There’s a sickening crunch and Moonstar’s body suddenly stops, lurching in the air.
Panting, Moonstar tightens the grip of her right paw – she’s managed to sink her claws into a thick root that is growing through the side of the cliff. She’s dislodged it a bit – that must have been the cracking sounds – but it holds fast to the cliffside and Moonstar doesn’t hesitate a second longer.
Gathering all of her strength, she swings her other paw up to sink her claws into the root, shoulders shaking as she pulls her body up. Her back paws windmill in the air until she’s able to find purchase on the cliff, digging her back claws into the rock and dragging herself up onto the slope.
Shaking all over and sick with adrenaline, Moonstar’s aching limbs want nothing more than to collapse out from under her. She flexes her claws in the loose gravel under her paws and eyes the dirt warily, as if it’ll suddenly heave forward and send her sailing over the edge of the cliff again. Muscles screaming, Moonstar moves her shaky, aching body to firmer ground.
Safe for the moment, she slumps at the base of a pine tree and shakes.
She almost died.
She almost died.
Quest for moss entirely forgotten, the only thought Moonstar can dredge up is the idea of getting back to her brother and collapsing against him, taking comfort in his familiar scent and his solid, grounding presence at her side. She’d assured Fogfreckle just last moon that she could handle being on her own, but now she’s not so sure she’s going to survive the hunt for a new home without him.
Ignoring the sharp ache of pain in her shoulder where she caught the root that saved her life, Moonstar struggles to her paws and slowly sniffs out the trail she took to get here, retracing her pawsteps through the fog and back up the mountain.
Limbs dragging, a wash of relief splashes Moonstar like ice melt on a hot day as she spots the clearing where they’ve scraped out their dens. Through the trees and the mist, she can just make out the light color of her brother’s dappled pelt moving around in the clearing. There’s something dark swinging from his mouth, likely freshkill, and, feeling relieved, she pulls herself through the trees and towards him.
Only pawsteps away, Moonstar opens her mouth to greet Fogfreckle, but stops in her tracks.
It’s not freshkill.
“Moonstar!” Fogfreckle’s ears flick back a second before he turns at the sound of her arrival, eyes bright and shining with happiness. “Look what I found while I was out collecting moss!”
Tucked at Fogfreckle’s paws is a kitten. A skinny thing, with short, raggedy brown fur and dark, reddish tabby stripes.
Moonstar’s relief swiftly vanishes.
The kit is quiet, motionless, almost expressionless, but it stares at Moonstar like it can see through her, past her pelt and muscle and down to her bone. Unnerved, Moonstar meets its intense bright blue eyes with her own. They’re not cobalt blue, like her brother’s, or ice blue, like her own. They’re an otherworldly blue.
She’s snared by that unblinking, unwavering gaze, and something about it seizes Moonstar with a feeling of pure, crawling dread, like somebody has set ants loose in her pelt. The kit sits neatly with its tail curled over its paws, still and silent unlike any kit Moonstar has ever interacted with before.
She feels rooted to the spot, as if to make any move closer to her brother – closer to the kit – would be dangerous, somehow.
Fogfreckle grins, wide and happy, apparently unaffected by whatever has taken hold of Moonstar. He bends his head to give the kit an affectionate lick atop the head. “I’m going to name him Alpinekit.”
Cowbirdsoar lays in the healer's den, basking in the cool morning air. His- the kits lay against his side. He curls his tail over them.
Last moon, he tried to get them to sleep on their own. He and Madtomtuft cleaned and added moss to the apprentice’s den. But after spending the night in it, they refused to return. No bribery or insistence would change their minds.
Cowbirdsoar knew he could force the issue, but that would do them no good. So, instead he chose to accommodate them. He brought the moss from the apprentice den and added it to his own nest.
That made the comfortable nest the three of them lay in now. He yawns into the empty air and stretches. Rhubarbkit squeaks against him, while Plumekit just curls further in on herself.
He looks down at them, his golden eyes shining. They are mine... Stars it is wrong, but they are my family. He looks at the cave roof and imagines Starclan looking down at him. He imagines the face of his mentor, the one he had made his oath to. He can see her scowling at him. I promise I am still loyal, He says to the visage. I will never take a mate, never have kits. But let me have this selfishness.
The visage stares through him, it says nothing, but a lightness creeps into his heart. He rests his head against his kits.
“Are you up yet?” Madtomtuft calls from the entrance. He narrows his eyes at his niece, making a shushing motion with his tail. She covers her mouth and backs away.
Reluctantly, Cowbirdsoar uncurls himself from his daughters. He licks both of their heads and walks out to meet Madtomtuft.
“Did you need something?” he says quietly.
“I just wanted to offer to go herb hunting with you.” She smiles so earnestly; the rest of darkness drains to his paws.
He nudges his head against hers. “I’ll be ready soon.” He walks back into the cave.
Rhubarbkit is already bothering Brambleclash, while her quieter sister is still asleep, having taken over the whole nest. Brambleclash bats at Rhubarbkit and smiles at him. She mouths ‘I have this’ at him. He mouths his own thanks and slinks back out.
Madtomtuft and Cowbirdsoar climb the rocks and onto the field. They bring themselves to a feverfew patch; the majority of it is already dead. Do we even have enough? If what we have goes bad... she nudged him out of his thoughts.
She motions towards the patch. “How do I harvest the feverfew?”
He swallowed down his fears. “You want to nip them towards the base of the stalk- be careful, the smell can throw off some cats.” He knew she knew. But the words comforted him.
She followed his orders and picked the plants. He joins in, avoiding the dead roots.
His ears twitch, catching a sound on the wind. Pawsteps. He unsheathes his claws. The pawsteps get closer. Madtomtuft tenses next to him, her own claws at the ready.
The pawsteps grow louder until a cat comes into view. A normal, non-infected cat and one Cowbirdsoar recognizes.
He sprints to them without thinking. “Walnutpaw” He calls out. Walnutscreech’s eyes widen in surprise. They run up to greet him.
The last time he saw Walnutpaw, their ears just barely reached his chin. Now, Walnutpaw was just a paw shorter than him. Their short, sandy fur, was tight against their skin, letting Cowbirdsoar see the bones underneath.Their purple eyes, once full of warmth and ambition, had dulled and sunk into his head.
“It’s Walnutscreech now,” They correct.
That made sense. It had been 9 moons. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “Congratulations.” He peaks over their shoulders. It was dangerous for them to be alone, where was Daisypop? Or the other Ivyclan cats?
“It’s just me.” They follow his gaze.
The words hit Cowbirdsoar like a raging badger. Just me.
“Ivyclan is...?”
Walnutscreech shook their head. “No, we just moved further up the hill.”
“We moved to the shore ourselves.” He waves his tail towards where he came from.
“That’s nice...” They reply, staring at the feverfew patch.
Of course, they came for that. And we had already picked so much...
“I think there’s still some.” He offers them. “Though, it may be easier for one clan to share them, rather than two.” Ivyclan has always been proud, but maybe, maybe those left could join Grouseclan.
Walnutscreech paws at the dirt. “I can’t imagine our leader would be keen on that.” They meow, the weight of the words pressing them against the dirt.
“What about just you?”
They recoil. “I can’t. Ivyclan still needs me.” Cowbirdsoar deflates.
“Right, of course.” He paws the dirt. “I’ll get you that feverfew.” He walks back to Madtomtuft, taking some of the plants. He sets it on their paws and steps back. They take it and turn around.
“Thank you.” They mumble around the plants. Cowbirdsoar nods to them. He wants to pull them back, but he knows he cannot. A healer's duty is to their clan... they would only hate him if he tried to remove them from their duty.
Silently, Cowbirdsoar slinks home. Madtomtuft follows him, feverfew in her jaws.
They tell the clan about Walnutscreech and Ivyclan. Brambleclash seems uneasy, Nighthawkflicker is quiet, and the kits... well they spend the meeting playing.
Cowbirdsoar curls in on himself. He paws his leg. “We can decide whether to visit them or not later. But for now, we should all just sleep on it.”
“That’s as good an idea as any.” Brambleclash nuzzles against him. “Mind checking on my sprain before you turn in?”
“Of course.” He helps her to the healer’s den. The kits follow them, worn out from their play.
