Red Sun Rising: Chapter Twenty-Three
(AO3 counterpart here.)
The next few days were, for everyone else, peaceful. Firestar tried to sleep in his own den, and time and time again found himself in Thornclaw’s old nest. Twice, someone asked what he was doing there, and twice he didn’t answer. They stopped questioning it pretty quickly.
Thornclaw’s family, at least, recovered well, or at least well enough to continue their duties and make small jokes. Even so, Frostfur’s beautiful, deep green eyes carried a weight in them that took away their shine. Snowshade stuck close to her, his little purr always faintly audible no matter where one was in camp.
Brackenfur, earnest as ever, threw himself into helping around camp and going on as many patrols as he could. Something about the loss of his brother had kicked his productiveness into overdrive, and now he almost seemed disappointed when the night was over and work was done. Firestar sensed that he was trying to avoid thinking about Thornclaw.
Oddly, it was Tornface who had an air of peace about her. Cloudnose stuck closely to her side, but it looked like he didn’t need to bother; she was quiet and calm, often with a distant look in her eye whenever her head turned skyward.
Firestar, barely pulling himself together, remarked on this one night. “I’m glad you’ve been able to recover so well from Thornclaw.”
Tornface tilted her head thoughtfully as she swallowed the chunk of squirrel she and Cinderpelt were sharing. “It’s weird, honestly. I thought I’d be a mess about him, but… he died so peacefully. He didn’t look scared at all. He only lingered to make sure you were okay, and then he left us.” She twitched her whiskers with soft fondness. “I guess knowing that he wasn’t afraid when he went made me feel better about it.”
“He was never scared to die,” Cinderpelt replied. “I’m willing to bet anything that he’s proud of it.”
Tornface nodded quietly. “And I’ll bet he left immediately for StarClan as soon as he knew he was gone. He never had any regrets, or fears, or doubts. He’s okay up there.”
Firestar elected not to mention the conversation he’d had with Thornclaw, and the scorning the young warrior had given himself. He just lowered his chin in agreement.
On the other paw, Dustpelt had the worst of it. He never stopped working, but he grew silent and weighed down in his posture, no matter what Sandstorm said or did to cheer him up.
“He thinks he sent Thornclaw to die,” she explained to Firestar one night, both frustrated and saddened. “I can’t even get him to respond to a joke.”
Firestar sighed quietly. “Trying to end his grieving early isn’t going to help. Let him mourn, and talk about it if he wants to.”
“You know I’m no good at that!” Sandstorm huffed, but eventually gave a guilty nod. “I guess I’ll just do your thing and listen to him.”
“That’s right,” Firestar said. “If he needs to talk, or if he doesn’t, just be there for him.”
Sandstorm was kind enough not to snark about this. She seemed to actually reflect on it, given the look in her eye when she walked away.
Firestar wanted to be in her place. Really, he did. He’d love to be the one comforting others right now. But it was hard to focus. Even when in the warriors’ den, sleep didn’t reach him easily. He often jerked awake in the middle of the day from a dream of his claws digging into flesh, blood between his toes. He didn’t go back to sleep after that.
All he could really do was pick up what slack Dustpelt had left while he did his own grieving. Organizing patrols to investigate the borders and make sure the Blood cats were really gone was oddly helpful, despite it requiring more brainpower than he had on a given night. It made him feel useful again.
Not alive, quite, but useful, which was close enough.
One night, just after a patrol led by Greystripe had been sent out, Firestar collapsed near the nursery, too tired to fall asleep where he was. He shut his eyes and breathed slowly, the sand’s lingering day-warmth a balm on his troubled mind. He barely heard heavy paws trotting up to him, didn’t register something dropped in front of his nose until it was poking his muzzle.
He blinked and lifted his head, then purred in surprised relief. “Hi, Tawnypaw.”
His sister’s face was hard to read, but she had a massive paw on a mole she had placed right in front of him. Quietly and flatly, she said, “You need to eat.”
“Oh…” Firestar blinked again, only now registering the hollow feeling in his gut. “Thank you. You’re right.”
Tawnypaw paused as he pulled the mole to his chest before slowly asking, “You okay?”
Firestar weakly puffed a humorous breath. “I’ll survive.”
The torbie didn’t look convinced. “Mira and Bramblepaw are worried about you.”
Firestar didn’t say anything. His eyes flickered over to Goldenflower, who was just poking back into the nursery as three little kits squeezed out past her.
“You should talk to them,” Tawnypaw said, and before he could respond, she turned and trotted away.
Silently, he watched her go over to Bramblepaw, who had just come into camp. He didn’t say anything just then. He just bent his head and ate his mole autonomously.
At the very least, the feet were nice to chew on again.
“Can not!”
“Can too!”
The final pink foot in his mouth, he looked up and over to see Rainkit and Sootkit standing across from Squirrel, their cute little fluffy coats puffed up in outrage. Squirrel just looked like she was having a lot of fun.
“Crows’re sacred!” Rainkit said sharply. “You’re not allowed to eat them!”
“Says who?” Squirrel retorted.
“Says StarClan!”
Sootkit piped up. “Says Thlainra, too.”
Squirrel tilted her head exaggeratedly far, squinting at him. “Who’s Thlainra?”
Rainkit squawked in shock. “You gotta know Thlainra! She’s the Crowmother!”
Squirrel’s squint continued. “Like, a really big crow?”
“No!” Rainkit stomped a paw. “She’s a cat! And you’re not s’posed to eat her crows! Or you’ll get in trouble!”
“Sounds dumb,” Squirrel said, earning another squawk. “Why wouldn’t you eat a big bird like that? It’s so much food!”
“Oh, you can try,” said a singsong voice. Around the corner of Firestar’s eye, Cinderpelt was limping up to them, her dark eyes glittering with mischief. “But it’ll cost you greatly.”
Tornface, sitting where they had apparently been hanging out, snickered a chuff. “Cind, don’t scare them.”
“I’m bringing them wisdom!” Cinderpelt protested. “Straight from the marshlands!”
“Oh, good, a ShadowClan story.” Tornface rolled her eye. “That won’t terrify them at all. Let me guess, Yellowfang told you this one?”
“Among others,” Cinderpelt sniffed, and said to the kits, “Now, gather ‘round, and I’ll tell you all about what happens when you eat a crow.”
Squirrel scooted up, tail bouncing around excitedly, while the twins more hesitantly turned around and sat down, a look on their faces like they had an idea of what their sister was about to say. Cinderpelt rested on her haunches while waving a front paw like she was casting a spell.
She began in a mystical voice, “Long, long ago, it happened that there was an apprentice of ShadowClan. He was very foolish, and very disrespectful to our traditions and laws. He’d cross borders he wasn’t supposed to, he’d scorn StarClan, and, worst of all, he would mock the spirits and gods that keep us safe.”
“What was his name?” Squirrel interrupted loudly.
Cinderpelt gave her an amused look. “His name doesn’t matter. What matters is what he did.”
“Ohhh,” Squirrel said with a dissatisfied frown.
“Don’t talk!” Sootkit hissed. “She’s telling a story!”
Squirrel stuck her tongue out at him, but she stayed quiet as Cinderpelt continued.
“Now, one night, this apprentice was out hunting with his mentor. They were having a hard time finding anything—which is usual for ShadowClan,” she said in an aside to Squirrel, “but this time they really couldn’t get a morsel. The only thing in their territory, it seemed, was a flock of crows that seemed to be following them around. They decided to split up and look in different areas. The mentor said, ‘Now, remember, no matter how hungry you are, you leave those crows alone except if you’re asking for guidance to prey.’
“She’d told him this so many times, but he didn’t mind her any more than he ever had. As soon as she was out of earshot, he started creeping up to where he’d seen the crows land for a moment. His belly growled, and grumbled, and he was hungrier than ever at the sight of all these big, fat, black birds just sitting around like they didn’t have a care in the world. He decided that if he caught one and ate it himself, his mentor would be none the wiser and he wouldn’t get in trouble this time.” Cinderpelt leaned down to match the kits’ eye levels. “And can you guess what he did?”
Rainkit looked nervous, and Sootkit huddled a little. Squirrel was the one to ask, “Did he catch a crow?”
Cinderpelt beamed mischievously. “He did. And the other crows flew away, cawing in horror and anger at the loss of their kin.
“Now, this apprentice was hungry, like I said. He didn’t even bother really chewing or tearing this crow up to eat in chunks. So he swallowed it whole, and trotted away, all proud of himself and figuring his secret was safe. He didn’t have so much as a single feather on his face. No one would know.”
Her voice dropped and turned into a raspy imitation of her mentor’s. “Except someone did know: Thlainra. Do you know what she looks like?”
“I don’t,” Squirrel said.
“Well, Thlainra is a black cat—or, at least, she looks like a black cat,” Cinderpelt said. “She’s got a feathery tail, and eyes so dark that they don’t reflect any light.” Yellowfang’s dark humor leaked even more into her voice. “And she sees, and hears, and speaks through every crow in the territories. She observes everything, and knows even more.”
Squirrel, for once, looked a little nervous herself.
“And she saw that poor little crow in that apprentice’s belly, and she got very, very angry. That was her child sitting in the dark, scared and in pain. So guess what she did?”
“Did she eat the apprentice?” Squirrel guessed.
“Oh, no, worse than that,” Cinderpelt said in subdued glee.
Tornface sighed and shook her head, but she made no move to interrupt.
“She cast a spell on that crow the apprentice swallowed whole,” Cinderpelt continued. “And it began to grow, and grow, and grow. It was heron-sized in no time at all, and equally lanky.
“The apprentice was frightened, because suddenly he had a gut-ache so bad he couldn’t move. And before he could do a single thing about it, or even call for help, the crow burst out of his belly, growing larger and larger until it was bigger than even a car. The apprentice died right there out of shock and pain, and from that day forward, the beast of a bird went around with a cap of catskin on its head, forever and ever, as a warning to every other apprentice who thinks they can sneak past Thlainra’s watchful eyes.” Cinderpelt flourished with her paw, adding, “And that’s the end, as I’ve heard it, and as you’ve heard it now.”
Rainkit and Sootkit, predictably, huddled together in fright, but not without a little awe. Squirrel was the one to speak first.
“Gross,” she said, looking delighted. “Thlainra’s really cool.”
“Isn’t she?” Cinderpelt trilled, utterly pleased with herself. “Let’s hope you never have reason to meet her, little ant.”
“For crying out loud–” Tornface sighed and stood up, joining her friend by the kits. “Goldenflower’s going to have your hide for scaring your brothers.”
“What’s going on?” Aspencloud’s head poked out of the nursery now.
“You're not doing your job,” Cinderpelt teased. “I’ve just traumatized the kits for life.”
“I’m fine!” Squirrel protested. “I’m not trauma-sighed!”
Aspencloud immediately climbed into the open, frowning at Cinderpelt as she gathered the twins with a paw once they ran to her side. “Don’t tell me you shared a Yellowfang story.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Cinderpelt blinked innocently. “My old hag of a mentor was chock-full of wisdom from those grim tales of hers.”
Aspencloud grumbled and nosed Rainkit’s head, then Sootkit’s. “It’s okay, babies. It’s just a story meant to scare kittens like you.”
Sootkit, his face buried in Aspencloud’s feathery leg, looked up at her. “It was scary. An apprentice got worn by a crow.”
“And that’ll teach you to chew before you swallow, I hope,” Cinderpelt said. At a scolding look from Aspencloud, she added, “And hey, I had to educate our dear little Squirrel on how to have manners when it comes to our spirits.”
Squirrel nodded enthusiastically. “I wanna hear more stuff! Is there more than Thlainra?”
“Oh, so much more!” Cinderpelt replied, looking very proud of herself. “We could be here all night talking about Mernatha, and Theful, and the stories meant for kits like you.” She winked. “But I don’t think you’re very interested in the soft stuff. How about the time Mernatha helped kill a rronahrruk*?”
Squirrel jumped up and started bouncing on her toes. “Yeah! Yeah! Also, who’s Mernatha?”
It was here that Firestar heard a voice close to his ear. “Emar?”
He didn’t quite have it in him to jump, but he did flinch when he looked to his left and saw a massive, dark brown tabby in his face.
Bramblepaw immediately took a step back, whispering, “Sorry, I’m sorry! I, um, I was just checking in and seeing how you’re doing. You looked… thoughtful.”
Firestar relaxed a little now, his eyes losing focus as he mulled over his exact mood.
“Hard to say how I’m doing,” he said at last. “I’m tired, mostly.”
Bramblepaw’s eyelids lowered a little. “You’ve looked really tired, too.”
Firestar forced a purr. “I’ll be okay. Has Dustpelt been training you alright?”
Bramblepaw evidently knew when to let a subject change, because he went with the new topic easily. “He’s really quiet. He’s mostly been having me hunt. Which I don’t mind,” he hastened to add, “but I’m just not very good at it, is all.”
Firestar, heart aching for his deputy’s pain, hummed. “I’ll give him a break in duties. You and I can go out and do a border patrol soon. How about that?”
Bramblepaw perked up. “Can Tawnypaw and Cloudnose come?”
“I don’t see why not,” Firestar replied. “We’ll go tomorrow night, if I’m not busy. Let Sandstorm know we’re borrowing her apprentice, if you can, please.”
Bramblepaw, for once, looked confidently eager. He bobbed his head and turned quickly, trotting off to find Sandstorm.
Firestar lowered his head, resting his chin on his paws. The mole sat comfortably in his stomach, offering a tiny sense of peace and some dull relief that he wasn’t going to starve to death tonight.
Thank the stars he had chewed it to pieces, right?
*This particular story was told in Chapter 47 of Charred Legacy.
