The crowd of cats slowly poured in from all corners of the junkyard, becoming a sea of gleaming eyes that looked up to the four leaders above.
“I’ll go first then,” Harestar meowed breezily, her large tabby form stretched out over the downy seat. She had a dream-like, wispy voice that sounded almost half asleep as she spoke. “PeakClan has been doing well this greenleaf. We avoided most of the flooding in the valley from the rains.” She paused to lick at her chest for a long moment, as if thinking. The stretch of rasping fur over uncomfortable silence was nearly unbearable.
Fernstar was half tempted to interject before she suddenly shook herself and continued, “We have two new kits in the clan. Timberbrook and Willowwind’s first litter, Grasskit and Sheepkit. And my mate, Sunsetpool, is expecting.”
Mews of congratulations broke out amongst the gathered cats below. Fernstar wondered to himself how those kits were meant to survive with such a rock-brained cat as a parent. Poor Sunsetpool.
“Lastly, we've had two visitors. From the farmlands. They are currently residing with PeakClan. That is all.”
From the farmlands? Fernstar tilted his head, curious. The Twoleg barn was full of ferals that wandered the territories, but it was rare that they actually bothered with the clans proper. It was odd of one of their stock to want to join them. But Fernstar supposed, watching Featherstar straighten up, that stranger things had happened.
“ShoreClan’s never been better!” Featherstar mewed cheerfully. “We’ve plenty o’ cats, plenty o’ prey, and a couple o’ brand new apprentices: Eaglepaw, Crabpaw an’ Poppypaw, who’s trainin’ under our medicine cat Chirpthroat. Those ol’ storms couldn’t keep us down for long!”
Yowls of agreement came up from the crowd. Featherstar gave a rusty sounding purr, his eyes fiercely proud as he took in his cats below. “Downside’s, lotta dogs scents along the sand paths. Y’all be careful up on your mountain, Harestar.”
“Ah, yes. PeakClan will be watching for them.” Harestar murmured, half to herself. Fernstar wondered if she would have to be carried up the cliffside. Perhaps PeakClan made training of it? How many new warriors does it take to carry our leader home. The image of it- Harestar’s deadweight bulk draped over several scrawny new ‘paws made him snicker despite himself.
Subtle claws prickling in his tail made him wince. Trying not to obvious about it, he turned his eyes to meet Mallowstorm’s. His deputy’s long claws were already neatly hidden away, as if he’d never used them to start with. Georgeous violet eyes narrowed at him, message clear but unspoken. Behave.
Ah, his mate was no fun at all. He loved him. Fernstar flicked his tail up, away from any more potential danger, trying to convey back with his eyes that, yes, darling, I’ll play nice with the other leaders. Mallowstorm looked entirely unconvinced.
That was fair.
“Perhaps,” Larkstar said, “RootClan would like to go next, since Fernstar seems so very eager to speak.”