#ryestripe

[clangenrising]

Month 15 - Newleaf

Content Warning: This piece includes content that may be triggering to some viewers. See this post for details.

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Battle With Razor Pt 3

Yarrowshade had never felt more alive. 

His blood pounded in his ears and clumped in his fur and it felt amazing. Every wound he took felt like a sacred rite, each wound he dealt felt like justice - perfect, bloody red, lovely justice. 

“That’s for Nightfrost!” he spat as he sank his claws into a kittypet’s eye and heard them scream in pain. 

“That’s for Smokyrose!” he snarled as he got a few more shots on the notched cat that fled after he got them good in the belly. 

That’s for Scorch, he wanted to say but he still hadn’t caught sight of Razor. Without an opponent for the moment, he turned and searched the crowd for any sign of the figure. The tree trunks and tussling cats obstructed anything outside his immediate area though and he growled in frustration, tail lashing. 

A flash of nearby movement caught his eye - a brown tabby kittypet kicking off of a tree trunk and back into the fray, taking his opponent to the ground. Yarrowshade recognized him as the tom who had called him ‘pretty boy’, the tom who had beaten him bloody and thus stopped him from joining in on the battle of the snowstorm. Yarrowshade pounced without a second thought, tackling the tabby off of the cat who he was scrapping with and rolling with him into the dirt. 

The kittypet hissed and wheeled on him, smacking him hard across the cheek, adding another scratch to the bloody streaks patterning his face. Yarrowshade twisted and kicked out with his hind legs, knocking the wind out of the tom. They fell apart, gasping for breath and Yarrowshade glanced over his shoulder at the cat he had rescued. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Ryestripe of FallenClan, getting to his feet, bleeding heavily from a nasty bite on his hind leg. 

“Enough talking, pretty boy!” the kittypet shouted, lunging in again. Yarrowshade ducked down then reared up to slam his head into the kittypet’s chin like Russetfrond had done to him. He wasn’t expecting it to hurt, though, and both he and the kittypet fell backward hissing in pain. Thankfully, Ryestripe moved in to cover him, raining a quick volley of blows down on the kittypet’s head. 

Yarrowshade shook himself to gather his thoughts and then lunged to tackle the kittypet again. They collided in a satisfying thump of muscle against muscle that threw the kittypet onto his back. Yarrowshade crowed triumphantly and snapped his teeth at the tom’s neck. The tom writhed but that only gave Yarrowshade better access to his throat and he readjusted his grip to sink his teeth into flesh. 

The tom hissed and kicked out, shredding Yarrowshade’s soft belly with his hind claws, but Yarrowshade stayed firm. The taste of blood was almost as overwhelming as the stinging pain. He adjusted his grip one more time, sinking one tooth into a squishy spot under his chin. The tom gasped sharply, and kicked even harder.

“Stop!” gasped the kittypet. “Sto- stop!” Yarrowshade snarled and squeezed harder, turning the tom’s protests into nothing more than a strained wheeze. He wondered if Smokyrose had begged when she was killed. He wondered if this kittypet would have stopped if he were the one begging. 

“Stop it!” Barleypaw was suddenly beside him, shoving roughly against his shoulder. Yarrowshade, thrown off by his apprentice’s insistence, fell backward, looking around for whatever looming threat she was warning him of. There was none. The kittypet gasped for breath and there was a distinct wheezing sound as air bubbled out of the wound. Yarrowshade looked at Barleypaw to find her glaring at him. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, still confused. 

“A good warrior doesn’t kill to win his battles!” his apprentice said, sounding almost teary. “What’s gotten into you?” Yarrowshade wilted. If it had been anyone else, he would have shot back with some retort but he couldn’t muster the courage to snap at Barleypaw.

“I…” he licked the blood from his dripping muzzle and found nothing else to say. Barleypaw huffed and turned away to look down at the kittypet wheezing on the ground. He was struggling to breathe and hacking up blood every now and then, but he didn’t seem like he was going to fall over dead. 

Barleypaw bent down next to him and said sternly, “Go home.” 

The kittypet flinched away from her, sides heaving, but, when she made no moves to strike out at him, he nodded and scrambled away, dodging between scrapping cats as he hurried away. Yarrowshade let out a frustrated noise at the sight. 

“Barley, I know you mean well, but you don’t know what that cat is like,” he said. “If you’d heard the way he talked or-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barleypaw snapped and he blinked in surprise. “He’s a living cat. You shouldn’t kill him if you have another choice.” She lifted her head and held his gaze defiantly, ready for him to protest further. He was struck very suddenly with the realization that his apprentice was all grown up. He didn’t know how to feel about that. 

“Look at you, you’re bleeding everywhere,” she said when he stayed silent. 

“I think we’re starting to outnumber the rogues,” said Ryestripe, who Yarrowshade had forgotten about entirely. “Looks like the Chaff are taking the deal.” 

“You should go see the healers,” Barleypaw said, more instruction than suggestion. “Get your belly looked at before you pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Yarrowshade insisted. He stepped forward to look around for another opponent but Barleypaw moved to forcibly intercept him. 

“Yarrowshade, please,” she said softly. 

He swallowed. “Well, how can I argue with that?” he laughed, feeling terrible. 

“I’ll make sure he gets there safely,” said Ryestripe.

“Thank you,” Barleypaw said to both of them. “I’m gonna go find Floodpaw.” And with that, she was gone. Yarrowshade sighed. He suddenly felt very tired - tired and old. 

“Hey, come on,” Ryestripe said. “You really are bleeding a lot.” 

“Oh, right,” was all Yarrowshade could say. He leaned against Ryestripe’s side and let the other cat guide him back through the woods to the place where the healers had set up their first aid station. It wasn’t far from the battle proper but the effort of winding around trees and over roots was exhausting.

Lionpaw was perched on a root, acting as sentry, and called, “Ryestripe and a wounded warrior, coming in!” over his shoulder as they approached. 

“Thank you, Lionpaw,” came Blazingbrush’s voice. As they trudged into the clearing, Yarrowshade looked around and tried to identify all the cats getting medical aid. Blazingbrush was spreading cobwebs over Tumblefang’s shoulder, a trail of blood running all the way down the warrior’s leg. Fishtrick was getting poultice applied to a long gash on her side. Darkmoon was laid out against a tree where Stormwhisper and Sagetooth were speaking to him.

“I know,” Stormwhisper was saying, “but you have to stay awake, alright?” 

“I’ll try,” said Darkmoon. 

“Keep talking with him,” Sagetooth ordered Stormwhisper before glancing over to frown at Yarrowshade. “Sit him down over there,” she said to Ryestripe, “I’ll grab the herbs.” 

“I’m fine, really,” Yarrowshade said as he plopped down against the designated trunk. 

“I’ll tell you when you’re fine,” Sagetooth snapped. Looking at Ryestripe, she asked, “are you injured?” 

“Not too bad, thanks to him,” said the other warrior. Yarrowshade flashed him a grateful smile. 

Sagetooth huffed affirmatively. “Alright. Go see Tangletooth then.” Ryestripe nodded and returned Yarrowshade’s smile before heading off to get his wounds seen too. Sagetooth started examining him, passing her paws over his fur and feeling at his wounds. When she got to his belly, she frowned and shouted, “Blazingbrush, where’s that yarrow at?” 

“Here!” the younger healer chimed, detaching from her Clanmate to run the clump of herbs over to them. “Oh my, that’s a nasty wound.” 

“Thanks,” Yarrowshade looked away, unenthused. 

“Sorry,” Blazingbrush said, cheeks turning pink. Sagetooth, already chewing the herbs in her mouth, swatted at Blazingbrush with her tail and the pretty young she-cat flitted bashfully back to Tumblefang. Sagetooth spat the poultice into her paws and Yarrowshade lifted one arm to let her thoroughly spread it over his wounds. 

“Don’t let that get wiped off,” Sagetooth ordered and then stood to find the cobwebs. Yarrowshade’s ears twitched in Darkmoon’s direction.

“-member that,” the EarthClan deputy was saying weakly. “Foxfuzz was furious with me.” 

“And she never knew it was actually my fault,” Stormwhisper laughed, sounding sad. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that.” 

“Didn’t have to,” said Darkmoon. “You worked hard to make it right and that was enough.” 

Stormwhisper laughed again. “What about you? Did you ever do something that stupid?” 

“As stupid as collapsing an entire den?” wheezed Darkmoon. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, try and think,” Stormwhisper urged. “You have to keep talking.” Sagetooth returned with the cobwebs and started to apply them. 

Yarrowshade whispered, “What’s wrong with Darkmoon?” 

“A rogue broke a few of his ribs very badly,” muttered Sagetooth without looking up. “He’s been breathless and dizzy which are not good signs. He’s probably bleeding internally. I’d give him a few hours at most.” 

“Oh,” Yarrowshade swallowed. He hadn’t realized that was even a possibility. He wondered what would have happened if his ribs had been broken rather than bruised all those months ago. 

“Alright, done,” Sagetooth said. “Your other wounds can wait. Find somewhere out of the way and get some rest.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said obediently and stood with a wince. He didn’t want to rest. He wanted to go back and keep fighting, but the sound of Stormwhisper and Darkmoon’s conversation was dampening that urge more and more by the second. And besides, he was very, very tired. He slank around to the back side of the tree and nestled himself between the roots, eyes falling gently closed.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Two: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

“Listen to that. You can hear the chaos all the way from here.”

Mistface twitched his nose as a noncommittal response. He was walking by the side of a nearly-black tabby molly named Darkpelt through the burgeoning fresh blades of grass growing in for the season. Behind him, a pair of toms were trying to occupy themselves with taking in the sights of the vast valley they lived in, for lack of anything else to do. The one directly behind Mistface was the smallest of their troop – a sleek and skinny dark brown tom with a permanent frown on his face. He was very much dwarfed by the massive white tom beside him, who was making an effort to walk slowly so that he didn’t overtake the rest of the group.

Mistface himself, a handsome blue-grey tom with long fur, swiveled his ears, absentmindedly taking in the distant sounds of yowls and cheers. They were heading for the Clast settlement, and from here he could see the large stone houses that made up oversized dens for the family to live in. This was, by far, the most aggressive part of the Territory to be in; Mistface could already envision cats charging up to him once he arrived and demanding to tussle.

As if he’d heard Mistface’s thoughts, the white tom, Laurelclaw, nervously said, “You don’t think we’ll have to do any fighting, do you?”

Beetlefoot, the little tom, snorted. “That’s all Clast cares about. We likely have to in order to fit in.”

Darkpelt twisted her head and fixed Laurelclaw with her wide-eyed blind stare and a grin. “You’ll have quite a few fans in there before long, I think. They love a big guy.”

Laurelclaw hummed anxiously. “I know I’m supposed to be the muscle, but…”

“Ain’t a problem yet,” Mistface said. He was sharply reminded that his drawl was the strongest of the accents in the group as he spoke. “Darkpelt, you got a game plan? I’m assumin’ you’ve done this before.”

“Obviously!” Darkpelt winked at him and, for the second time since meeting her, he wondered how she knew to do that. “How long do you think I’ve been in spy work for?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mistface said, with a disdainful sort of feigned politeness. “How long?”

“Nine months of age,” Darkpelt said smugly. Mistface disliked her. “I mean, to be fair, it’s usually simpleton’s work, but this time I’m collaborating with newbies, so I made sure to have a ‘game plan’, as you say. I’m sure this’ll be easy enough, but still-”

“You’re free to share it at any time after you’re done boasting,” Beetlefoot said dryly.

Darkpelt laughed and curled her tail. “Fine, fine. Mistface, Fernstar pretty much laid out what you’re do to – you’re our spokesperson. Anyone asks questions about us, especially when we first arrive, and you’ll be answering them.”

“Got my answers ready for me?” Mistface asked.

“I do, actually.” Darkpelt nodded. Her tone shifted to be more business-like than jolly. “The three main points: one, you’re here for your brother and nothing else. Two, you don’t know anything about the deputy’s supposed plan to leave. Three, we all met up at the Gathering and decided that our interests aligned and we should go to Clast together.” Her tail uncurled and waved in the air. “Aside from that, you’re smart, so I hear. You can come up with stuff pretty quick. All minor details about the rest of us can be half-truths or non-answers.”

Mistface made a noise of acknowledgement.

“As for the rest of us-“ Darkpelt looked back at Laurelclaw and Beetlefoot. “Laurelclaw, you’re here because you’re tired of your life with the Plage. Beetlefoot, you’re doubled up. You’re done with constantly working for the leaders, and you have friends in Mistface and his mother. They sort of inspired you to come along with and check out a new style of living.”

Beetlefoot wrinkled his nose as soon as the word ‘friend’ was said, but he waited until Darkpelt finished talking to respond. “And none of us know anything about Redheart wanting to take cats out of the Territory?”

“You might have heard about it,” Darkpelt replied, “but you don’t believe the rumors. That’s not to say you aren’t curious, though. Laurelclaw and Mistface don’t know anything. You haven’t said a word to them yet, mostly because the idea sounds too silly to be real.”

In a way, Mistface mused, it was. The Clan, made up of multiple large families and hundreds of individuals, lived in a massive collection of areas all forming the Territory. Mountains, hills, the valley, marshes, and even a trail leading to the coastline provided comfortable and beautiful homes for these cats. Prey was abundant, especially because of the land being littered with certain ones that had a white mark on their heads that proved they had been given to the living by StarClan. Even besides that, there were almost no predators to bother them, definitely no neighboring groups large enough to pose even a slight challenge, and so few struggles that the biggest hurdle to one’s happiness was unseasonably cold weather.

What in the name of the stars, then, would cause a cat like Redheart, said by Fernstar herself to be sensible and level-headed, to consider leaving at all? Something petty, perhaps, like a power struggle, or maybe she wasn’t as level-headed as she was said to be and thought life would really be better in the outside world. Mistface couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

“Remember,” Darkpelt continued, bringing Mistface back to the present, “your job – all of you – is to be inconspicuous. Redheart isn’t stupid, and neither is Greyleaf. They’ll know something’s up if you just sit around listening in to conversations or asking strange questions all day.”

That was the other thing. Mistface’s brother, Greyleaf, had mysteriously abandoned his post as the official healer for the leaders and their high deputies – those that served directly beneath the collective heads of the Clan – to join Redheart in the Clast under the pretense of going to see his dying mother to the end of her life. Greyleaf was an anxious wreck with no desire to step a toe out of line and draw attention to himself. The fact that he had lied so brazenly about his family, the thing he held in higher regard than anything else, and went to the rowdiest group in the Territory to work with a cat that was calling for negative attention was baffling to everyone that knew him.

“It’s the job of me and Mistface to get the information we need.” Darkpelt’s usual mischievous smile disappeared for a moment as she turned her head to blindly scan all three of the toms with a very serious look. “And even then, Mistface is to keep near his brother and the common folk in the settlement. Let me do the sneaking around and spying, got it?”

“Right.”

“Got it.”

“Yes.”

“Atta boys.” Darkpelt’s smile returned. “Now, let’s keep our mouths shut from here about this. Maybe some awkward small talk, but nothing beyond that. Spokesperson, walk a little ahead of me.”

Another round of affirmatives, and Mistface picked up the pace until his shoulders were past Darkpelt’s nose. There was no small talk, but the air did become a bit awkward anyway. Laurelclaw looked uneasy and Beetlefoot seemed to be focusing on appearing as calm and indifferent as possible. Mistface was sure he looked confident enough as he was.

Gradually, the sounds of fighting and excited spectators came to drown out the bird chirps and gentle breeze of the flatlands. Beetlefoot’s face creased contemptuously, but Laurelclaw and Darkpelt looked at least a little more interested as an explosion of cheers burst from the houses.

Mistface’s eyes drifted and he caught sight of a grey-brown tom lazing about where the cobblestone was cracked and overtaken by the earth. He was small and dully colored enough to almost completely melt into his surroundings, and he only moved to look up at the approaching party.

“Somethin’ fun happenin’ in there?” Mistface asked casually, once he was close enough that he knew he could be heard over the commotion.

“Always is.” The tom was at least polite enough to sit up and greet them as they paused a few feet away. “You here for the party or the rumors?”

Mistface was aware of Darkpelt’s presence, as if she was staring directly at him to will the correct response into his head. He blinked slowly and replied, “I’m just here for my brother, actually. Heard you got a cat named Greyleaf here now.”

“Ah.” The tom gave an amused scoff. “The boy just showed up, yes. He’s been busy.”

There was a screech and the cheers erupted one again.

Mistface offered the tom a friendly smile, swallowing the distaste for crowds brewing in his chest. “He’ll be real busy after whatever move they just pulled, I reckon.”

“We both will.” The tom stood fully. “I’m a resident healer. Vireoberry. Though everyone’s been going to him over me, if you can believe it.”

“I can,” Mistface said. “He’s quite good.”

“So I’ve seen,” Vireoberry said. “If you want to talk to him before Redheart pulls him away again, now’s the time.”

Mistface thanked him and continued walking, the other three close behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laurelclaw beam and wave his tail to Vireoberry as they parted ways.

Two houses had to be passed before they rounded a corner of smooth rock and emerged into a cobblestone clearing, currently crowded with cats. There was just enough room to see a dark grey ticked tabby standing triumphant over a young golden tom. The cats gathered were shouting various things like “Cry uncle, Ryestripe!” and “One more hit!”.

“Is it a good fight?” Darkpelt said in Mistface’s ear.

“Looks like it’s about over,” Mistface said.

The golden tom looked up nervously at the tabby, who grinned down at him, before he flopped fully onto his side and raised a paw. Laughter and jeers rang through the clearing and the crowd backed up unanimously, as did the tabby. The golden tom unsteadily got to his feet and shook his head, which Mistface could now see was bleeding.

Beetlefoot made a noise of disgust. “Savages.”

“Ain’t our place to judge how they spend their time,” Mistface said over his shoulder, flicking his enormously fluffy tail. “Let’s find Greyleaf.”

The crowd began to disperse, with a few cats walking up to the tabby to shower her with compliments (to which she seemed very receptive). Mistface scanned the clearing for his brother, eyes narrowed a little. He watched a cluster of cats suddenly part to allow a tall, elegant red-brown molly through. He recognized the molly as the one that he had seen talking to his brother once at a Coterie gathering for the smaller groups within the Clan. His eyes narrowed further.

The golden tom caught sight of the molly and immediately scrambled to his feet, bowing his head repeatedly and scattering blood on the ground.

“Easy, Ryestripe,” the molly said, and even at a normal volume, her voice seemed to drown out all other sound with its clear, commanding tone. “Just sit down.”

Ryestripe complied, grinning weakly. “Heh, did you see? I nearly got her.”

“I saw.” The molly didn’t quite smile, but her hard face softened a little. “You’ve been doing well for yourself. Don’t overdo it when you were just patched up, though, alright?”

“Don’t bother making him promise,” the tabby said. “He won’t keep it.”

“Neither will you,” Ryestripe shot back.

“I’m not the one who got beat up!”

“Do you have any injuries anyway?”

Mistface perked his ears and turned his head. A grey tabby, just as fluffy as him, was weaving around cats to join the two mollies and Ryestripe. His voice was having a much harder time making itself heard over the rambling around him.

“’Course not, Greyleaf!” The grey molly pressed a front paw to her chest, jokingly offended. “What do you take me for?”

“A moron?” Ryestripe offered.

The grey molly rounded on him, about to pounce, but the red-brown molly quickly stepped between them with a stern look to the victor of the fight. Greyleaf’s eyes flickered skyward for just a moment before he approached Ryestripe and started examining his wounds.

“Now’s our chance,” Darkpelt whispered to Mistface. “Go see him, we’ll be a little behind.”

Mistface straightened up and strolled as innocuously as he could towards his brother.

The red-brown molly saw him first. Before he could say anything, she moved to greet him.

“You’re new,” she said, in that regal-sounding voice. “Welcome to the Clast.”

“A merry afternoon to you,” Mistface said, mostly to be polite.

At his voice, Greyleaf’s head jerked up. He caught sight of Mistface and his eyes widened.

“Thought you might be here, brother.” Mistface offered a winning smile to the molly, then a more genuine one to Greyleaf. “Didn’t have the decency to sent Beetlefoot to tell us?”

“I w- well-“ Greyleaf shuffled his feet, looking bewildered and anxious. “I was going to, things just got busy…”

“I sent for him to help us here,” the red-brown molly said. “I apologize for that. I should have had the decency to alert you and your mother.”

“Mm.” Mistface regarded her now with a slightly tilted head. “I assume you’re the one in charge?”

The molly nodded once. “My name is Redheart. I’m the deputy.”

“Your brother has all sorts of connections, doesn’t he?” Darkpelt said suddenly. Mistface looked back to see her strutting up with Laurelclaw and Beetlefoot hurrying behind her. “Bit of a downgrade from working for the leaders, though.”

Greyface blinked. “Beetlefoot?”

Beetlefoot jerked his head in acknowledgement.

“Nice to see you again,” Laurelclaw said in a very clear attempt to sound friendly that came off as awkward. “I don’t know if you remember me, we met at that Coterie-“

“Oh!” Greyleaf coughed, visibly wracking his brain for the memory. “Right, uh, Laurel… Laurel…”

“-claw,” Laurelclaw finished.

“Right, sorry.” Greyleaf cleared his throat. His eyes drifted to Darkpelt. “And you are…”

“A bored warrior looking for some fun,” she said, grinning. “Darkpelt.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Redheart said, dipping her head respectfully to these cats of inferior status as if they were high deputies. “Are you all companions?”

“Just for a bit,” Mistface said. “We met at a Gatherin’ and decided to come here together.”

“He wouldn’t shut up about you,” Darkpelt said to Greyleaf, cheekily twitching her whiskers. “I hope you’re as good of a healer as he said you are.”

“He is.” Mistface glanced back at her, eye narrowed, though his tone was light. “Might serve you well if you decide to join the chaos here.”

Darkpelt laughed. “Good luck finding anyone to fight me.”

“I’m sure there will be at least one.” Redheart’s eyes crinkled a little – not quite enough for a smile to follow, but enough to give off an easy, comfortable air. “You’re all welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“Redheart!” someone shouted, their voice echoing from inside a house. “Olivepaw’s acting up again!”

“Coming,” Redheart called, and with a final nod to everyone, she walked off. Somehow, she managed to move as quickly as a trot without hurrying.

Greyleaf watched her go, inhaled deeply, and huffed out a breath, his fur smoothing down as he did. He looked back at Mistface. “What about Mama?”

“She’s nearby,” Mistface replied. “Turns out the Vultures’re restin’ up with one of theirs havin’ kits, so they were happy to take her in and keep her away from this whole…”

“Yeah.” Greyleaf gave a blatantly fake smile. “Well, I’ll have to visit her. You’ll show me where to go?”

“We can go tomorrow.” Mistface’s smile was still real. “Once we’re settled.”

“Your mother’s a sweetheart,” Darkpelt said. “She came with us.”

“We took our time,” Mistface said, before Greyleaf could protest forcing their mother to travel. “She’s doin’ well. Happy to rest, of course, but…”

“Right,” Greyleaf murmured, seemingly to himself. “Right.” His voice raised again. “Well, uh, you guys are free to wander around and check out the place. Uh, Darkpelt, do you need assistance, or-?”

“Laurelclaw’s got me,” Darkpelt said cheerily. She turned her head a little towards Laurelclaw - but, Mistface noted, not quite at him like she had before. “Come on, let’s see what they’ve got. Beetlefoot?”

“I’ll walk around myself,” Beetlefoot said shortly.

“Alright!” Darkpelt tapped Laurelclaw’s chest with her tail. He jumped and hurried to walk by her side, his own tail just touching hers as he pretended to need to give her directions. Beetlefoot nodded again to Greyleaf and started off the opposite way.

Greyleaf cleared his throat, “Well, I, uh, I better get to work on Ryestripe here- Uh, do you just want to hang out while I do?”

Mistface stepped close enough to gently flick his brother’s nose with his tail. “Wouldn’t want to do anything else.”

[clangenrising]

Month 7 - Leaffall

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“Tangletooth,” Sagetooth purred as she and Oddstripe arrived at the River of the Stars, “How are you, friend?” 

The older ginger tom smiled and gladly bumped foreheads with her. “Well,” he nodded, “Well. Did you hear about Couragecry?” 

“Who?” Sagetooth tilted her head as she and Oddstripe settled down next to him. Was this perhaps one of Tangletooth’s elders, someone he used to know? Soberly, she wondered if he was starting to lose his grasp on time.

“The kittypet,” he replied brightly to her surprise. “Charredbranch found a kittypet in the mountains and he’s decided to stick around. His name is Couragecry.” 

“Really,” Sagetooth frowned. “Whatever for?”

“Pardon?” asked Tangletooth. Oddstripe pursed his lips.

Sagetooth caught herself and changed course. “I meant, what was he doing in the mountains?” 

“Oh!” Tangletooth nodded and licked his lips. “Yes, well, apparently there’s a lake just over them and he used to live there with his Twolegs but they seem to have disappeared. He went looking for them and found us instead.” 

“I see,” Sagetooth hummed. She supposed that was alright then. If his Twolegs were missing then there was nothing for him to go back to. And, she rationalized, it suited her just fine if SkyClan’s warriors weren’t very good fighters or hunters. 

“Well, I hope he’s settling in alright,” Oddstripe said shyly. 

“I think he’s doing alright,” rasped Tangletooth. “He’s taught Pebblefall and Greyvoice a thing or two about fishing at least.” Behind them the sound of gentle pawsteps sounded in the tunnel and they turned to look as a pair of grey eyes and fluffy grey ears poked out of the darkness. 

“Stormwhisper,” Sagetooth addressed him sternly. He flinched but straightened his posture under her gaze.

“Yes?” he asked, feathery tail swishing, “I’m not that late, am I?” 

Sagetooth shook her head. “No, I wanted to ask if you had any word about Blazingbrush. She’s missed three meetings already, this will be the fourth, and you still haven’t said if she has Red Gut or not. I’m starting to think I need to make the trip to FallenClan to sort the whole thing out myself.” Stormwhisper’s fur bristled subtly and he stiffened, eyes wide, which only made Sagetooth frown deeper. Something was off here. 

“Oh, no, it’s not Red Gut,” he said, glancing at Oddstripe briefly, “But she’s isolating nonetheless. She says she doesn’t want to take any risks, that’s all.” 

“Is that so?” Sagetooth narrowed her eyes. 

“Um, yes?” replied Stormwhisper with a nervous grimace. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” she huffed, tail starting to twitch. “You’re being incredibly strange.”

“Sorry,” he shook his head, forcing a smile. “I’m just out of sorts. Everything has been tense since Toadpaw was taken.” He stepped up to sit between Oddstripe and Tangletooth. 

“Oh, no,” Oddstripe fawned, causing Sagetooth’s ear to twitch. “I can’t imagine…” 

“Yeah,” he swallowed. “Orangestar is considering stepping down.” 

“What?” snapped Sagetooth, causing both of the younger healers to flinch. “She can’t do that!” 

“She just doesn’t see how she can lead a Clan when she couldn’t even save her own apprentice.” Stormwhisper looked at his paws. “I can’t say I blame her.” 

“Leaders can’t do everything,” Tangletooth said. “It’s important for her to learn that.”

“Yes,” agreed Sagetooth definitively. “You need to advise her, Stormwhisper. You’re her Healer, you bring her StarClan’s wisdom. Make sure she knows that they chose her for a reason and that she has a duty to her Clan to uphold their decision.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, mostly to himself it seemed. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t try,” Sagetooth huffed, “Do.” 

“Your dreams tonight will guide you,” Tangletooth rasped, bumping his muzzle against Stormwhisper’s shoulder. “Come, let us drink.” 

~~~

After the meeting, the Healers said their goodbyes and Sagetooth and Oddstripe began making their way through the canyon back towards their camp, but something wouldn’t stop pulling at Sagetooth’s brain. She didn't know what was going on but something about Stormwhisper and Blazingbrush kept drawing her attention and she couldn’t put the thought away. She paused as they reached the river and Oddstripe stopped to look back at her.

“Is everything alright, Sagetooth?” he asked, big blue eyes blinking in the moonlight. 

“I’m fine,” she flicked an ear dismissively. “I think I’m going to head to FallenClan and check on Blazingbrush though.”

“Do you think she’s okay?” 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “but I think I need to speak with her anyway.” 

Oddstripe shuffled. “Do you want me to come with you?” She could tell by the way he spoke that he didn’t want to. He probably wanted to get back to camp and eat his fill like he did after every meeting. Even now that the kits weren’t nursing anymore he still wasn’t quite used to the empty stomach the half moon gatherings demanded. 

“No,” Sagetooth sighed. “Go back home, see your kits. I should be back before the sun is up.” 

“Okay,” smiled Oddstripe, clearly relieved. “May StarClan light your path.” Sagetooth smiled. He was a quick study and a good apprentice, if a naive one. 

“Thank you,” she purred, “I’ll see you back at camp.” With that, she turned westward and set off across the rolling hills. Eventually the foothills turned to forests which turned thick and dark and wild. Somewhere in the night an owl hooted to her mate and little things scuttled through the underbrush temptingly. Sagetooth stomped down on any desires to catch them. Even a Healer had no right to hunt in another Clan’s territory. 

She found and then followed a well worn trail until she finally came upon a scattering of large stones, the leftovers of an ancient landslide, overgrown by brambles that had been shaped and woven into the walls of the FallenClan camp. As she approached, she gave a soft meow to declare her presence and was quickly met by the marbled blue face of the camp guard, Ryestripe.

“Who goes there?” he asked firmly, voice soft. 

“Sagetooth, Healer of RisingClan,” she said, stopping where he could see her and offering a slow blink. 

Ryestripe shifted, swallowed, and glanced over his shoulder before replying. “How can I help you, Sagetooth?” 

“I’m here to speak with Blazingbrush,” she said. “I’ve heard she’s unwell.” 

“She is,” he said, a bit too quickly. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, you can’t see her right now.” 

“I know how to handle myself around disease, boy,” she huffed. “If there’s a sickness in FallenClan I have every right to know.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said again, squaring his shoulders to fill the hole in the bramble wall. “You can’t come in, Flightstar’s orders.”

“Flightstar’s-” she cut herself off with a scoff and shifted her weight on her aching hips. She hadn’t walked so much in a long time and her age was not having it. “On what basis has he made those orders?” 

Ryestripe shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t-” 

“It’s alright, Ryestripe,” said a gentle voice behind him, warm and sweet like honey. “I’ll speak to her.” 

The warrior glanced back and whispered, “Are you sure, Poppybird?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“Alright.” Ryestripe shuffled to the side, allowing the mediator to pass. Her black pelt glimmered under the moonlight that made its way through the trees, its dappling mixing with the dappling of ginger in her fur. She smiled sympathetically as she walked out to meet Sagetooth. 

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, curling her tail around her white paws as she sat. “He means well.” 

“What’s this about Flightstar’s orders?” grumbled Sagetooth. “If I want to speak with Blazingbrush he has no right to forbid me to do so.” 

“I agree,” nodded Poppybird, “but I have a feeling you’ll understand his reasoning once you hear it.”

“Well, what is it then?” 

“Blazingbrush has committed an… indiscretion,” said Poppybird carefully. “And I’d like to tell you, but we’re all quite determined to keep this quiet. Can I count on you to handle the information with care, Sagetooth?”

“Yes,” Sagetooth said, tail twitching. “Come on, out with it.” 

“Blazingbrush has had a kitten,” Poppybird said softly and Sagetooth immediately understood. “We don’t know the father or how she met him, but she’s decided not to keep him. The kit, I mean.” 

Sagetooth sighed and shook her head. “Oh, that fool of a girl… She always did have her head in the clouds. I’m glad she’s decided to do the right thing though.” Giving the kit up was for the best, she thought. The kit could live his life without being attached to the shame of his mother’s broken vow.

Poppybird’s smile tightened for a moment, face the picture of sympathy. “You can see why we’ve been keeping things quiet. I trust you’ll do the same?” 

“Yes, of course,” nodded Sagetooth. “I’ll speak to her about it some other time. She’s alright though?” 

“Yes, yes, she’s fine,” nodded Poppybird immediately. "She just doesn’t want to be seen while she’s forced to nurse."

“Understood. Thank you for sating my curiosity,” Sagetooth said, getting to her feet. 

“Thank you for your understanding,” nodded Poppybird as she likewise stood. “Safe travels home.” 

Sagetooth simply grunted and turned to make her way back along the hunting trail. She sighed to herself. Stormwhisper knew. She wondered if he was the father. If he were, that would at least mean that he wasn’t likely to seduce Oddstripe as well. Trying to focus on that silver lining, she made her way home and fell into her nest, exhausted.