of that raging river Darkstar was barely surviving. Behind the young she-cat, a pair of warriors carefully drug in the limp silhouette of Boulderfrost, who dangled easily from their grasp. Under the high midday sun, Boulderfrost's age seemed that much more obvious. Her pelt was thin, her body gaunt, her joints jutting out. No matter how much she rested, no matter how much fresh-kill was brought to her, like all other cats, Boulderfrost was not immortal.
Darkstar stood frozen to the spot, her paws rooted to the hard earth as Brightstorm sniffled, and the grieving wail of Suntuft splintered the peaceful day.
I'm their leader, Darkstar thought, frantic and insistent as she fixed her gaze on the ground, I must be strong, I always must be strong.
Aside from uttering quiet commands to arrange for a dawn burial and overnight vigil for Boulderfrost, she did not speak a single other word the rest of the day. She sat by Boulderfrost, thinking over and over of their journey to this land, of the happiness they shared, over the growth of these young cats they watched, and how at the cost of all of the time to earn these memories, she had lost her closest friend.
Yes, that was where it had begun. The denial she clung to like a StarClan-savior let her go. Like a scruffed kit dropped into that raging river she hated, she was helpless to the riptide tearing through her life. Soon, Burnetstripe would die to infection from kitting, and only Oatbright remained from the founding days, purposefully fixed in the position of deputy as the last remaining member of the old HillClan.
She withdrew into herself, and the bright, warm, and friendly Darkstar died with Boulderfrost that night, that vigil. The she-cat who arose in the morning was someone new, and the clan felt it.
"Darkstar--"
"Do it, or you'll be next," Darkstar hissed, pinning Softtail, panicked and wild-eyed, beneath her large paws. "Are you saying you agree with his blasphemy?!"
Oatbright swallowed, and the evening air was filled with the wailing screeches of the brawling cats. She could not tolerate the outspoken, indignant attitude of these warriors. First Softtail, trying to act as if he knew better, warning her off hunting in CopseClan territory when they were suffering from a great prey-drought in leaf-bare. Then Flickerjay, who worried over apprenticing kits at four moons rather than six, when obviously they needed the apprentices sooner than later.
Soon, the cats of DawnClan avoided speaking up around Darkstar. The last was Mottlefox, and while none spoke of it, fearing the wrath of their leader, his tragic death by a wolverine had felt entirely avoidable as he not been punished to flush it out of their territory alone.
Especially did the kits and grandkits of the founders suffer. Softtail, son of Burnetstripe, often was delegated the roughest of tasks, condemned to cleaning the dirtplace and checking fox dens for occupants. Mottlefox died for the sin of not only speaking out, but reminding Darkstar of her ancient grief with how similar in color he was to Dusktree.
Paws permanently stained red from the blood of her own clan, she knew it was her sacrifice, her burden. She had to do this for them, for they did not know better. This was her StarClan-given duty.
Roaming the forest they called home alone, Darkstar walked slow, claws flexing over the soft needle-bed. The earth was becoming moist and spongey, the fresh rain and gentle breeze signaling that leaf-bare was coming to a close, and new-leaf was on the horizon. Lifting her head and parting her mouth, she drew in the scents of the forest, and noted how she could no longer determine all of the smells as easily. They were dull, much like her fresh-kill, which now always tasted stale and bland.
Perhaps that was why she heard danger before she smelled it, whipping around with a fierce hiss and a raise of her hackles. The fox that had crept up on her snarled in turn, fierce and looking well-fed in spite of the cruel leaf-bare they had barely made it out of. Prowling towards her, the beast's muscles rippled smooth beneath its ginger pelt, and Darkstar shifted back, her spine arching.
She was too far from camp to run. Too far to call for help. And too slow with these age-worn joints to escape.
Catching her snarling reflection in the gleaming black eyes of her enemy, she suddenly froze. Behind the imposing figure of the fox, she saw movement. Gentle, like cotton on the green-leaf breeze, a pelt of sparkling stars appeared to her. One paw in front of the other, the fox did not sense what it was she looked on at in shock and amazement, and Darkstar's bristled pelt settled, and she straightened.
"Boulderfrost...?"
These moons of endless grief and strife, drowning under the weight of her duties, suddenly lifted from her shoulders. She felt light and young again as the she-cat smiled at her, warm and familiar.
Even in the face of death's glittering teeth, Darkstar could not bring herself to look away from her old friend. Her last memory of her had been on her death day, old and bedraggled. Here, with stars glittering like dewdrops in her fur, she was young again. She moved with grace, her paws nimble as she stepped around the fox, still unseeing of the StarClan cat, and walked to Darkstar.
"Hello, Darkstar," Boulderfrost meowed softly, her eyes full of warm kindness. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?"
Tears pricked Darkstar's eyes, and she no longer heard the fox's growls.
"It has," she agreed, overwhelmed with emotion.
Boulderfrost stepped closer, and Darkstar could smell her sweet scent. She did not care as to why she was here, or what it meant. All that mattered was this terrible loneliness that was lifting from her heart, thinking of nothing but this moment.
"It's time," Boulderfrost said, and Darkstar no longer felt afraid. The fear of mortality, both her own and others, was gone. She had died twice already and lived with the trauma of it with some struggle, and yet, here and now, as she understood Boulderfrost's words, she didn't feel any of her old fear. She just felt... Tired.
"I understand now," Darkstar whispered, the tears falling from her eyes and wetting her fluffy cheeks, "The feeling when you decided to become an elder. I'm... I'm tired, Boulderfrost. I'm tired."
"I know," Boulderfrost said, and as the fox bunched up its muscles, tired of waiting for Darkstar to make the first move, she walked closer. Boulderfrost touched noses to Darkstar, and a true peace washed over her.
Darkstar caught only a glimpse of the fox's gleaming, saliva-wet maw as it lunged, shutting her eyes. For the first time in many moons, finally, the river slowed, and she was able to lift up her head, and take in a deep breath.
"It's time to rest, Darkstar."
