DAUGHTER OF REBELLION, OF LEADER'S MERIT? The Fire never came to the Clans; but Tigerclaw was still defeated, and Bluestar remained in power. As she slowly lost faith in StarClan and ThunderClan, she never chose a Deputy. Broken and tattered, ThunderClan's life hangs in the balance as others begin to follow suit. Sandstorm refuses to let her Clan be forgotten, refuses to let it fall apart. But will her efforts amount to anything? Or is their destiny written in the stars? SAVE THE STARS. SWEAR IT. ||Story and art by Tilly. Warrior Cats by Erin Hunter.||
Ravenpaw reached forward a paw to rest it on Sandstorm’s. She’d just gotten done explaining why all of ThunderClan’s remnants were now sleeping in their barn.
It was a shock enough to discover that, after moons upon moons of believing he was killed by enemy cats, he was here and happy with a barn cat. What had happened? Who had lied first? Was it Tigerclaw, or Bluestar, or someone in the middle?
“I’m sure you’re very confused as to why I’m here,” Ravenpaw mewed, “But it sounds like that doesn’t matter anymore. I wish I could’ve revealed this to you under better circumstances.”
“... Yeah,” Sandstorm mewed, glancing over her shoulder to where Dustpelt was sitting. He was sharing a large mouse with Fernflower, but kept casting glances at Ravenpaw from across the barn. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking right now. Ravenpaw was his littermate...
“Well, I’m glad the barn could do well by your bellies,” he mewed, nodding to the sleeping cats. Sorrelpaw and Sootpaw had both fallen asleep between Goldenflower and Willowpelt, while Tawnypaw and Bramblepaw had sequestered themselves off and were eating. Ashcloud, Barley and Rainpaw were sitting together talking, but just far enough away that she couldn’t hear them.
“We’ve been hungry for several moons,” Sandstorm mewed quietly. “With the dogs, and all...”
“Yeah.” Ravenpaw shuffled. “I’m really sorry to hear about... Brindleface...”
“We all are,” Sandstorm said, her voice low and feathery. “Anyway, enough wallowing in the past. We have a jeapordized future to think about.”
“Weird, though,” Ravenpaw mused, “That there won’t be another time where four leaders sit on the Great Rock.”
Sandstorm nodded. She swiveled an ear as the sound of approaching pawsteps reached her. She turned her head as a yawning Speckletail padded up with Tawnypaw, who was supporting one side of her very slightly.
“Will you be traveling to the Moonstone tonight?” the elder asked, waving her tail.
“Yes,” Sandstorm said, “Once it’s later in the night.”
“Good,” Speckletail said. “You need those nine lives more than any leader ever needed them before.”
Sandstorm shrugged. I guess so, she thought anxiously.
Before she could say anything more, Tawnypaw’s voice piped up. “Do you know where we’ll be living?” she asked. “Once we’re done living in the barn?”
“Oh, uh....” Sandstorm shrugged, ears falling to the side a little. “No, I don’t... know. We’ll find our way soon, but for now it’s pretty much a mystery.”
“Oh.” For a moment Sandstorm was worried Tawnypaw would argue, but she shrugged. “I’m going to go pull the ticks off of grandma. Bye, Sandsta- storm!”
She trotted off with Speckletail trying to look young behind her. Sandstorm flipped her tail as Barley came up next, departing from Rainpaw and Ashcloud.
“That Rain kid’s a good storyteller,” Barley said. “He told me everything that happened.”
“Huh,” Ravenpaw said, his eyes sparkling with memory.
“Sandstorm,” he said with a small dip of his head, “I’d like to invite you hunting with me.”
“Oh,” Sandstorm said. “Sure, I’d be glad to hunt.”
The Clan bid them farewell, and they trotted out into the long grass. Sandstorm fretted about what Barley really had to say to her. Would he complain about their stay? Demand they move within the next day? Accuse them of overhunting the barn?
Barley looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I have a place where you might be pleased to stay,” the black-and-white tom said.
The words surprised Sandstorm greatly. “Do you?” she asked hopefully, lifting a forepaw with interest.
“There’s a river. I believe it split your old territory from RiverClan?”
“Yes,” Sandstorm mewed.
“Follow it upstream. A little past WindClan’s border it becomes a wide-open gorge. There’s another group of cats there. They call themselves a Clan. I don’t know if that’s the sort of place you’re looking for, but there’s deep, fruitful woodlands around them and you can always live there with minimal clashing.”
Sandstorm waved her tail with interest. “Thank you, Barley,” she said. “We’ll leave as soon as everyone is prepared.”
“Of course.” The tom dipped his head. “I hate to see cats looking so lost on the wind. It reminds me of Ravenpaw, when he first arrived at the barn.”
“Oh.” Sandstorm sighed. “I see he’s happy here, though.”
“He is,” Barley said with a nod. “He was talking about kits, the other day.”
“Was he?” Sandstorm giggled.
“He was. I’m not sure where he plans on getting them, but...”
Sandstorm sat down and twitched her tail. “If you ever... need a surrogate, you know where to find me.”
Barley gave her a look. Not quite a smile, but... a look. A nice one.
“Thank you, Sandstorm. Happy hunting.”
The black and white tom was gone, and Sandstorm went on alone.
Sandstorm stepped forward onto the highledge with her tail held aloft. “We’ve been trespassers in our own territory for two nights now, and I think it’s time to leave.”
Cinderpelt nodded as Sandstorm met her eyes. “I’ve gathered plenty of traveling herbs.”
“The apprentices have been taught what to do in emergencies,” Fernflower mewed, nodding to her apprentice and her companions.
“We have plenty of prey for a final feast,” Dustpelt reported, waving his tail. “We can eat, then take the traveling herbs. It’ll keep our strength up longer.”
“Good idea, Longtail.” Cinderpelt nodded. “Let’s celebrate our territory, and remember it for what it was. What it served ThunderClan for so many moons.”
Sandstorm nodded. “Everyone grab some prey from the freshkill pile. Make sure you’re all being fair. Apprentices get the first share, then Speckletail, then Cinderpelt, then the Warriors, and then me.”
“Sandstorm, you have to eat well,” Willowpelt said as she padded by. “You’re our leader.”
Sandstorm nodded casually to her, as if that definitely wasn’t the most daunting thing in the world.
As Speckletail dragged back a rabbit, She dropped it under the shade of the Highrock. “We’ve been hunting just fine the last two nights,” she said as Tawnypaw and Bramblepaw joined her. “Is it really worth leaving?”
“The dogs will never leave,” Brightclaw mewed anxiously as she placed down a raven. “No matter what we try or do, they’ll never leave this territory. It serves them well, and they’ll kill any cat they see.” Her eyes burned with sadness. Sandstorm could only think of Swiftpaw.
“If we ever dream of having kits again,” Fernflower mewed, “We’ll have to move. I can’t see any reasonable-minded queen giving birth in a territory full of dogs and bleeding prey and herbs like a cut to the neck.”
Sandstorm nodded. “They’re right, Speckletail. Wouldn’t you like to give the new generation a safe place to live and play?”
“Nowhere is safe,” Speckletail said sadly. Bramblepaw murmured something in her ear, but if she acknowledged it, Sandstorm didn’t see.
Dustpelt was the cat that brought her a thick-bodied pigeon. “Here,” he mewed. “I already got my share. I thought I’d deliver yours.”
“Thank you,” Sandstorm said with a dip of her head. She pulled the freshkill back to her Clanmates. “I’ll miss this forest.”
“Me too,” Cinderpelt sighed. “And this camp. It worked so well for our needs, didn’t it? A den for every rank and the Highrock, and the leader’s den just... right there.”
“Our ancestors are buried all around this territory,” Brackenfur reminisced. “Our grandmothers and great-grandmothers...”
Tawnypaw leaned into Speckletail, who purred thunderously.
“The cats who founded the Clans are buried somewhere in these territories,” Mousefur said through a mouthful of squirrel. “Even Thunderstar himself is buried somewhere among these oaks and sycamores.”
“I wonder if anyone will ever find him,” Sandstorm mewed. “If we’ll ever know it was him if we did.”
“If the dogs ever move out and our descendants decide to reclaim the territory,” Ashcloud said in half-sarcasm.
“On a different subject,” Fernflower blurted nervously. “Sandstorm, have you thought of a deputy yet?”
The question shocked through Sandstorm like a lightning bolt. She stared at her paws for a moment, littered with pigeon feathers.
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m waiting til I get my nine lives.”
“But if you die, we’ll be in worse shape than ever before,” Ashcloud mewed. “We’ll have even less cats and no leader all over again.”
“She won’t die,” Cinderpelt mewed.
“How do you know?” Brackenfur asked. “Did StarClan send you a sign?”
“... no,” Cinderpelt said reluctantly. “I just know Sandstorm won’t die, because StarClan could never be so cruel as to let a Clan just... die out in the wilderness like this.”
“Cinderpelt is right,” Sorrelpaw mewed confidently as she swiped her jaws with her tongue. “We need to have confidence in StarClan. They take care of the Clans like their own kits.”
Willowpelt nodded proudly beside Goldenflower. “I taught her well,” she mewed.
Sandstorm gazed out at her Clan. Her tiny, tiny little Clan. “We’re heading out tonight,” she decided. “Say your goodbyes, and we’ll leave at moonrise.”
--------
As the remaining tatters of ThunderClan wove through the trees, she could hear Sootpaw talking.
“What if the dogs find us?” the small tom asked fearfully. “Will we have anywhere to run to?”
“Of course,” Ashcloud said gently, licking the top of the tomkit’s head. “Dogs of that size can’t climb trees, and we can walk the branches all the way to Sunningrocks. We should have lost them by that point.”
Sandstorm purred warmly. I did a good job picking mentors, she thought to herself.
Cinderpelt came up beside her. “Why are we crossing Sunningrocks, again? We can go to Fourtrees... It’s a lot easier.”
“It’s...” Sandstorm shrugged. “Willowpelt mentioned that she wanted to check in on Graystripe and her grandkits before she never saw him again. And I know she might want to see Whitestorm. Goldenflower might want to peek in on Smallear...”
“Right,” Cinderpelt mewed with a nod. “If only we could sneak through ShadowClan territory too.”
“Yeah.” Sandstorm glanced in the general direction of the dark marsh where ShadowClan’s territory was laid out. “I bet Thornpaw would be glad to see you.”
“I wonder what his Warrior Name will be,” Cinderpelt said.
“We’ll probably never know,” Brackenfur sighed. “Not unless we reclaim our place at Gatherings someday.”
Surely we will, Sandstorm thought worriedly. Right?
If anyone else spoke after that, Sandstorm didn’t hear them. They walked past the Sandy Hollow - which smelled strongly of dung just as Mousefur explained - and she wrinkled her nose. Brightclaw bristled fearfully and bolted past Sandstorm to get away from the stench.
They reached the Sunningrocks as the moon finally crested the horizon. A full moon, she thought silently. There’s a Gathering tonight. She wondered if anyone would speak on the disappearance of ThunderClan. They’d stopped marking their borders.
“I’ll go first, then Cinderpelt. Apprentices go in front of Warriors.” Sandstorm looked to Speckletail. “Do you need help?”
Speckletail didn’t answer. The proud old queen gazed down at her paws. “I-”
“I’ll help her!” Bramblepaw offered, bouncing to stand behind his grandmother.
“Thank you,” Speckletail said, though Sandstorm could see a glimmer of shame in the queen’s eyes. She hoped it didn’t bug her for too long.
They crossed the Stepping Stones without incident, save for Rainpaw drenching his backside after an unfortunate slip. He seemed unbothered despite the leafbare chill, with his skinny tail sticking up in the air.
The grass was cold and stiff with frost, and Sandstorm’s paws were quickly made wet. RiverClan territory was soggy, but not uncomfortable to walk over. As they walked, Willowpelt kept peering over the tall grass and swiveling her ears.
“Surely he’s asleep,” Goldenflower soothed.
“I just want to see him,” Willowpelt said softly.
When they finally came across RiverClan’s camp, Willowpelt rapidly broke off and came to the edge of the river. The entrance went unguarded, which was no surprise to anyone. The river was guard enough to keep most intruders away outside of an emergency.
“I can smell him,” Willowpelt said in relief. “He made it here.”
“He’ll take good care of Featherpaw and Stormpaw,” Mousefur said with a nod.
“I hope so,” Willowpelt sighed. “I only hope he doesn’t take after Whitestorm.”
Willowpelt’s clipped voice surprised Sandstorm, but she moved along, mewing to gain the pale queen’s attention. On they walked, through the cold grass and over to the bridge where Graystripe surely had crossed, leaving Thornpaw behind.
They crossed the bridge carefully. By now it was just before moonhigh, and the shadows of the night were fairly short. She could smell the many scents of Gatheringgoers, and wondered if there were any ThunderClan cats permitted at the Gathering this moon.
She knew exactly who would be at the head of the Great Rock: Tallstar, Leopardstar, and Tigerstar. How dare he become leader of a Clan and live in the luxury of ShadowClan when he destroyed an entire other Clan? The one he was born to, the one he was supposed to be loyal to?
She shook herself as they skirted the Fourtrees.
Sorrelpaw paused to gaze over at the hollow. Faintly, the shadow of the Great Rock gleamed in the moonlight. “Will we ever go to the Gathering?” she asked absently.
Fernflower came up beside her and purred comfortingly. “Of course, one day. We all go to Gatherings. It’s part of what makes us a Clan.”
“Why can’t we just go to the other Clans?” Sootkit asked anxiously as they continued toward the moorlands of WindClan. “I mean, they’re just cats like us. Right?”
Sandstorm chuckled warmly. Every apprentice asked that question. Willowpelt was the one who spoke first.
“ThunderClan is its own entity. We’re too different from the other Clans.”
“What do you mean?” Rainpaw asked inquisitively.
“None of the Clans sit vigil when they become Warriors, nor do they fight in the underbrush as well as us. They can’t climb trees well, either. They can’t hunt snakes or squirrels.”
“RiverClan cats swim,” Tawnypaw said knowingly. “They tell strange stories with weird words and they don’t share tongues all that often.”
“ShadowClan is cruel and secluded,” Brightclaw said bitterly. “They’re kit-stealers. They value brute strength against one’s Clanmate rather than their loyalty. They take whatever bloodshed they can get.”
“WindClanners are weak and scrawny,” Mousefur said finally. “They run and they chase their prey, never stalk them. They don’t give thanks to their prey out loud after they catch it. They spend half their lives in rabbit warrens and the other half sleeping under the stars and rain and hail.”
“Sounds uncomfortable,” Sootpaw said quietly from his hiding place under Ashcloud’s legs. The warrior was so tall that Sootpaw had been walking under him for the past hour and noone really noticed.
They walked across the windy moor. Sandstorm was almost convinced they crossed the same path as the Gathering patrol, because one place in the moor was flattened like a snake’s trail and the scent there was stronger than a skunk’s spray. As they passed what was surely WindClan’s camp, she paused to look at her Clanmates.
Willowpelt looked staunchly in the opposite direction, eyes narrowed. Sootpaw and Rainpaw whispered among each other. Sorrelpaw was the only one that emerged from the small crowd and peered across the moor.
“I miss Daddy,” she declared.
Goldenflower broke away from Speckletail’s side to stand beside the little calico. “I miss mine, too, sweetheart.”
After a few moments they set off again. Willowpelt didn’t say a word.
As dawn began approaching and the sky turned from black to purple, a shape came over a ridge.
“Who’s that?” Rainpaw asked quietly as he stood beside Brightclaw. “Is that a WindClan cat?”
“No,” Sandstorm said as the cat approached them. Slender black fur and bright yellow eyes gleamed at her. “It can’t be..”
“I’m sure you have some questions,” Ravenpaw purred with a smile. “But it looks like you need some help first.”
“We also need to make sure there’s plenty of shelter from the Leafbare,” Willowpelt mewed. “If it’s so close, we can be sure leafbare will not be over when we arrive.”
“And it needs to have good hunting,” Dustpelt said, lashing his tail and narrowing his eyes at the ground. “In order to keep all the mouths fed.”
“And it needs to have a lot of herbs to pick,” Cinderpelt agreed.
Sandstorm licked a forepaw in deep thought, drawing it over one ear. She slowly let her eyes close and thought for a long moment.
“When Graystripe went to the Moonpool,” Goldenflower mewed, “He came back and talked to me and Lionheart...”
Speckletail grunted beside her daughter.
“He mentioned a barn cat named Barley. Maybe he could point us in the right direction?”
“Yes, the dogs wouldn’t be able to cross the river,” Cinderpelt agreed. “So they couldn’t follow us.”
“And if there’s any territory by him that’s unclaimed, there’ll be plenty of herbs and prey,” Fernpaw agreed.
Sandstorm raised her tail for silence, letting out a soft sigh. “We’ll travel to Barley’s barn later,” she said. “First, we must have some overdue ceremonies.”
Immediately, knowing cats exchanged glances and soft gasps met Sandstorm’s ears.
“Fernpaw, Ashpaw, and Lostface, please step forward.”
Fernpaw darted forward, with Ashpaw hot on her heels. Lostface padded up quietly alongside them. She had a small smile on her face and puffed her chest up proudly.
“You three have more than earned your place in the Warrior’s Den - wherever that ends up being. You are the backbone of the Clan, and you deserve worthy names. Fernpaw, from this day forward you shall be known as Fernflower, for your love for kits and your skill in caring for them. Darkstripe may have left us, but he trained a fine Warrior.”
As the Clan cheered her name, Fernflower lowered her head in embarrassment.
“Ashpaw,” Sandstorm mewed, “From this day forward, you will be known as Ashcloud, for your calm demeanor and easygoing track through life.” The Clan cheered for the young tom, too, and he giggled.
Lostface’s clear green eye glimmered up at Sandstorm.
“Lostface, you have been punished unduly,” Sandstorm said apologetically. “Bluestar named you something terrible and cruel, when all you wanted was a true Warrior Name. You have fought your way through your injury these past moons with the help of your sister, and despite Bluestar’s absence and cruelty toward you and Swiftpaw, you showed your true strength. From this day forward, your name shall be Brightclaw, for your ferocity and loyalty to your Clan’s safety.”
“Brightclaw!” Cinderpelt shrieked as soon as Sandstorm was done talking. Brightclaw giggled and barreled into her sister, knocking her over as Brackenfur came to join the tumble-party. Ashcloud and Fernflower touched noses in celebration, and for a moment Sandstorm understood why. They both look so much like Brindleface.
She waved her tail, again, for silence. “Now, for the kits of our Clan. Bramblekit, Tawnykit, Sorrelkit, Rainkit, and Sootkit.”
The overgrown kits padded forward, smiling among themselves. Bramblekit and Tawnykit sat with their fur brushing. Rainkit and Sorrelkit did much the same, but Sootkit needed some convincing, too busy hiding in his mother’s fur.
“Bramblekit and Tawnykit, you two have been unfairly delayed in your training due to superstitions, and being blamed for things you didn’t do. Brackenfur, I trust you to train Bramblekit well and train him as a loyal warrior.”
“I will,” Brackenfur said, jumping out of the sister pile and flattening his coat.
“Bramblepaw, you may meet your mentor.”
“Hooray!” Bramblepaw squealed, flouncing to his mentor and smashing noses.
“Tawnykit,” Sandstorm went on, “I... I have become Leader of this Clan, but I have not had an apprentice yet. We’ve talked a lot, me and you, and I see a spark in you that I hope to cultivate. Will you be my apprentice?”
Tawnykit gasped so harshly she coughed. “Yes!” she squeaked.
“Come and meet me, Tawnypaw.”
The young molly came up, claws scrabbling against the Highrock as she came to touch noses with Sandstorm. She was a serene cat, and her slender form was already muscular. She’d be a strong Warrior.
Sandstorm turned back. “Rainkit, Sorrelkit and Sootkit, you three are of perfect apprenticeship ages. Rainpaw, you will be trained by Brightclaw - who will teach you strength and unwavering loyalty. Sorrelpaw, you will be trained by Fernflower - I see how you fawn over the prospect of kittens! And Sootkit, you will be trained by Ashcloud, who I hope will bolster your confidence and give you the push you need to bloom into the brightest flower.”
The Clan chanted for the young cats, and they all scuffled to meet their mentors. Sootpaw cuddled into Ashcloud’s side instinctively, while Sorrelpaw walked laps around Fernflower.
“Now, we need to hunt. We’ll be moving to the barn in a few days’ time, and we must keep our strength up. I won’t be organizing them; take who you’d like. Cinderpelt, feel free to take someone to help you collect herbs.”
“Yes, Sandst- storm.” Cinderpelt grinned and trotted over to Mousefur, who happily accompanied her.
Sandstorm slowly lay down, watching everyone scatter through the empty Camp.
There’s only one problem left, she thought dully. Who will be my Deputy?
Sandstorm trembled as she stared at the returning patrol. Whitestorm’s eyes were hollow as he stared ahead, his fur ruffled and forepaws drenched in thick blood. Graystripe looked horrified and drowntrodden; Speckletail stared ahead as if she hoped to ignore cries of anguish just by her ear.
“The dogs had gotten to her,” Whitestorm said softly.
“Bluestar is dead?” Goldenflower mewed anxiously, her tail flipping. “But there’s no deputy.”
“There hasn’t been a deputy in moons,” Bramblekit grumbled. “What’s the deal?”
“There has to be a deputy to take Bluestar’s position,” Smallear mewed. “Cinderpelt, have you been given a sign?”
Cinderpelt shook her head. “Not for many days and nights, Smallear.”
“What if Bluestar was right?” Sorrelkit mewed. “What if StarClan left us behind?”
“Shh!” Willowpelt scolded. “They’ll hear you if you talk like that.”
“She left behind a terrible legacy,” Lostface mewed, staring at the ground as she sat beside her brother Thornpaw. She looked unaffected.
“So what will we do?” Longtail asked shakily. “Without a cat to succeed the Leadership..”
“ThunderClan is dead,” Sandstorm blurted.
The words were met with silence, and she quickly regathered herself.
“That’s what Bluestar said,” she mewed. “Bluestar said if she came back alive she’d appoint a deputy, and if she didn’t, then ThunderClan was dead.”
“There’s no way to get rid of the dogs,” Fernpaw said with a trembling voice. “Bluestar might be right.”
Ashpaw nodded to his sister. “It’s not safe to hunt anymore. I heard Darkstripe complaining about how none of the Warriors can decide if the dogs are hunting by night or by day.”
“It’s not safe to train apprentices in the sandy hollow anymore,” Mousefur reported. “The dogs have been making dirt all over it. There’s no way any cat could clear piles so large, and they visit often.”
“Well, if we aren’t ThunderClan,” Speckletail snapped, “What are we?”
A long, uncomfortable silence replied to her. Sandstorm thought hard, her mind spinning. We aren’t loners or rogues. We haven’t been raised that way. No matter where we go, we’ll always act like Clan cats. It’s in our blood.
“We can still be ThunderClan,” Dustpelt offered. “We don’t need a Leader or a Deputy. We can do exactly as we have been in Bluestar’s... absence. The freshkill pile has remained kept up despite the Leafbare chill, the apprentices have been doing well by the dens, and we still share tongues each day.”
“But how long can we live without a leader?” Willowpelt asked. “How long until there’s a quarrel we can’t surmount? How long until the dogs come and tear through the wall of the Camp?”
Sootkit let out a terrified wail, and Willowpelt licked between his ears soothingly.
“Willowpelt’s right,” Whitestorm said, stepping forward. “In order to survive, cats like us need to be in a Clan. A true Clan, with a Leader and a Deputy, and... and the eyes of StarClan upon them.”
“What are you saying, Whitestorm?” Willowpelt’s blue eyes were big as she gazed on her mate.
“We must leave,” the tom said solemnly, earning gasps from his campmates. “Go to the Clan that suits you best and see if they will allow you to stay.”
“No!” Willowpelt snarled. “I’m not dragging my kittens into enemy territory!”
“It will keep them safe,” Darkstripe growled. “I, for one, am going to ShadowClan.”
“To be with Tigerstar?” Longtail asked tiredly.
“Yes!” the tabby tom hissed. “Tigerstar’s been loyal through and through-”
“If he hadn’t tried to kill Bluestar, this never would have happened!” Tawnykit wailed, eyes narrowed.
“He had the right idea,” Darkstripe said. “This just proves that Bluestar was weak and useless to ThunderClan. If he had been leader we would’ve had so much more. Brindleface would be alive, Swiftpaw-”
“Don’t bring Swiftpaw into this!” Lostface snarled so hard she drooled. “If you are going to leave, leave!”
Darkstripe stared, and looked as if he were going to argue. But then he flipped his tail and looked at Longtail. “Are you coming?”
Longtail glanced around. Then he sighed. “Yes, I’m coming.”
“No time to lose, then,” Darkstripe said, before bounding off into the tunnel - the smaller ginger cat right on his heels.
“Where will we go?” Bramblekit mewed.
“We’re staying right here,” Goldenflower growled. “This is our home.”
“I’ll be going to WindClan,” Whitestorm said softly. “I feel my talents would fit best there.”
“No!” Willowpelt caterwauled. “You can’t leave! You have kits in ThunderClan!”
“Bring them,” Whitestorm said softly.
“No! My kits are ThunderClan. Not WindClan. They will never be WindClan.”
Whitestorm’s eyes filled with sadness. Sandstorm felt her heart break for her mentor. She wanted to step forward, but innate stubbornness and disappointment kept her rooted. If I thought anyone would root for ThunderClan, she thought, It would have been you.
“I’ll come with you,” Smallear said after a long moment, standing on wobbling legs.
“You will?” Whitestorm asked the elder. “Are you up for the trip?”
“Yes,” Smallear breathed. “WindClan can see the night sky no matter where they stand in their territory. I hope StarClan will look upon me and see I am loyal.”
“I’ll go too,” Dappletail said, joining Smallear. “For the same reasons.”
“Let’s go, then,” Whitestorm mewed. “We should pass the Fourtrees by sundown.”
Sandstorm looked to Willowpelt as the queen’s mate left the Camp with the two elders in tow. Just as Smallear stepped aside to let Dappletail through, Goldenflower let out a sob.
“Papa,” she moaned. “Please don’t go. Please don’t go. I love you. We love you. Please don’t go.”
Smallear gave her a sad smile. “Your mother’s been scheming ways to get me thrown out for moons,” he chuckled. “I have no doubt she’ll stay by your side.”
Speckletail nodded stoutly. “I am no traitor.”
“I love you,” Smallear said to his daughter. He padded forward and touched noses with Goldenflower, who looked on the verge of tears. When he leaned down to bid farewell to his grandkits, Tawnykit turned away from him.
With that, he left.
Next to speak was One-Eye. “I’m too old to sit around in the woods with no help,” she declared sharply. “I’ll be leaving.”
“What?” Sandstorm coughed hard in shock. “Grandmother?”
“Uh-humh.” One-Eye flashed her tail in her last vestiges of ancient dignity. “I hate kittypets as much as the next bone-chewer, but even I know my limits. I could hardly walk out of the den this morning, let alone every morning, without someone to lean on.
“Mom,” Mousefur hissed, “I’ll help you.”
“You have a future in the forest,” One-Eye growled, but lovingly. “You are young and your bones are full of energy. Stay in the woods for your brother, and your niece.”
Mousefur’s eyes were pained. Sandstorm’s paws grew clammy at the memory of Runningwind.
“May I accompany you?” Frostfur asked softly.
“Mother!” Lostface cried.
“I’m so tired,” Frostfur mewed. “My kits are grown, now... They have been stolen, maimed, and Clan life has not suited my family well. I think... I don’t think I’ll be a kittypet,” she assured. “But I won’t be a Clan cat anymore. If my belly ever brings more kits to me, they will be my kits, and mine alone.”
Lostface huffed and turned away. Thornpaw looked down at his paws. Brackenfur stood and stiffly touched his nose to her ear.
“Be careful,” he said. “Place your paws carefully.”
“Thank you.”
Frostfur and One-Eye tread the distance together and disappeared into the tunnel.
Sandstorm could barely think straight, but she wasn’t exactly surprised when Graystripe decided to head to RiverClan. What surprised her in a whole new way was when Thornpaw stood.
“I’ll walk you,” the tom said. “To Fourtrees.”
“Fourtrees?” Brackenfur looked at his softspoken littermate. “Why?”
“There’s a bridge there, it will be safer to cross than Sunningrocks,” Thornpaw said. “And there’s a tunnel under the thunderpath...”
“You can’t be serious,” Cinderpelt mewed, breaking her silence.
“ShadowClan?” Lostface said meekly.
“Sometimes,” Thornpaw mewed, bitterness creeping into his voice, “I wish Yellowfang and her elders had never come and saved me.”
“Why?” Sandstorm asked in a voice stretched thin.
“I think, maybe, life would have been easier in ShadowClan.”
Graystripe looked to Brackenfur. But his former apprentice had no farewell. He didn’t act out on his anger, if he harbored any. He just watched with his eyes as the warrior and apprentice walked out.
“Anyone else?” Sandstorm asked, struggling to keep the accusing tone out of her voice.
The Camp looked so empty. Only a few cats remained. Goldenflower and Willowpelt sat with their kits - they huddled closely now, and Tawnykit consoled a weeping Sorrelkit with swipes of her tongue while Bramblekit told a story to the other two. Brackenfur, Lostface and Cinderpelt sat close, but said nothing, their tails twined like a braid behind them. Mousefur looked more than ashamed, staring at the entrance where her apprentice - well, former apprentice - had gone. Ashpaw and Fernpaw sat closely, and Dustpelt was beside them. Speckletail sat off to the side, alone, brooding.
Sandstorm closed her eyes and counted all the names up in her head. Fifteen cats. That wasn’t many, especially when five of them had never set foot out of camp, and one of them was a crampy old lady who couldn’t see further than a tail’s length from her nose clearly anymore.
“Now what?” It was Rainkit that spoke up at last, startling everyone else. “I mean, Bluestar still died.. and we still don’t have a deputy.”
Sandstorm sighed. He’s right. “We need to pull together,” she declared. “We need to decide on a leader.”
“I think that choice will end quickly,” Willowpelt said in a chuckle-sob. “We have one.”
“Do we?” Bramblekit asked.
“Yeah, dummy,” Tawnykit mewed, elbowing him sharply.
“Who?” Sootkit asked, his voice barely louder than birdsong.
“Her!” Sorrelkit cried out, pointing a ridiculously oversized paw in Sandstorm’s direction.
What? They couldn’t be serious.
“I like that,” Speckletail said with a curt nod and the slightest smile. “Sandstar.”
“Sandstar!” Fernpaw mewed with big eyes. The sorrow of Brindleface’s death still glittered behind green depths, but she seemed to be handling it accordingly. “I agree.”
“She’ll lead us well,” Goldenflower said. Cinderpelt nodded.
Sandstorm lowered her head at Frostfur, and nodded. Her heart twisted and ached at the memory of the silver tabby, how she laughed and cared for every cat as if they were her own kit.
“She’s with Elderkit and Tulipkit now,” Sandstorm said with a knotted throat.
“But what about Fernpaw and Ashpaw?” Frostfur mewed. “They need her now. More than ever, I imagine, now that she’s gone. They won’t know who to turn to, especially with ThunderClan in its...”
She hesitated for a long time.
“... current state.”
Sandstorm breathed in deep, and turned to look at the Highrock. Bluestar’s den lay dark and silent behind the sheets of lichen. “I’ll- I’ll speak to her,” Sandstorm mewed. “About what to do.”
“Does she even know Brindleface is dead?” Frostfur asked sharply, fur bristling slightly along her spine. “Does she know how she died? Does she even remember Swiftpaw?”
Sandstorm’s heart pulsed in her ears. “I don’t know,” she mewed. But I don’t think she knows Brindleface is dead.
It had been three seasons since Tigerstar betrayed their Clan by leading rogues to the heart of their territory. He’d nearly taken the leader’s life, but Sandstorm came to her den just in time to throw him out. The deputy had been exiled, but Bluestar never took a replacement Deputy. In fact, few cats had seen her out of her den.
There were rumors that she had died in there, and noone had noticed the stink because it was trapped behind the lichen. Sandstorm feared entering it.
“I’ll... see what I can do,” Sandstorm said finally when she realized how long it had been.
“Don’t forget to mention Goldenflower’s kittens,” Frostfur said as Sandstorm began walking away.
Sandstorm acknowledged her words, and padded along. As she walked the everlasting distance from Brindleface’s mourning family, she felt her heart clasp. My last parent, dead. Brindleface had never truly been a mother to her in the classic sense, but she carried the queen’s blood in her veins. Brindleface had acted as a surrogate for her fathers, Redtail and Runningwind. Redtail had been murdered at Tigerclaw’s fangs, Runningwind murdered on the Thunderpath, and now Brindleface.
Mauled by dogs.
She came to the entrance of the den. “Bluestar?” she called softly.
For a moment there was no reply. But then a shuffle, and a cough. Sandstorm invited herself in.
“Brindleface’s funeral just ended,” the molly mewed.
“Has she been buried?” the tired old queen mewed, looking to Sandstorm. Her eyes were watery and her mouth was dripping.
“Yes,” Sandstorm said. “Under the Owl Tree.”
“Why not leave it out?” Bluestar growled. “So the birds will get something of her.”
“What?” Sandstorm recoiled in shock. “Bluestar, we don’t treat our dead like crowfood. They deserve a Warrior’s burial, so they can travel to StarClan in peace.”
“Where is StarClan?” Bluestar growled, getting up on wobbly, disused legs. “Lead me to the border where we mark against StarClan invaders. Show me where StarClan’s camp is, and their leader’s place on the Great Rock,” she spat bitterly.
“Bluestar....” Sandstorm began.
But she was too slow in finding her words.
“StarClan is nothing,” The blue queen snarled passionately. “It doesn’t matter where our bodies go. In the ground, in twolegplace, in the belly of a fox. We end up the same way. Dung of some animal - fox, badger, crow, snake, worm...”
“Our Clanmates deserve to be treated with respect!” Sandstorm cried out. What had become of the wise, motherly leader she’d been born under?
“What respect have we left? StarClan has abandoned us. Perhaps StarClan tricked us into thinking they existed at all.”
“Bluestar, you can’t say that,” Sandstorm mewled. “You dreamt. You gained nine lives, and lost them. We all saw you.”
“Perhaps I lost consciousness,” Bluestar hissed sourly. “Maybe I was having a mad dream that I whisked up into wishful thinking.”
“If you speak like this, StarClan won’t allow you in their territory,” Sandstorm warned.
“Why would I want to go with them?” Bluestar growled. “They took everything from me. My mother, my sister, my kit- kits.... my chances at being happy, having a mate and settling down. They lied to me. They delivered a prophecy that never came true! Fire will save the Clan. Ptah!” she spat. “All fire ever did was kill our medicine cat and one of our beloved elders.”
Sandstorm drooped and sat down on her haunches.
Better to change the subject, she decided.
“Bramblekit and Tawnykit are overdue to be apprentices,” She said softly.
“Oh. The traitor’s spawn,” Bluestar growled.
“It’s been three seasons since Tigerstar set foot on ThunderClan territory! You’ve had Goldenflower blocked up in the nursery for three moons, and every day her kits grow bigger and bigger.”
“Traitors,” Bluestar snarled. “All of them. If I let them out of this Camp for one second they’ll be gallivanting across the Thunderpath and plotting to kill me.”
Why wouldn’t they, if they saw your state? Sandstorm caught herself thinking, and flinched in shock at herself.
“It was this kind of thinking that got Swiftpaw killed,” Sandstorm mewed. “He wasn’t Tigerstar’s kin at all. And poor Brightpaw... Lostface, I mean.” The name sent a vile wave up her throat that she forced back down. “Neither of them did anything, yet you’re punishing everyone...”
“ThunderClan deserves to be punished,” Bluestar growled, “According to StarClan. Maybe ThunderClan is doomed to fall.” The old queen slumped back into her nest.
“ThunderClan is not doomed to fall!” Sandstorm barked, getting back up on her paws in a frenzy. “ThunderClan has survived just as long as all the others. We’re the strongest and the most diplomatic, and we have the best territory. Our Warrior Ancestors have protected us for this long...”
“Did they protect against the dogs?” Bluestar shrilled, whipping out of her nest and coming nose-to-nose with the warrior. “If I send out Sootkit right now, to Snakerocks, will he return alive?”
“Of course not,” Sandstorm growled.
“Then are they not punishing him for my mistake?” Bluestar growled. “If I send a kit into battle and their throat is cut, they are punishing the kit for its leader’s error. StarClan’s ways are flawed, Sandstorm. Can’t you see that?”
The queen began hobbling for the entrance. Sandstorm stopped her with a paw to the tail.
“Where are you going?” the tabby asked.
“Leaving,” Bluestar growled. “If I return alive, I will appoint a Deputy. If not, ThunderClan falls by Moonhigh.”
She ripped her tail out from under Sandstorm’s claws and raced out of the den, galloping into the fern tunnel and disapearing.
Sandstorm could only watch, slack-jawed, wondering what happened. She turned an ear at the patter of Sootkit’s paws.
