“You saying you’ve never been to one of these?” Pebblestar, a tall grey tom was on Greyleaf’s other side. He tilted his head a little, ears slightly hanging instead of standing straight.

Greyleaf turned to him now. “Not yet. This is my first.”

“Well, you’ll have a grand time, lad.” Sealstar gave him what would be a gently pat on the back among the Plage; for Greyleaf, he barely managed to stay upright. “Go on and find your family. I’m going to see what the Magpies have this time. Even the warriors I’ve brought with me haven’t seen their wares before.”

“You do that,” Pebblestar said, careless as anything.

Sealstar immediately trotted off, his pawsteps audible over the chatter of the collected cats.

Greyleaf stood as straight as he could without lifting his front feet off of the ground, searching. The crowd was thick and multicolored. Finding a red-brown molly was not going to be easy, it seemed. He could see his brother talking to a huge white cat, which amazed him, given Mistface’s constant dismissal of anyone outside of his family. He started forward, but Pebblestar cleared his throat.

“You really think Cedarstar will be alright without you?” he said. “She was rather…loopy, when we left.”

“Oh-“ Greyleaf made some noise that was supposed to be a confident chuckle and failed miserably at its job. “Fever can do that. That medicine will keep her steady until I return. I won’t be staying long, anyway.”

Not if I don’t find her first.

Pebblestar’s mournful face looked even more troubled than usual. “I just worry for the girl. She’s a bit of a fool sometimes.” He offered a faint smile. “But I trust your intuition. You’re brighter than half of my comrades, and we all know it. StarClan gave you a gift.”

Greyleaf’s stomach heaved. He tried to look grateful for the compliment. “Thank you. I’m going to find my brother.”

Pebblestar dismissed him with a nod and Greyleaf managed to not hurry away from the conversation. He carefully made his way through the crowd, always watching for that telltale roan, but he met with no one except Mistface. He was more stressed than usual when a Hillock molly named Morningsky tried to push her very uncomfortable daughter on him as a seer for the leaders – not just because someone was talking to him, but because he was still no closer to finding that ‘her’. Relief rushed through his body as a story was announced and the crowd gathered around to watch the performers. He climbed into a tree with his brother, the apprentice and white tom, scanning the crowd as he could see them.

The story of the Runagate troubled him, truthfully. He couldn’t place a word on why, but as the white molly slithered out her words with a devil’s charisma, something nagged at the back of his head. He thought of the shadows.

Then his eyes roamed, reached the far side of the crowd. They landed on her.

A tall red-brown molly. Thin and with exhausted eyes.

Greyleaf did not hear the rest of the story. He stared at her as if looking away would make her vanish (and he was secretly afraid it would). He barely even registered the applause when the story concluded, hardly noticed climbing down the tree. He left his brother without a word, paws pulled straight to her. He pushed past cats without a second thought.

When he emerged from the crowd, he expected to be nervous to be right in front of her, anxious when she looked his way. He wasn’t.

“Hey,” he said.

The molly blinked. Then she almost flinched and her mouth dropped a little.

“…It’s you,” she nearly whispered.

A grin, shaky with relief, spread across Greyleaf’s face. “It’s me.”

The molly looked around, then motioned with her head and stood up. Greyleaf followed her to a shaded spot, thankful that no one else was close by.

“They told me about you,” she said, sitting down. “You’re…”

“Greyleaf.” He mirrored her. “And you’re…”

“Redheart.”

“I thought so.” Greyleaf exhaled the tension out of his body, and though he wasn’t grinning anymore, he felt that joy all the same. “I heard you were coming here. I had to see you. We never got to talk, but-“

“I know.” Redheart was taller than him, but she was sitting in a way that their eyes met at the same level. Respectful. Friendly. “You’ve seen them, then. They spoke with you. The…” She trailed off, tail pointing at the white molly who had played the Runagate.

Greyleaf blinked. “I was told by the leaders about you. But I…I saw that shadow. When we first met. Only once, though, if that’s who you mean.”

“That’s them.” Redheart wasn’t precisely smiling, but glee radiated off of her. “Greyleaf, you have no idea what this means to me. I haven’t been able to talk about this with anyone.”

“Neither have I.” Greyleaf’s tail tapped the ground, releasing a little bit of his own colorful swirl of emotions. “It’s- I don’t even know what to do with it. With this knowledge. I’ve had it all my life.”

Redheart leaned a little closer, dropping her voice low. “I’ve had it since I was an apprentice. I have nightmares, all the time. I always see it.”

“Same here.” Greyleaf felt that familiar nighttime horror clutch his heart, but his paws kneaded eagerly and he felt himself sit with something akin to confidence. He wouldn’t know if it was for sure, but it felt like it. “It’s just always been that way. I don’t know why.”

“Do you know what it is?” That conspiratorial tone did not quite fit her regal appearance.

Greyleaf looked around himself, just to be sure, and whispered, “They said it was StarClan. Or something pretending to be it. It’s eaten in front of me, I know that much.” A bubble of entirely inappropriate, kitlike excitement swelled in his chest. “What do you know?”

“Everything. It’s been here for generations. It’s got control over the entire Territory and all its inhabitants.” Redheart’s eyes were large enough that he could barely see a ring of white around them. “I’ve heard all of it. It’s…”

She spoke quickly, stare intense and almost wild, like everything was trying to force itself out of her throat at once and it was causing her pain. The more Greyleaf heard, the more he sat back a little, straightened, felt his expression go numb. He had felt the horror when he saw the thing himself; the actual knowledge of its workings made it so much worse that a part of him was shutting down so he could absorb it without fleeing or crying out.

“I don’t know what we can do about it on its own,” Redheart said at last, “but I have a plan. I want to get everyone out of the Territory as fast as possible. I need your help to do it. I can’t do this alone. You can quit with the leaders and come to Clast with me, and we can spread the word and get cats out in groups. If we all go, if we separate, it won’t have anything to eat. It might die.” Her gaze burned like fire. “We can let it starve, and then our home is safe again, and we can all come back.”

Greyleaf didn’t say anything. Multiple voices in his head were shouting over each other, trying to make themselves heard. One screamed that they had it so good now, that taking everyone away from this paradise would guarantee death, and maybe it would get them anyway. Another begged him to agree, to abandon his post and start collecting cats to bring out of this cursed place. Yet more demanded a promise that everything she said was true and that she wasn’t just saying all of this out of a demented mind. There was an overhead declaration, speaking over all the others, that she didn't need his help. He would be useless. He was a healer, not a deputy, not someone with charisma. He wouldn't be able to do anything.

He knew it wasn't that kind of help she needed. She couldn't go back to living life with all of this weight alone. 

Neither could he, really. 

He shut his eyes and took a breath, barely able to look back at that intense stare. “I don’t know if it can be done. If there’s a chance, I…”

A sudden feeling of being watched pinpricked the back of his head. He looked sidelong and saw Mistface observing him with a very curious, puzzled expression.

“I better go,” he said, finally speaking at a normal volume. “My brother’s…”

Redheart immediately corrected her posture. Instantly, her face was calm and stern, like a proper deputy. Greyleaf knew those tired eyes were just barely containing her own terror and desperation.

“Consider it,” she said. “Just consider it.”

She got up and walked away before Greyleaf could say anything.

 ---

 “Mama’s dyin’.”

That was all Greyleaf needed to hear.

 ---

 “You’ve got a visitor, Redheart.” The black-and-white molly he thought was called Peregrinefang stepped away from the house and trotted off, giving Greyleaf room to stand in the entrance and be observed.

Redheart, half asleep, cracked one eye. Then both shot wide open and she got to her feet.

The little tom stopped when he was close enough to be heard at a normal volume and set his front feet close together, tail up and ears perked. He looked just as overly-serious as before, but this time he was silent.

Mistface blinked in surprise. Then a smile spread across his face. He couldn’t help but tease, saying, “Don’t tell me you’re fond of us already. Or did you come back to chat up my mother?”

Beetlefoot wrinkled his nose. “Actually, I’ve been assigned to your brother as his personal messenger. He sent me to invite you to the Coterie gathering happening nearby.”

“That so?” Mistface tilted his head. “Ain’t heard about it.”

“Because you don’t talk to anyone, love.” Nettlecloud emerged out of a nearby bush. Several leaves were stuck in her fur and she looked like she was still half-asleep (though awake enough to snark at her son, Mistface noted). “Hello again, Beetlefoot! It’s good to see you.”

Beetlefoot dipped his head respectfully. “Hello again, ma’am.”

“What’s this I hear about a Coterie?” Nettlecloud came to stand beside Mistface.

Beetlefoot somehow straightened up further than he was already standing. “One’s going on a few minutes away. Greyleaf was taken to it, and he asked me to come and tell you he’s there and that he’d like to see you.”

“That exactly what he said again?” Mistface said dryly.

Beetlefoot gave him a sharp look. “Almost entirely, yes.”

“Behave, dear,” Nettlecloud said to her son. “You’ll have to go without me. I’m not feelin’ too well. Perhaps you can bring Greyleaf here afterwards.”

“I shouldn’t leave if you’re sick, Mama,” Mistface protested. And besides, he added to himself, there’ll be too many people.

“I’ll just be sleepin’.” Nettlecloud flicked her tail dismissively. “Ain’t a need to worry about me. You should make sure your brother’s alright, anyway. You know how he is in a crowd.”

Mistface couldn’t argue that. He withheld a sigh and nodded. “I’ll be back with him if I can, then.”

  The walk north was silent and awkward, both toms not wanting to be the first to speak. Mistface was grateful for the gradually building sound of a community meeting as they went along. The closer they got to a patch of oaks, the more cats popped up in the grass or came to trot along their way. Mistface made a point not to look at any of them.

Soon enough, the toms stepped into the grove’s shade. Cats of all sizes, shapes and colors lined the branches of the trees and sat around the exposed parts of the roots, chatting to each other. Apprentices chased each other through the crowd and kits huddled in the grass that was just tall enough to conceal them, pouncing on tails or stray leaves. Elders sat together in the sun, sharing stories or snapping at a pair of wrestling apprentices.

The main points of interest were the clusters of nearly ten cats that were calling the attention of passerby. One group had a brightly-colored item like a beehive that was leaned on its side to expose the many shiny trinkets like stones or shells that this group, the Magpies, had collected to sell. Another was full of older cats telling the history of the Clan to kits, who listened with wide eyes and open mouths. These, Mistface knew, were called the Vultures.

This was part of the point of the Coterie gatherings. Where the families of the Clan existed because of lingering connections to the colonies from before the Union, these minor groups came to be out of the culture that sprung up when the Clans became one. Telling the stories and legends of the Territory, or recording history, or even just sharing items from all over the valley to those who didn’t travel much – all of this was what the Margays, Vultures and Magpies lived for. 

Mistface was not impressed. He knew as well as everyone else that there were other groups that existed that just caused trouble, and they had just not been invited (though apparently the local tricksters, the Coyotes, were allowed to come, from what Mistface had heard once). These gatherings just tried to smooth out the knots and tangles that should have been apparent to everyone.

His eyes roamed, scanning for Greyleaf. It took him a moment to hear what Beetlefoot was saying to him.

“I need to catch up on news with the rest of the Fleet,” he repeated testily when Mistface looked at him. “Greyleaf should be with the leaders.”

Mistface blinked. “The leaders are here?”

“Sealstar and Pebblestar are.” Beetlefoot turned away to trot off at that brisk pace for a gang of cats that were either bulky and tall or slim and short. A few of them looked his way, but none of them seemed interested that he was approaching.

Mistface hummed and started walking again, sniffing the air, trying to catch his brother’s scent, only to be bumped into with such force that he nearly fell over. He barely caught himself and turned to glare at whoever this was that shoved him, and immediately paused to look up at the monolith of a white cat at his side.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” The tom’s voice was oddly high for someone as big as he was, and he huddled a little like a kit in trouble. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there, there were these apprentices -“

Mistface almost forgot his anger in favor of amusement. He shook out his fur and raised a paw. “Ain’t a problem. They must’ve been awfully big apprentices to push you around.”

“Oh, no, no.” The tom made a noise that sounded like an apologetic laugh. “I was just trying to get out of the way. There’s so many here, you know, and they’re all playing. I didn’t want them to bump into me and get hurt.”

Mistface eyed him. The tom’s fur was just thick enough that he couldn’t tell how much of the body was fluff versus muscle. “I’ll take your word for it.”

He intended that to be the end of the conversation, but the tom continued on, sounding relieved to have found someone to talk to.

“I mean, I guess it’s better me than Sealstar,” he said. “I haven’t seen him in a long time, and he somehow got so much bigger than before! If he bumped into you, he’d probably send you flying.”

“Hm,” Mistface said politely. “He invite you here, then?”

“He did!” The tom beamed. “I should have guessed he’d come all this way south for a Coterie, but I didn’t think he’d have some of us come with him!”

This wasn’t a surprise to Mistface. Even he knew how much the Plage leader loved these gatherings. Of course he would want to share that joy with the warriors of his family. The Plage spent so much time away from the bulk of the Territory, since they traveled to and from the coast, leaving them little time to mingle with the rest of the Clan.

“You’re Plage, then?” said Mistface.

The tom nodded. “My name is Laurelclaw.”

“Mistface,” said Mistface. He opened his mouth to say “pleasure talkin’ to you”, but he caught a familiar voice calling to him and looked over.

“There you are.” Greyleaf stepped around a pair of talking cats and greeted his brother with a headbump to the shoulder. “Sorry, I thought I heard you, but Pebblestar stopped me to ask a question.” He paused and looked nervously at Laurelclaw. “Is, uh… is this one of Beetlefoot’s comrades?”

“He’s Plage,” Mistface said, adding to Laurelclaw, “Could be a Fleet member, though, couldn’t you? Patroller or somethin’.”

Laurelclaw laughed apologetically again. “Well…”

“Excuse me!”

Mistface closed his eyes and braced himself to be forced to talk to yet another cat. This time, it was a warmly-colored tortoiseshell with the elongated features of a Hillock cat. She was practically tugging a tiny calico along after her. The three toms looked at each other curiously as the tortoiseshell came to a stop uncomfortably close to Greyleaf’s face.

“Greetings,” she said. “You’re the healer for the leaders, right? Greyleaf, I think?”

Greyleaf looked confused and frightened at the sudden attention. “Uh- yes. Is something wrong?”

“The opposite, in fact.” The molly puffed out her chest. “My name is Morningsky. This is my daughter, Littlepaw.”

“Hello,” Littlepaw said unhappily.

Greyleaf’s eyes flickered from the mother to the daughter. “Okay?”

“My daughter is a very prolific seer apprentice,” Morningsky said grandly. “She’s three moons away from earning her name, and already she’s been blessed by StarClan. Dreaming of them every night, receiving messages from them-“

“Glad she’s capable of doin’ her basic job,” Mistface said flatly.

“She’s one of the best, if not the best.” Morningsky looked at Littlepaw with an oddly self-absorbed sort of pride, appearing not to notice Littlepaw’s embarrassment. “I wanted to inform you about her so that she can have the opportunity to work for the leaders, like you do.”

Mistface eyed the apprentice. “And she looks real thrilled about that prospect.”

Morningsky didn’t even spare a glance at Mistface before speaking to Greyleaf again. “I mean, if a cat with no family can make it there, a proper Hillock seer should be perfect material for leader service.”

Mistface shared another look with Laurelclaw. The tom seemed worried as he watched Littlepaw shuffle uncomfortably.

“Uh…” Greyleaf looked like he wanted out of the conversation too. “I mean-“

By a blessing, a yowl rang through the forest. “The story is beginning! Gather ‘round!”

Littlepaw’s eyes lit up and she looked to her mother. “Can we watch?”

Morningsky’s enthusiasm dissipated. “I suppose for a bit.”

“Here, come with me.” Laurelclaw beckoned with his shorter-than-usual tail. “There’s a great spot, I can get you up into the branches.”

Littlepaw’s low mood was immediately gone. In delight, she followed Laurelclaw, her mother disdainfully tagging along. The three of them started for a tree a little bit away from the crowd. Mistface watched as Laurelclaw put his front paws against the trunk and helped Littlepaw climb up with about as much effort as it would take to lift a twig.

“You feel like watchin’?” Mistface asked Greyleaf.

Greyleaf sighed in relief. “After that? Yes, that’d be nice. We can talk after.”

He swallowed and huddled to make himself as small as he could, tail wrapped so tightly around his side that he was sure it was trying to crush him.

Just why did it have to be him? Why not his mentor? The leaders could pick a much better personal healer, couldn’t they? He wasn’t anything, he wasn’t-

“Greyleaf?”

He froze, as did his thoughts.

A ridiculously tall grey tom had turned around the corner of the tunnel. The sun peeking through the entrance above their heads shone down on the tom’s long, mournful face.. Oddly, his eyes were sunken in and hidden from the light.

“Y-yes, sir.” Greyleaf got to his feet, limbs shaking.

“I’m Pebblestar,” the tom said. “You ready?”

Not even a little. “Yes, sir.”

Pebblestar’s eyes flicked up and down, scanning. He gave Greyleaf a kind smile. “You seem nervous. Don’t worry, kid. You’re here for a reason.”

Greyleaf could not return a smile that was anywhere even close to the definition of such an expression. “Right,” he said, and I sorely wish I wasn’t.

Pebblestar turned, motioned with his tail, and rounded the corner again. Greyleaf followed him, wishing he would drop dead before he had to meet all the heads of the Clan and make a fool of himself.

“Finchberry spoke very highly of you,” Pebblestar said over his shoulder. “I was the one that interviewed some of your patients and fellow healers before we called you in, actually.”

“Right,” Greyleaf said quietly, then cleared his throat. “I, ah…I saw you once or twice. I- I didn’t know who you were.”

“Very few do,” Pebblestar said, and smiled a little sadly. “Very few indeed.”

Greyleaf didn’t get a chance to respond before Pebblestar stopped and raised his tail for the healer to do the same. He was looking through another opening, which was heavily lit. Cool air drifted out of it and into their tunnel.

“Where’s everyone?” Pebblestar said.

A lilting yet rather loud voice responded. “Getting prey, I expect. Why?”

Pebblestar drew aside, exposing Greyleaf. “This is our new personal healer.”

There were, thank the stars, only two cats in the rather broad den. The ceiling only covered half of the room, leaving a huge dark brown tom in the sunlight and a thin tabby in the shadows.

“Greyleaf, this is Sealstar and Thornstar,” Pebblestar said.

“Hi,” Greyleaf said weakly.

The big tom nodded with a big smile. “Hello, lad.”

The aging tabby didn’t get up. He just tilted his head and said flatly, “Awful young.”

“But very skilled,” Pebblestar said quickly. “Actually, it’s a good thing you’re here, Thornstar. You can be his test run.”

Thornstar harrumphed and immediately started coughing before he could say whatever was on his mind. Greyleaf’s eyes adjusted enough to the shade that he could see how there was very little meat or muscle left on the old tom.

“He’s got some cough or another,” Sealstar said, “and he demanded we find someone at the top of their craft to diagnose him. That’s where you come in!”

The desire to vomit came back. Greyleaf tried again to smile, and barely succeeded. “Happy to help, sir.”

Thornstar narrowed his eyes, not bothering to get up. Greyleaf looked at Pebblestar, who nodded, and approached slowly, every step taking much more effort than it should.

“What’ve you been experiencing?” he asked, very aware that the other two leaders were watching him.

Thornstar hummed. “Cough, mostly. Been feeling warm. Bit of a headache sometimes.”

Greyleaf sniffed at his ears and found no trace of infection. Not much would combine bad ears and a cough, but he wanted to cover his grounds. “When you cough, is it particularly wet? Bring up anything you have to swallow back?”

“No,” Thornstar said. “It’s dry.”

“How severe would you say the fever and headache are? Do they come with the cough?”

“Fever’s mild,” Sealstar said. “According to Fernstar. She’s been keeping an eye on it.”

“And the headache?” Greyleaf said, testing the leader’s temperature by gently prodding his sides and head. Slightly warm, but nothing alarming.

“Only comes if I cough too hard,” Thornstar said quietly.

“Oh, that’s pretty easy to fix,” Greyleaf said, leaning back. “Butterbur should help with that if it’s mainly a lung thing.”

Thornstar gave him a subtly questioning look.

Greyleaf swallowed the sudden lump of anxiety in his throat, his confidence shriveling. “Butterbur…butterbur helps with respiratory problems, among other things. Asthma, chest sicknesses-”

“Never heard of it,” Thornstar said.

“It, uh-” Greyleaf thought quickly. “It’s also called ‘coltsfoot’.”

“Ah!” Sealstar brightened up, nodding. “I know it. Grows along the Machair’s thicker part of the woods. It’s got sorta pinkish flowers, yeah?”

“Yes,” Greyleaf said. “My- my mentor always called it ‘butterbur’, so I just…call it that too. I know that the north refers to it as ‘coltsfoot’. Um. I just say ‘butterbur’ out of habit, I guess...”

He trailed off at the dry look Thornstar was giving him.

Some heavy footsteps alerted him to Sealstar walking up behind him. “And of course we don’t have the seeds for that. Well, shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Seeds?” Greyleaf said, blinking. “You’d need the roots and leaves…”

“You know about our garden, don’t you?” Sealstar tilted his head. “Thought all you healers knew about it.”

“I- no, I don’t even know what a garden is.”

“Ha! We still have some secrets.” Sealstar winked at Pebblestar, who smiled thinly. “This densite has a few clusters of soil that we specifically plant seeds in so we have our own personal herb patch. Don’t have to go out and steal from the rest of the Clan.”

“We even have a couple bushes dedicated to a farm of cobwebs,” Pebblestar said.

Greyleaf stared. Something in the back of his head squawked angrily about how no one else had had this idea, and that the leaders weren’t sharing it. Something else in the front squealed with excitement about the potential of ‘gardens’ and how many lives more of them could protect.

Abruptly, Pebblestar arched his back, stretching and almost brushing the ceiling he was under. “Well, Thornstar, what’s your assessment of Greyleaf here?”

Thornstar hummed again. “Only did one diagnosis. We’ll see if his treatment works.”

“It- it will,” Greyleaf said quickly. “I can fetch the butter- coltsfoot myself, if you’d like. I know where a good batch is. It’s not too far away.”

“No, no, you ought to stay here,” Sealstar said. “Phoebestar can send out one of her messengers and have them collect it for us.”

“I’m sure he can pick out the best of the plants himself,” Pebblestar said gently. He had a look like he knew Greyleaf did not want to stay here and wait in an awkward silence for someone else to get them. “In fact, why don’t you go with him, Sealstar? He could use some backup.” His eyes slid over to Greyleaf. “Would that be alright?”

“That-“ Greyleaf said, and cleared his throat. “That would be fine.”

“Then let’s not waste any time!” Sealstar said brightly. His broad tail tapped Greyleaf’s shoulder as he turned around and started off down the tunnel. “Better get it before a storm comes in. Smells like rain, doesn’t it, even though it’s sunny.”