Branchsnarl and Airswift argue over nesting space in the warrior's den. Cloudthunder is frustrated when she has to break them up. Airswift scoffs and storms off.
Morningspot teaches Owlpaw battle moves. Owlpaw focuses intensely on this, excelling in the lesson. Morningspot praises her during sparring. The excess effort releases enough of Owlpaw's stress for her to no longer feel helpless. Owlpaw is no longer Afflicted.
Redstar takes Cottonpaw and Deerpaw out training, and brings Barleywave with them. Redstar teaches the apprentices the new procedure of how to handle Nature's Mockeries.
Things had moved quickly while Redstar was sick with whitecough. It had only been two moons since the Gardener attack, but already ForestClan was shifting in a new direction. Redstar was somewhat grateful that she managed to iron out new lockdown and out-of-camp procedures before she became too sick to think straight. Now, with a clearer head, she could really observe the results.
The slick, green Twoleg linen that Lucifer had gifted them was waterproof - to the Clan's excitement. There was a bit of bickering about where it could best be used, before settling on using it to shield the cooking fire and drying racks, to keep the area free of snow in the coming leaf-bare.
Barleywave led the charge in helping with wall repairs over the past two moons - they only had to fully replace one full tree trunk in the end. Other pieces of the wall were being repaired by cutting away broken sections, and flattening out logs to stack on top of each other; securing them with twine and pine sap. It was an all-day affair to drag and erect a suitable replacement for the completely obliterated section. She remembered hovering around anxiously as it was being dragged with rope, group effort, and careful guidance. She would've assisted, if it weren't for literally everyone telling her to go away before she spread whitecough to them. But still - they succeeded, and the wall was replaced, even if a few sections were uneven.
Cottonpaw's idea for a bunker closer to the ground was well received - and it was decided to be made closer to the medicine den. It would need to be built in newleaf, since the snow would get in the way of hollowing out the space. Still - Redstar's heart warmed when she saw a pile of design concepts etched in birch bark laying next to Cottonpaw's bedding.
Torch bearings were erected near the gate doors. Repairing the broken pulley for the gate took a few weeks - until then, cats mostly weaved through the gap made by the loose door. She was grateful that Branchsnarl, Olive and Perchwatcher had managed to find an oak log suited to replacing the pulley; with enough carving and wearing down. It was a good beginner lesson for Blackpaw and Shadepaw in camp-keeping. A shame Shadepaw caught yellowcough after all that - he seemed enthused.
So much more had changed that caused Redstar's head to spin. She learned that Olive was learning some proper sparring techniques with Barleywave - pushed by the new rule of needing to learn combat with fire. Owlpaw was still distant, but Redstar learned that Owlpaw taught herself how to craft frames with twine and sticks as meditation, and Daffodilpaw started putting them together. The sisters created in silence with no expectations - and now, a cube, a pyramid and a ball-like toy were strewn about the entrance of the nursery, with Iciclepool and Hopechase's kits batting at them. Cats were going over how to deal with Woodcrawlers and Fake Cats if they were encountered in the woods. The only true roadblock was the red, fleshlike Woodcrawler that Shiverstep spoke of - and that Brackenfreckle confirmed the existence of. The only method of defense they knew was backing away from it slowly - but even then, the two mollies weren't sure of anything beyond that. Fire would be their weapon against it until they knew more.
Redstar decided today to teach the procedure against Nature's Mockery.
She gathered Cottonpaw, and Deerpaw, and had Barleywave join. After all, he was the one who found one growing in a small clearing devoid of shrubs or wilted overgrowth. They needed to handle it soon, before the first snowfall came and buried half of it.
"Cottonpaw, watch where you're turning here. Shrub branches," Barleywave meowed.
"Yeah, I know, I'm careful," Cottonpaw replied. Redstar suppressed a scowl. She twitched her ear.
"You're carrying our flame. He's right to warn you," she said.
"Well yeah, I know, but I think you guys underestimate how sturdy these containers are! What did Lucifer call them, jars?" Cottonpaw asked as she glanced down at the transparent, Twoleg container that was strapped to a leather harness at her side. In the container was a pile of hot cinders, cushioned by a thin mouse pelt at the bottom. A golden lid with many small holes allowed strands of smoke to escape. Her hazel eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. "Perchwatcher's brilliant! She came up with the idea to use these to - "
"It doesn't matter, Cottonpaw, those things still can break! Remember the one mom dropped?" Deerpaw interjected, her tail flicking. "The pierces were sharp! We have to be careful anyway."
Cottonpaw's fur bristled as she carefully moved around the shrubs. "I know that! I'm just saying that - "
"Hey." Redstar interjected firmly. The two littermates fell silent. Redstar's ear swiveled, keeping her voice leveled. "You are in the woods. Our opponents are ambush predators. Be alert and aware."
Barleywave, who was leading the front, flicked his tail once in agreement. "It's worth keeping an ear out."
Cottonpaw and Deerpaw were silent for the remainder of the patrol.
Finally, after a few minutes, Barleywave stopped before the start of a clearing, sloped down in a path of tree roots and scattered stones. He beckoned Redstar with his tail quietly. The leader padded beside him and scanned the scene before her. The ground was cold and dry with wilted nettles and blackened leaves, seasonal weeds and plants had wilted and died out in the leafbare chill. In the shadows of the spruce trees, Redstar spotted it. It could've been mistaken for the burned remains of a Twoleg fire from afar - laying in a triangular shape. But ForestClan knew better.
Cottonpaw and Deerpaw slowly crept beside the two warriors, spotting the Nature's Mockery nestled near a set of trees below. Deerpaw cautiously raised her nose and tasted the air.
"The wind is blowing the opposite direction," she noted.
Redstar nodded. "Yes. Otherwise, you likely would smell something by now, though faint." Redstar cautiously took a few pawsteps forward. "We should be safe - stay two foxlengths away from it."
Cottonpaw and Deerpaw obeyed as they shuffled their way down, careful not to drag any nettles or stones with them. Barleywave staggered forward more confidently, removing a long, makeshift torch from the harness he strapped on his back.
"Barley," Redstar hissed in warning.
"This one's already hatched, Redstar," he pointed out.
"Yes, I know that, but we're teaching a procedure. At least treat it like one."
Barleywave mumbled something, his ears flattening. He sat down opposite of Redstar, as Cottonpaw and Deerpaw sat side by side, staring at the Nature's Mockery apprehensively. Cottonpaw twitched and started withdrawing the glass jar from her pouch with her mouth.
"So. Brief refresher - Cottonpaw, give us a description of the Nature's Mockery," Redstar asked. Cottonpaw let out a grunt as she pulled out the jar.
"A' a'ure's 'ockery ish - ack, 'old on," Cottonpaw slowly placed the jar on the ground, then licked her teeth and let out a quick yawn. "Sorry! Nature's Mockery are plants created by Deep Root entities. They tend to just appear overnight, so we're not sure how they make them. They look like that," she said as she pointed towards it. Her attempt at levity brought a smirk to Barleywave, but Deerpaw and Redstar seemed unamused. Cottonpaw cleared her throat awkwardly. "Er…but they can be brown or more reddish too."
"Good," Redstar nodded. "Deerpaw, tell me what it does."
Deerpaw straightened. "If you touch one, you're likely to experience horrible symptoms. The most common are hallucinations and paralysis. Stay in contact too long and your cuts stop healing and bones can fracture."
"And she's right," Barleywave interjected. "But it's the, uh…polite way of putting it. You're almost of warrior age now, it's fine to be blunt about it." Barleywave winced as he continued. "The, uh…official symptoms for prolonged contact are body disfigurement and flesh decay."
Cottonpaw and Deerpaw both bristled. Deerpaw recovered, her fur flattening quickly. Cottonpaw a little less so - her hazel eyes intently focused on the splitting effigy before them.
"You've been advised that red or brown Mockeries are to be avoided. Correct?" Redstar asked. Both apprentices nodded.
"Then today, I'm showing you how to destroy one, per our new procedure."
Cottonpaw raised a paw, then spoke without waiting for an answer. "Was Airswift shown this before he graduated?"
Redstar frowned at her apprentice. Cottonpaw blinked, somewhat regretful, but still kept her gaze. Redstar knew that Cottonpaw and Deerpaw weren't pleased that their brother became a warrior before them, but she had good reasons for it. Namely, Airswift was incredible at taking directions and listening to older warriors. He was volunteering to join patrols of his own accord, and performed apprentice tasks like cleaning out bedding and kit-care without complaint. He had shown considerable maturity during his apprenticehood - and she had no reason to doubt that Airswift would learn this procedure alongside the younger warriors tomorrow.
"I plan to have him join Branchsnarl and Perchwatcher tomorrow for an outing. They will also need to learn this. It's a new procedure entirely."
Cottonpaw's ear flicked. She placed her paw back down and stared at the jar before her. "Okay. So, how do we start?"
"Step one: big stick," Barleywave piped up, picking the stick back up. "Step two, light stick on fire. Step three, set mousedunged plant on fire."
Redstar glared at Barleywave with exasperation. "No, not quite."
"I mean, that is the long and short of it," the tom insisted.
"Barley, you were at the meeting."
"I know! I know, I'm teasing," Barleywave said defensively. Redstar rolled her eyes, deciding she'd lead the lesson. She approached him, and Barleywave decided to surrender the floor to her and gave her the stick. Redstar turned towards the Nature's Mockery.
For a moment, she observed it intensely. Its form told a story of tangling vines reaching and circling towards the sky, until their own weight caused them to bend and fall into one another. Stems would split and reach towards a perch - another tree, their own bodies, whatever it took - and thick, flesh-like membranes would fill the gaps left behind by the engulfing roots. A horrible mimicry of a protective shield - an egg, a womb, a den.
There was a final feeling of anger and determination that filled her chest. Then, she began.
"First - determine the life stage of the Mockery. This is important." Redstar turned to glance at her apprentice as she said this. "Do not skip this stage. Red or brown Mockeries are fresh, and likely to inflict more harmful symptoms. They are more likely to have roots that extend further out from their base - meaning that you can step on one without realizing it. Watch your step and ensure you have a clear, stable path to both approach and leave as fast as possible."
Deerpaw and Cottonpaw glanced around at their feet, then the Nature's Mockery. Deerpaw's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the plant's exterior.
"This one's black. Is it dead?"
"Correct. This is a dead or dying Mockery. It is the safest variant, but you can still be afflicted by mild symptoms if you touch it."
Cottonpaw flicked her ear and got to her feet. "Okay. Which one is more dangerous - a red or brown one?"
Barleywave shrugged and responded. "We don't make it a habit to test that, so we don't know. We assume the red one is more dangerous, since it's still growing - but both are hazardous."
"Regardless," Redstar interjected, "Stay alert at all times. For the second step of the procedure - carefully light the torch with the cinders brought. Do not do this alone. For the sake of demonstration, I'll be burning this Mockery today - we'll practice technique on a dummy near camp."
Cottonpaw seemed to brighten with recognition, her tail flicking "Oh yeah! Perchwatcher was working on that," she said.
Deerpaw rolled her eyes. "You were also distracting her a lot." Deerpaw immediately regretted it as Redstar whipped her gaze on her. Barleywave waved his tail in front of Redstar, prompting peace. He gestured his head to Cottonpaw. The apprentice just made a face and shrugged, unbothered. The calico suppressed a sigh.
"Open the jar, please."
Cottonpaw held it down with her paws and gnawed it slightly to force the lid to turn. When it loosened, she batted at it with one of her paws until it came off. She held it out and watched Redstar expectantly.
"Hold it in place," Redstar ordered. Cottonpaw obeyed, and Redstar tilted the torch into the cinders. After a few moments, smoke emitted from the torch, rising upward.
"Now tilt the jar slightly, so I can remove the torch without extinguishing the flame." Cottonpaw obeyed, and Redstar grasped the torch tightly in her jaws before removing it slowly. The moment the torch came into contact with the air, the resin-covered birch bark was set ablaze brightly, causing the two apprentices to recoil in surprise. Barleywave let out a mrrow of amusement.
"You've seen how birch bark burns before. It doesn't make cinders, but it burns bright and fast."
"The pine resin maintains the flame and burns the torch for a while - but not too long. Enough to create cinders to burn the Mockery with," Redstar added. She turned solemnly to the Mockery. "The final steps - approach the Mockery slowly. Do not rush. If the flame goes out - so be it. Your life is more valuable than doing this task quickly. Watch me carefully."
Redstar slowly scanned her feet, taking careful steps forward. She scrutinized the ground for any stray deep roots and foreign things. She could hear Barleywave lightly continuing the lesson - pointing out how the leader looked carefully around her every time, and made sure each of her steps was safe and calculated. Finally, when Redstar came within reach, she held her breath as the Nature's Mockery imposed itself upon her. Like it dared her to take another step.
Redstar paused as she stared at the interior of the Mockery - rotting and collapsing like a destroyed nest. Bits of debris and flesh-like webbing still clung onto the branches.
For a moment, she thought she saw curled branches within its heart, like the corpse of a dead insect. Apprehension surged through her; her body warning her that she was poking a sleeping bear.
She pushed it aside. The Mockery was dead. There was nothing inside.
Redstar slowly extended the torch within the plant's cavity. The flames licked at the black fibres above it, until another flame was born, consuming the webbing like clouds swallow sunlight. Redstar continued to bring the torch to other flammable locations, and eventually, whisps of fire slowly ate away at every strand and tendril. Redstar then slowly withdrew the torch, turned around, and retraced her steps. The apprentice's gazes were focused intensely on the spectacle that the torch had given - there were no flames, or heat. It was like swarms of insects were devouring every inch of the Mockery at lightning speed, leaving red imprints before dissolving into ash.
Redstar dug a small hole in the cold, wet ground, and stabbed the lit torch into it, extinguishing the cinders. "I can do this because it's leafbare, and the ground is wet and frozen. Do not do this in any other season, or you'll risk causing a forest fire. Normally, we'd bring water - to both extinguish the torch, and douse the Mockery once it's finished burning."
And for a while, that was it. The four cats grimly stared as the Nature's Mockery burned away slowly, until one of its structural branches snapped and collapsed. The structure fell apart like firewood, until all that was left was soot-colored debris.
"The point isn't to make every bit of it dead - just destroy its structure. It's…similar to destroying a tree. It won't grow leaves or spit sap if it's a mere stump."
From the look in the apprentices' eyes, Redstar knew they absorbed the lesson.
As the patrol packed up and headed back towards camp, Deerpaw and Barleywave treaded further ahead, with Redstar and Cottonpaw trailing behind.
Cottonpaw spoke. "Hey, Redstar?"
Redstar's ear twitched in response.
"There's something that's been on my mind for a while. I've put it aside for the most part, but…I guess it came back to me today."
Redstar glanced at her apprentice. Cottonpaw stared straight ahead, wordlessly putting one foot in front of the other. The way Cottonpaw began her sentence seemed heavy, which concerned Redstar.
"What is it?"
"I guess seeing the dead Mockery just…had me remembering something is all." Cottonpaw swallowed. "...Fake Cats. I've never seen one. The cats are…dead. Right?"
Redstar flinched, stopping briefly in her tracks before restarting. "Sorry. Yes, they are. We know this with certainty."
"How? If you don't mind me asking." Cottonpaw sounded uncharacteristically timid.
Redstar let out a purr of reassurance. Fake Cats were unnerving as a concept, nevermind a real, existing threat. It was a common fear that Fake Cats were not truly dead - one she was happy to dispel. "First, we know through our connection with StarClan. Clerics would reach out to StarClan to find if a lost cat was among them - and if they were, their Fake would be found after a few days. I've seen it happen myself when I was younger. Second, in the rare occasions that we'd fight and defeat them - Fake Cats were always husks, inhabited by Deep Roots. No eyes, no organs, just puppets." Redstar glanced at Cottonpaw. "Fake Cats are not alive. That much I can promise."
Cottonpaw said nothing.
"...Is there something else bothering you?"
"...What about Fake Twolegs?"
Redstar shook her head. "We don't know enough about them to say. They're far more dangerous than Fake Cats are. We don't go near them." Redstar paused. "...I know you and Deerpaw encountered one last greenleaf."
"Yeah…I guess I just…" Cottonpaw stared at the floor before taking a deep breath. "I dunno. It feels weird to say, but…I hope they're dead too."
"I imagine they would be. Woodcrawlers hunt and eat. It'd be like if we kept mice alive in camp for whatever reason - tedious and disruptive."
This drew a short laugh out of Cottonpaw. "Aw, are we sure we don't want mice eating our jerky?"
"No, we do not," Redstar meowed. A smirk broke on her face, despite herself. But after some time, discomfort nestled in Redstar's chest. A thought occurred to her, and it refused to stay bottled. Reluctantly, she meowed, "Is there a reason why you doubt their deaths?"
Cottonpaw fell silent, her hazel eyes distant. She didn't stop moving, letting the silence hang uncomfortably with every step they took. For a moment, Redstar thought that Cottonpaw was going to pretend she didn't hear her. Unfortunately for Redstar, Cottonpaw had an answer.
"...It chased us, you know. The Fake Twoleg."
Redstar bristled. "You never said it chased you."
"I know. I'm sorry about that." Cottonpaw sounded genuinely remorseful, forcing Redstar to flatten her fur. "At the time, I told myself I didn't want to be in even more trouble than I already was. But…I think I was just scared to acknowledge it. I think Deerpaw was too." Cottonpaw looked up at Deerpaw and Barleywave up ahead, watching them converse like a pair of songbirds. "I didn't want to make anyone overthink things. Especially if we're sure that we're okay, you know?"
There was a long pause. The leafbare breeze picked up. The sun barely gasped through the surface of the grey sky.
"It's just...the Fake Twoleg had eyes, still. That's why I was worried."
Barleywave decides to take out Airpaw for hunting, since Iciclepool has been confined to the nursery. Barleywave asks if Airpaw wants a friendly competition, and try to bring back the most prey items back to camp. Barleywave is happy to see a healthy amount of boasting from the young tom, given his usual quietness.
Cottonpaw and Perchwatcher do their best to include Owlpaw. Owlpaw wants to just hide, but Morningspot said something dumb about effort, or trying, or whatever...
Owlpaw is shocked when Morningspot isn't mad with her. Morningspot does, however, ask that she walk away entirely and tell her instead next time it happens. She also asks that she say sorry to Perchwatcher for yelling, when she's feeling less angry.
Riftgorse, Branchsnarl and Perchwatcher go on a hunting patrol together. The two toms comfort Perchwatcher for what happened in camp...but they do put something tactfully that Perchwatcher needed to hear.
It worked. They succeeded. They rebuilt their wall, prepared their torches, and circled the den. The tendrils ducked and weaved like stubborn scavengers desperate to pull meat from a mountain lion's catch, but the flames challenged their resolve. Still, they were desperate. Hungering.
Deerpaw and Riftgorse were bruised by the Living Tendrils swiping at their feet and wrapping around their legs. Morningspot and Cloudthunder had the torches knocked from their grasps, and both mollies resorted to biting into them and pulling away with all their strength. Airpaw drove a torch through the one his mother had grasped. Daffodilpaw joined her sister as she witnessed her stabbing the torches at the holes the tendrils emerged from, both cats trembling with adrenaline.
Two tendrils weaved through into the den. Before any cat could act, a wrathful caterwaul emerged from the nursery. There was thrashing and contorting, until one of the tendrils retreated like a terrified dog. The other let out an alien screech as it was pulled taut. It writhed and writhed, until the black, vengeful shadow that was Hopechase was practically dragged to the entrance. She dove her claws into it one last time, her single white paw painting itself black with their blood. Only when it hissed and pulled back with more ferocity did she finally let go.
It took a few more minutes for all the stragglers to finally determine their prey would not die easily, cutting their losses and retreating into the woods. Cats yowled with triumph.
By all accounts, they won. They succeeded.
So why, as they gathered around a small funeral pyre, did this still feel like a failure?
*******
Iciclepool had a bad feeling. Perhaps it was that gut feeling, that deeply-seeded fear that caused her to hesitate in stopping her duties and telling the clan about her pregnancy. It was so unlike her. When she was younger, she failed to stifle her joy at her past pregnancies. Cats gently warned her to lower her expectations - to no avail. Every single one of her kits were so loved and wanted. When Cliffstep was still by her side - oh, stars, she wished he was still here - she purred and spoke gently to them as she felt her kits shifting and kicking on occasion. She could count the sets of feet after a time, and know how many she would have. And Cliffstep was so loving, so attentive - curling around her and his future family with warmth and care.
None of them ever survived past six moons.
Shiverstep was all of her hope, all of her love she could never give to her children. She cherished every second the little kit curled by her side at night and padded after her in camp. She cried with relief as it hit her that finally, finally, nothing would take away her baby. Redstar wouldn't send her on a cruel trial. No tendrils would come. She could watch her child grow, and become such a beautiful molly. And oh, she did. Shiverstep was such a kind, beautiful, wonderful soul. Was it so wrong for her to have hope? To see another kit of hers grow up again?
She should've listened to Hopechase. Oh, stars, why didn't she listen? Hopechase voiced her concerns when Iciclepool told her what she felt. The look in her eyes made her feel so ashamed. She didn't want to tell the medicine cats. She didn't want them to confirm her worst fears. Hadn't she suffered enough? Was she wrong to hope and pray they would all survive this time?
Three. In the time she carried her babies, she felt at least three kick. But in total, in nights where she would press her paw around her stomach, thinking of names, she felt the round bundles curled against her. Four. One never stirred.
Hopechase and Shiverstep had been her only solace in the past few days.
"Everything will be alright, love. StarClan is watching over you. Cliffstep. Rapidpaw. Valleypaw. Your sister, and all of our lost friends and family. They want us to succeed. I know they must." Hopechase had looked at her with those bright blue eyes, with an intensity that mirrored a cloudless sky. "And I will defend our family with everything I have."
Separately, Shiverstep spoke with determined intensity. Bags formed under her eyes, but a glint of hope shone within them. "I promise, mom. I promise that nothing will happen to you. To them. I have help. From…from StarClan. Clanmates." It sounded like Shiverstep stopped her list short, a name on her tongue that she refused to speak. "We're going to be okay. If something bad happens, I'll find a way."
Only Windfur seemed to pierce through her soul, returning the dread Iciclepool felt.
"...I…I don't want to fail you," Windfur meowed, his voice tight. The implication weighed heavily on their shoulders.
"...It won't be your fault. Please…please don't blame yourself if it happens." Iciclepool's voice cracked. She felt like a wounded doe, desperate to hide her injury. She inhaled, froze her pain beneath a sheet of ice in her body, and straightened. "I've lost kits before. This is nothing new to me. I will survive."
"...I don't want you to have to."
"But I will."
And she did.
As she heard the yowling, burning and thrashing outside, as she felt her mate looming over the nursery entrance, as she met her contractions with familiarity and listened to Windfur and Shiverstep's guidance, she prepared. She heard Windfur call for Brackenfreckle to be on standby. The distant sounds of roots tearing through the earth and cats hissing echoed.
The first cried out. A grey molly.
The second did not. A brown molly. The noise outside accompanied her dread. Shiverstep was removing the liquid, drying the fur, her blue eyes intense as she rubbed it between her paws.
In the tension, she was forced to deliver the third. Windfur quickly removed debris near its face, and it screeched in protest. Iciclepool released a laugh of dismay. A black tom.
Shiverstep still worked. She gritted her teeth as her rubbing intensified.
"Shiver," Windfur began sharply.
"I'm fine," Shiverstep retorted, failing to hide her fear. She pried open its mouth to search for debris. "Come on. Come on. Please."
Iciclepool's heart was rotting. Burning. Falling off its tendons.
She barely registered her beloved mate screeching and throwing herself at tendrils that dared to approach.
Iciclepool bit down as a final wave of pain came to her. She whimpered. Windfur refocused his attention and quickly helped deliver the last. It let out a continuous set of mews, refusing to quiet until it felt its mother. A brown tom.
Windfur pressed around rapidly. "That's…that's it."
Iciclepool nodded. She curled around her newborn kits. She stared as she watched Shiverstep - her eldest kit - still trying to stifle life back into the newborn. The world around her spun and blurred. Cats yowled in triumph. Iciclepool saw her mate pad up to her with a shine in her eyes, only for them to dim as she saw Shiverstep trying to resuscitate a newborn. Windfur didn't step in to stop her. He just stared with an unreadable expression.
Time passed cruelly. Shiverstep's ears folded further back. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her breath quickened. She started mouthing something inaudibly.
Brackenfreckle entered boldly, looking at Iciclepool and her three healthy kits. Her expression fell as she looked at Shiverstep.
"...Is it…?" she started. She wisely decided not to finish her thought.
Shiverstep choked back a sob. She breathed air through its nose. She began small, rhythmic compressions on its ribs. Her mouthing became desperate whispers.
"Please. I call to you. I call to you. Please. Please."
"Shiverstep," Iciclepool whimpered, unable to bear her daughter's despair.
"Please," she repeated. She blew air into the kit's nose again, turning it over and rubbing its back rigorously. Her lips curled back and her teeth gritted. "Help. Help. I need…" She choked back a sob as her fleeting hope turned to despair. "What do I do?" she mouthed. She broke and pressed her head against the newborn kitten.
Iciclepool couldn't bear it. She stumbled to her weakened feet, despite Brackenfreckle's brief protest and her kits' whining. Shiverstep looked away as her mother approached her, and reluctantly fell apart as Iciclepool sadly dug her teeth into the cleric's scruff, pulling her towards the nest like one of her newborns. The young cleric sobbed, and Windfur reluctantly took the newborn away from Shiverstep. The marbled molly forced herself to her feet, following Iciclepool back to her nest - lest she were dragged.
Windfur's dark blue eyes were unreadable as he stared at the newborn. He started doing light compressions with his paw.
Iciclepool allowed her remaining kits to suckle, and she forced herself to purr with comfort as Shiverstep buried her head into her shoulder.
Her heart still withered.
Eventually, cats peered in, asking questions. Brackenfreckle uneasily tried to shoo them away. Redstar herself was getting agitated at being denied entry.
"Redstar, just…give us a moment. Please," Hopechase called back. The emptiness in her tone must've silenced the leader.
Iciclepool watched Windfur continue trying to revive her stillborn kit. His expression was like stone, but she knew that desperation roiled within him. She glanced at her mate. Hopechase held her breath. Refused to look at her. Shiverstep trembled, repeating strained and near-silent, "I call, I call, please, please answer," muffled against her mother's shoulder.
Iciclepool's copper eyes stilled. She bit back a wail as the memory of her past flashed before her. Every kit stolen by a tendril. Every apprentice trial Lakestar commanded on her children. Every baby she never got to see grow.
StarClan...Please...please let this be the very last one. No more. My heart can't do it again. I just can't.
Softly, she whispered, "Hopechase...let her go, love."
Hopechase objected meekly. "No."
"Hope."
"I can't." Hopechase stared at the stillborn kit in desperation.
"Honey. It's okay." She strained to place her paw on her mate's. It felt wet like mud. "Let her go."
After a time that felt like a thousand seasons, Hopechase's ears flattened, she closed her eyes, and dipped her head. Her voice trembled.
"...Sparrowkit?" The request was earnest and pleading, and Iciclepool failed to swallow the knot in her throat.
"Yes."
Hopechase lifted her head back up. "...It's okay, Windfur. Let her go."
Windfur ignored her, his pupils dilating.
Hopechase slowly rose to her feet, padding up to him with a lowered tail. "Windfur."
Nothing.
"Stop." The warrior placed her paw on his shoulder. Only then did the cleric slow his pace, before finally stopping. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, before gently putting her down.
Hopechase picked up Sparrowkit by the scruff, bringing her over to Iciclepool.
"...I can tell the Clan what happened, if it helps." Brackenfreckle offered. "...I'm sorry for your loss."
Hopechase breathed deeply. "Yes. Thank you."
As Brackenfreckle padded out, and Hopechase curled herself behind her mate, Iciclepool silently groomed her children - Shiverstep included, who still lay defeatedly by her side.
The mother felt conflicted as she stared down at her five children - one gone, one grown, three born. Her sorrow was like purifying rain over a burning forest; emollient. She gave a few, tender licks on Sparrowkit's head, her voice still trembling.
"Look after your sister for me, won't you, Rapidpaw, Valleypaw?" She inhaled sharply. "I love you. So much."
---
After a somber funeral, Hopechase and Iciclepool sleep in the same nest with their new babies, cherishing them and making silent vows to protect them forever. They give them names - Mulberrykit, Ghostkit and Hazelkit.
((SO I still don't have my files back. So I'm still on hiatus. BUT I STILL HAVE MY GOOGLE DOCS. So you get my ForestClan Backstories for funsies. Enjoy!)))
SUMMARY: Hopechase was once a warrior named Lightfoot. What drove Redstar to give her this honor title?
---
Redpath sat at the head of her circle of clanmates; the ones who stayed. Her revolutionaries, and the cowardly Chicoryglint. That was all. This was all that remained of ForestClan - the only cats who were still willing to try and save their home.
The pragmatic side of her understood completely, and was somewhat grateful for some departers. Cricketwing, Falconclaw and Stemfrost were some of Lakestar's staunchest supporters, and didn't want anything to do with her killer. Good riddance - she didn't care to have them in her Clan. Sprucetail, Fogpelt and Grousefeather were somewhat expected - they were drained and hollowed from all the death, and she wasn't surprised when Grousefeather announced his departure. She also understood when his two daughters followed. Tawnyshadow's departure hurt. More than she expected. She was hopeful that the elder would stay, but she couldn't be convinced. She was so, so tired. Her stories and history would die with her, in the warmth of a Twoleg nest, hopefully.
Redpath's hope crumbled when more joined the elder. Mallowpaw. Sablepaw. Oakbelly. Lichenlight. Sagefur, bringing Cardinalkit with her.
She did not plead for them to stay. She had no right.
And now, here she was. In the cold of a leafbare afternoon, she had ForestClan in her paws. Broken, cold and afraid, like a baby bird pushed out of the nest, looking at her with fear and acceptance.
Redpath finally tore her gaze away from the snow, and looked at her Clanmates properly.
Iciclepool, her friend, her closest ally. Lightfoot, her blue eyes soft with understanding. Ferncreek, standing beside his son, Windpaw; both toms looking tired and wary. Cloudthunder and Barleywave, two young warriors who dared to hope for something greater. And Chicoryglint, her expression unreadable.
Eight. ForestClan used to have twenty cats. Now, there were eight. She didn't expect that to hurt as much as it did. But the longer she thought about it, the more it stung. She was not trustworthy. Certainly not to Lakestar's loyalists, not to her elders, not to clanmates she watched suffer under Lakestar's rule. She did all of this for them, but in the end, only eight remained.
She hoped, and prayed, that StarClan still saw them as a Clan. That her friends still saw themselves as a Clan.
Lightfoot let out a soft purr, breaking the tension among them. "Well, this is wonderful, isn't it?"
Everyone stared at her with puzzled expressions.
"I think we'll make a great new ForestClan together. I wouldn't trust anyone else with the task than those who are here," Lightfoot meowed, twitching her whiskers in amusement.
"Lightfoot, come on, two thirds of us just left," Cloudthunder mumbled.
"I know. And I know we're disappointed by it." Lightfoot's tail swished. "But this is a new beginning, now, with Clanmates who chose to stay. And that matters."
Barleywave looked away, hiding ripples of feeling. Redpath couldn't blame him. Falconclaw was his father - and as much as he hated him, he grieved the father he never had. Cloudthunder blinked at Lightfoot tiredly. Iciclepool seemed lost in thought.
Lightfoot continued calmly. "I think we should take an afternoon to grieve - perhaps make ourselves a meal, no? Barleywave, you always wanted to learn more cooking tasks, didn't you?"
Barleywave flinched from being called upon, staring wide-eyed at the older molly. "Uh…I mean…yeah, I did, but, you know…"
Lightfoot tilted her head.
"Are you sure you want me to set everything on fire?" he joked dryly.
Cloudthunder exhaled sharply. Her whiskers twitched. "Come on, you aren't that bad."
Redpath blinked. "It would be fitting to make ourselves a meal, though. A new start?"
Ferncreek stood up. "I'll start the fire." He padded away before anyone could object, and Barleywave groaned.
"Oh good, I guess we're doing that now."
"Ferncreek has decided," Lightfoot teased.
"...Are we holding a Ritual for the Lost?"
Chicoryglint's voice came quiet and unassuming, but cutting. Pelts bristled on all ends as eyes fell on the old protector of secrets. Chicoryglint kept her composure, licking her paw before adding, "It's not necessary, of course. I do not expect one."
Liar. Redpath knew what kind of cat Chicoryglint was and she could tell the immediate backing down of her true intent. She saw it all the time whenever Lakestar showed a hint of animosity towards one of her questions.
"What do you think, Chicoryglint?" Iciclepool hissed, her ears flattening.
Chicoryglint faltered. "I - "
"Actually," Ferncreek interjected, a growl in his throat. He turned towards her. "I want to know why you thought we'd honor a tyrant in the first place."
Chicoryglint's dark blue eyes shielded her emotions like glass.
Windpaw bristled and stood up. "W-Wait, she didn't mean it like that. Chicoryglint and I...we're protectors of secrets. The Ritual of the Lost is used to reach StarClan, that's all. It's not about Lakestar."
"After everything Lakestar's done, why should she get the opportunity to reach StarClan?" Iciclepool hissed.
Windpaw turned to Redpath. "Redpath, you're the new secret keeper. You get to decide, not us."
"Windpaw, Redpath just tossed the foxheart to the woods, I don't think she wants to honor her," Barelywave hissed.
Redpath fought to stop her lips from curling. No, she did not want to have a funeral for the monster she just deposed.
However, despite everything, Lightfoot's presence and words always surprised her. And nothing surprised her more than this.
"I think we should."
Iciclepool whirled towards her. Her eyes widened with hurt.
"Uh...Lightfoot, do you have bees in your brain?" Cloudthunder asked, looking less angry; more concerned.
Lightfoot gazed towards Redpath calmly. "Redpath, can I explain?"
Redpath met her gaze incredulously. Out of all the cats - after seasons of watching Lakestar deteriorate and hurt and kill cats she loved, she did not understand why Lightfoot wanted a funeral. For a moment, she felt betrayed. She remembered every lash, every insult, every scream and hiss and order of execution Lakestar made. She remembered day after day, having to support her cruelty. She remembered every cat's hateful gaze; every spiteful whisper when they thought Redpath couldn't hear them. She hated every moment of it. She only tolerated it with the single-minded ambition of one day wrenching the lives from Lakestar's body and finally, finally, leading a Clan. One where no one would ever have to be afraid ever again.
One of the few cats to keep her sane and remind her that she was not a monster, was Lightfoot.
Lightfoot's expression was kind, and unchallenging. The older molly blinked slowly.
Redpath swallowed the knot in her throat. "...Explain yourself." Her command was sharp. Lightfoot bowed, then spoke.
"I think we should have a funeral, because I believe the actions of a new ForestClan cannot be ones that prioritize vengeance over hope, and growth. Our reasons for killing Lakestar cannot be remembered by lorekeepers as pure vengeance. If that is what we build our Clan on, then we will carry this with us as we rebuild ForestClan. I think we should have a Ritual of the Lost. Not to honor Lakestar, but to remind ourselves what the purpose of her death served. We all had our reasons beyond vengeance to overthrow her. We wanted a better future." Lightfoot's tail flicked. She held her composure as the entire Clan stared at her. "Before Lakestar became leader, I remember how she looked towards Birchstar. She was resentful of his rule. Large parts of the Clan were. They saw him as a coward." She looked out towards her Clanmates. "Do any of you remember the territory-search patrols, a long time ago?"
Iciclepool's pelt flattened, parsing Lightfoot's question. "Yes, I do. I think…I think I remember many cats being sent out, and…never coming back."
Cloudthunder's eyes widened. "Wait, really?"
"Once Birchstar died, Lakestar wanted to find us new territory, far from these woods," Chicoryglint added. Her gaze fixated the floor. "She…she sent out patrols of cats who were willing to make long journeys. But…none of them returned."
Lightfoot nodded. "It seemed like Lakestar wanted to make ForestClan better at first. But…" Lightfoot's ears folded back. "I don't know. After my uncle Rootgrove died, it was as if she gave up. I can't say I knew Lakestar before her madness began, but I can say one thing for sure," Lightfoot's gaze was sharp. "She was a profoundly angry cat. Her desire to seek new territory was to spite Birchstar, not make things better for ForestClan. Which is why I believe we can't move on without letting that go."
Redpath tensed. "...I'm sorry, Lightfoot. But I cannot forgive Lakestar."
Lightfoot recoiled, looking offended. "Forgive? Don't be mousebrained, I'm not forgiving a cat who sent our family and friends to die," she hissed. After a second to cool off, Lightfoot's ears perked back up. "Rather, I want to set a precedent. That we should be built on mercy, and looking forward."
There was a heavy silence that followed Lightfoot's words. They seemed to reach into everyone's hearts, and stir their sense of hope.
But for some, the hope was rooted in justice, and righteousness. Ferncreek's ears threatened to fold back. His tail twitched, and his eyes narrowed.
"Mercy to an enemy cannot come at the cost of their victims."
Redpath felt her claws rake the dirt. She agreed with Ferncreek.
"Mercy to a dead body does not create victims," Lightfoot stated.
"Lightfoot, I…if we have a funeral, I will have nothing merciful to say," Iciclepool added.
"I know, lovely Icicle." Lightfoot looked at her with softness, and empathy. "And I'm not expecting anyone to."
Barleywave rolled his eyes. "So, what? We're going to sit around in a circle and go, 'Lakestar, you're a foxheart, but we didn't hate you'? Like, that's a lie."
Redpath listened closely to Lightfoot's proposal. She absorbed her reasoning. In the turmoil of her pain, she grasped to Lightfoot's words.
Her desire to seek new territory was to spite Birchstar, not make things better for ForestClan.
She wrapped this thought like a caterpillar weaving a cocoon. She draped it in other thoughts, other stories. Like the stories of other revolutions that happened in ForestClan's history - leaders overthrown, replaced by new ones to change rules, only to fall again. No records of any overthrown leaders buried or marked on the oak tree. Change, built on pain until collapse was inevitable. But it never truly changed, not really.
The prophecy of the gentle camp, ringed in spears. Of a camp filled with cats of all shapes, sizes, beliefs and cultures. Of mountain lions with heads of hair like sunlight, and stripes like black branches. Kittypets with toys for kits, and stoic lynxes standing guard. Impossible, illogical, irrational peace, after generations of death and murder.
And outside those walls - spears ringed in starlight, fighting anything that dares to threaten them.
They did not have weapons inside the camp. They did not teach hatred or fostered vengeance in the camp. There were stories in ForestClan of cats dying to cougars and lynxes before. And yet, they were in the camp too.
"Uh, Redpath?"
Redpath blinked, and she realized that her Clan was staring at her. She paused, then shifted uncomfortably.
"Ah…yes?"
"What should we do?" Iciclepool asked.
Redpath stared out in front of her, lost in thought.
The butterfly was emerging from the cocoon.
I am seeking a better world for ForestClan. I did not kill Lakestar out of vengeance alone.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She…she was the leader of ForestClan now. She could change things. Make things different. She didn't have to be beholden by tradition, or habit, or the stories of the past.
She only hoped that her Clan - her friends? - would have the courage to follow her.
"As the leader of ForestClan, I…I seek to adjust the code we follow."
There was a murmur of confusion and a ripple of apprehension.
"I wish to add a ritual. A type of funeral. One that I will use for this evening, and only for this evening." She opened her eyes, and felt the eyes of her Clan upon her pelt. "A…A Ritual of…" She hesitated on a name. She remembered both Lightfoot and Ferncreek's words. She sighed, and started again, more firmly. "A Ritual of Mercy. For the victims of Lakestar's reign. For ourselves. The only difference is that we will tell Lakestar what her death served. We did not kill out of vengeance. We had reasons to do what we did. Good reasons. Visions of hope, of a better future. We will cement those reasons, and remember what ForestClan, our new ForestClan, is built upon."
There was an uneasy silence that lingered around them. Cats gauged each other's reactions, but all seemed as uncertain as the other.
Barleywave frowned. His ear twitched. "...Am I going to have to say nice things about her?"
Redpath scowled. "You better not. We're not doing that."
Cloudthunder rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Dear Lakestar, you died so that I could finally leave camp and there's nothing you can do about it."
Barleywave laughed in response, and a flicker of levity surged through the rest of the cats. Redpath smiled. "Well, yes. Things like that. Appreciation for what we will do in the future, for the sake of a better Clan."
"Lakestar, you died so that cats could leave camp in the future!" Cloudthunder corrected, yelling at the sky dramatically.
A mrrow of amusement was echoed between a few cats, and Lightfoot beamed as she got to her feet and shook out her fur.
"Dear Lakestar, you died so that I would be allowed to teach Barleywave how to cook properly," Lightfoot joked.
"Lakestar, you died so that I had the right to burn camp down," Barleywave chuckled.
"No, absolutely not, you're not burning it down," Iciclepool called out, getting to her feet with a smile.
Redpath watched as her Clan - sans Chicoryglint, who scuttled to the medicine den to find cooking herbs - gathered around the cooking fire and started making one-off declarations of grandeur. They cracked jokes, expressed hopes over what they would learn and do in the future, and started teaching each other how to properly cook.
Redpath's heart thundered. She had to have hope.
********
It took half an hour of cooking and preparing for the Clan to finally gather around the High Rock. Chunks of roasted mice were served on flat stone plates. Lakestar's favorite food was roasted vole, but they had none, Redpath wasn't going to find one for a tyrant's sake. She allowed them to eat their fill first - it gave her time to think of a better script than the one used for the Ritual of the Lost. She certainly wasn't going to ask StarClan to guide Lakestar's spirit…although, truthfully, she didn't know where she'd be. She didn't know why StarClan gave lives to Lakestar to begin with. She decided to put that thought aside. Lakestar was dead. That was all that mattered.
It felt strange, standing on the High Rock. A place where Lakestar stood to make these rituals, and issue her commands.
I will turn it into a place of hope, not fear.
As her Clan finished eating, and one by one they turned to look at her, she took a deep breath, and began.
"Spirits of our warrior ancestors, we call upon your love in our time of grief. We partake in this meal, to fill us with warmth, and remind ourselves of what matters to us most. Tonight, StarClan, we do not ask for you to guide a soul. We ask that you witness our mercy, and our promise to make ForestClan a better place to live, for all cats."
"Hear hear," Lightfoot called.
Redpath suppressed a small smile, continuing. "For Lakestar's death, we take time to remember our reasons for doing this act. Not out of anger, or rage, but out of hope. We remember."
Her Clan echoed back. "We remember."
Redpath curled her tail around her paws. She knew already what she wanted to say. "I did not kill Lakestar out of vengeance alone. Although I was fueled in part by it, it is not why I killed her. If there were any other path I could've taken - if she would've accepted exile, or step down, then I would've accepted it. But Lakestar would not permit herself any other way." Her ears flattened. "I was tired. Tired of watching cats refuse to band together to fight Tendrils. I was tired of watching young apprentices be sent to their deaths. I was tired of watching cats suffer and feed the woods. And so," her breath shook, "Lakestar died so I could make a Clan where that didn't happen. With Lakestar's death, I will make a Clan where no cat will ever have to feed the woods again. Where my nine lives will be used to satiate them for seasons to come. Where no kit will ever have to seek approval from the woods before becoming an apprentice, and where Clanmates stand together to fight the woods. I…I killed Lakestar, so that we could make a better Clan. And that is why she died."
Redpath turned towards her secret keeper's apprentice. Iciclepool nodded, then stared down at her empty plate. Her copper eyes flickered with feeling.
"...I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to be a queen. None of those are meant to be. No thanks to her. She hated me. She was happy to see me suffer. And I was tired of it." Her bitterness was palpable, and a few cats gave a purr of sympathy. "Lakestar died so that no apprentice would ever be sent to die again. So that no queen would ever have to lose all of her children ever again from pointless cruelty." Her eyes narrowed, and her ears flattened. "And if any leader dares to try it again, I will not show mercy. No one will."
Redpath's heart tightened. She knew Iciclepool did not mean to direct it at her. But her hate was palpable.
I promise I won't ever become her, Redpath thought. I promise no kit, queen or apprentice will ever suffer from apathy and cruelty ever again, Iciclepool. I made a promise to Cliffstep.
Iciclepool turned her head curtly to Cloudthunder. One by one, Redpath's Clanmates spoke.
"Lakestar died so that no cat will ever have to feel like a prisoner in their own home. Cats will learn that the world beyond our walls can be dangerous, yes, but not horrible all the time. I want more cats to see the Glimpse Clearing, and the Rocky Stepps, and the vernal pools, and the fields, and - look, the world is beautiful, okay? I know the woods are horrible. But I refuse to feel like we can never just exist in the world. This is our home too, Lakestar's death will let me - and other cats in the future, hopefully - actually experience that."
"Uh…Lakestar died so…I…man, guys, I'm terrible with speeches. I dunno. Lakestar made me feel hopeless. I guess made others feel that way too. Her death means that we can actually have hope now. If…that's okay to say. Yeah? Okay great. Uh…your turn."
"I…will continue to be a good healer. Lakestar died because…she made many cats angry and afraid. Hopefully there will be less of it now. I will…keep being a good healer. And a good mentor."
"...Um…do…do you all remember Beauty? The young loner who was hurt on our border? I…I wanted to help her. But Chicoryglint, I…I remember you told me no, because Lakestar wouldn't allow it. But…maybe, in the future now, we can invoke the Law of Asylum more. At least to cats who just need a single stem of horsetail. I hope ForestClan can be a Clan where we can help more cats freely, now."
"...Lakestar died so the pain could end. All of it." A long pause. "...I'm sorry. I have nothing kind to add."
"That's alright, Ferncreek," Lightfoot murmured. Finally, with her turn, she sat straight. "Lakestar, wherever you may be - maybe you had good intentions for ForestClan, once, a long, long time ago. Maybe you really did want to help ForestClan, back when you wanted to find new territory. But your intentions mean little, when your actions hurt everyone around you." Lightfoot sighed. "You became a monster hellbent on making everyone fear for their lives, terrified of setting foot outside the walls of camp. You killed those who disagreed with you, and threatened the children of those who spoke out against you. You had to die, because you held no hope for your own future. You feared the woods more than you cared for your Clan. Lakestar, may your death serve as a lesson for future lorekeepers. Fear poisons and corrupts the soul, and hatred is the bastardization of love. May our new ForestClan be lead without fear, and for our love of ForestClan to outweigh all hatred we hold to our enemies." Lightfoot turned towards Redpath with a smile. "May Redstar's reign be one of hope against the threat of despair."
Redpath's heart swelled, and a purr escaped her. Her affection turned to embarrassment as her Clanmates began slowly, then picked up, "Redstar, Redstar! Redstar! Redstar!"
Redpath licked her chest fur, surprised to feel openly embarrassed. When was the last time she had allowed herself to feel this?
I will do my best, Lightfoot. I promise.
********
"Redpath?"
Redpath turned towards her secret keeper's apprentice - no, she corrected internally, her deputy - as she padded up to her from across the clearing. After the Ritual of Mercy, the Clan had decided to spend a day or so to reorganize, and discuss basic reforms to their Warrior Code. Besides, after Chicoryglint's insistence that clear moonlight would be needed for a leadership ceremony, Redpath couldn't face StarClan immediately. Although, she highly questioned Chicoryglint's words.
Iciclepool's tail twitched. "I wanted to report that I've sent Cloudthunder and Ferncreek out on a border patrol. I've told them to be careful of any scent trails from Falconclaw or Cricketwing. I don't know if they're still in our territory, but…"
"Barleywave is working on it - slowly. We have enough to repair the larger patches of rotting wood, but after that, we'll be almost out of sap. We won't have much until we can start collecting again in late winter and early spring."
Redpath sighed. "That's not good. Are you sure we can't preserve more?"
"Yes, I'm sure. It's the least of our worries, given the herbs ruined to frost earlier this month," Iciclepool meowed tightly. She stiffened. "We can find other binding agents."
"I…yes, I agree." Iciclepool paused, and her tail drooped. Redpath blinked back at her. "...I'm sorry, I didn't mean for the question to sound combative. I'm not used to being able to…agree with you so freely."
Iciclepool relaxed. She sighed, her copper eyes filled with fatigue. "You're right. I'm so used to hearing otherwise. I knew your words were all a ruse to gain Lakestar's trust, but…"
"But it was hard," Redpath finished. Her jaw clenched; remembering every argument she held with Iciclepool. How sharp her words were. How every small challenge Iciclepool made received Redpath's retort. In private, on silent patrols held in twilight, the two of them would always apologize. Reiterate their desires to remove Lakestar from power. Confirm again that it was not what Redpath earnestly thought. Iciclepool always said she understood, held herself tall, and repeated that she believed in her. If Lakestar wanted a show to inflate her ego, she could have it - whatever it took for Redpath to infiltrate Lakestar's circle.
But that didn't come without strife and hurt feelings.
Iciclepool looked away, distant. "I was surprised when you named me apprentice - sorry, deputy," she corrected. "I know we had discussed it before. You told me that you would, but…"
Redpath's heart tightened. "You doubted me."
The deputy bristled defensively. "That's not it - "
"Wait," Redpath interjected, lifting her paw. It came out quiet; almost pleading. It was so unlike her that Iciclepool's fur flattened. "I'm sorry. I spoke sharply from…from habit. Habits I learned to survive, but aren't good for me now. Give me a moment to phrase it again."
The two mollies sat in silence. Iciclepool tilted her head, and let out a small chuff.
"That sounds like something Lightfoot would've said."
Redpath let out a dry laugh, the grip around her heart loosening. "Is it that obvious?"
"Wait, I was kidding. Did she really?" Iciclepool let out a mrrow of amusement.
"She, ah…advised me to start thinking things over before speaking. I was the leader now, and everyone who was left, trusted me. If they didn't, they would be gone."
"I agree with her. Well, except for…"
An unspoken agreement was shared as their gazes drifted towards the medicine den. Chicoryglint agreed to rename herself from protector of secrets to 'medicine cat', but she was very placid and agreeable to everything, given the circumstances. She was always an enabler to Lakestar's cruelty, disguised as compassion. Redpath sighed and shook her head. She didn't think Chicoryglint was the kind of molly to plot something in the background. She was too meek for that. Quite frankly, she didn't know what Chicoryglint wanted.
"...To circle back to what I said before…I meant to say something like…there was a lot of doubt, leading up to…to Lakestar's death," Redpath finally said.
Iciclepool sighed. "I think I was just…scared. We've lived our whole lives only knowing Lakestar's cruelty. Really, the only reason we believed things could be different was from Lightfoot's account of Birchstar."
Redpath nodded. "And I promise that we will be."
Iciclepool blinked slowly at her in response.
After a few moments, Redpath glanced across the clearing, and watched as Barleywave stood on his hind legs to reach a crack located high on one of the inner walls. His tail twitched in annoyance as he held a bundle of rope in his mouth. His eyes darted around him, trying to figure out a plan. Lightfoot stood a few tail lengths behind him. Her tail tapped the snow-covered ground patiently. After a few moments, she spoke, and Barleywave retorted. Lightfoot rolled her eyes and approached him.
"Oh, there she goes," Iciclepool giggled. Redpath watched as Barleywave's frustrated protests disappeared as Lightfoot spoke in a low tone. Redpath couldn't pick up what she was saying, but Redpath could tell based on Barleywave's expression that she was getting through to him. Responding with compassion, kindness, and understanding. Reminding him that he was better than this. He wasn't alone, and no one was going to lash out or criticize his work anymore.
Redpath and Iciclepool watched the scene unfold. Emotions surged through Redpath as she watched Lightfoot finally convince Barleywave to let her help, and watched the pair work together to repair the wall and re-secure bindings. For years, Lightfoot had been their pillar of hope during times of despair. She reminded them that things always changed, that the world always craved stability, and that chaos and despair was not something to build a Clan on. She pushed them to be the best versions of themselves, and to remember the stories of old - ones where good prevailed, even in all the death. Redpath remembered when she was a kit, and Lightfoot turned to her and told her about one of the last prophecies they received from StarClan - the vision of the gentle camp, ringed in spears.
That prophecy kept her going for so many seasons. And so did Lightfoot. As she watched Barelywave's entire demeanor change, and as she caught Iciclepool's gaze softening, she realized that Lightfoot chased hope for her Clan like it was the only thing that could feed them.
She pondered.
"Iciclepool?"
"Yes?"
"I have…a thought. Lightfoot is an exceptional cat, yes?"
"Of course," Iciclepool's eyes widened. "She's…well, I think she's one of the reasons we've made it this far. I'll be honest, I think part of my doubts about being your deputy was just…" She chuckled a little. "Well, I'm just surprised you didn't make it Lightfoot instead."
"But I promised I'd make you my deputy, that day we started our plans. Everyone knew about that promise, Lightfoot included. Do you have any idea how mad she'd be if I asked her instead?"
Iciclepool laughed. "Oh, you're right. She would be mad if you dared to ask."
Redpath purred, her tail twitching. "But, Lightfoot has been so vital to us. I want to do something for her. Let me know your thoughts on this?"
Redpath presented her idea. Iciclepool agreed wholeheartedly.
*******
Redstar obtained her nine lives. Her Clan greeted her with cautious hope. She confirmed her new name, and ForestClan rejoiced.
"But, now that I'm the true leader of ForestClan, I have one last announcement I want to make." Redstar climbed up onto the High Rock. She did not feel the need to order a Clan meeting - her Clan was all here. Instead, she spoke. "Lightfoot - please step forward."
Lightfoot was dumbfounded. She looked at the rest of her Clanmates, all of whom were equally confused. Safe for one - Iciclepool, who sat at the bottom of the rock to Redstar's left. Her tail was raised high, and her eyes beamed. Iciclepool nodded to the dark molly, beckoning her to approach.
Lightfoot tilted her head, now curious. She padded towards Redstar and sat before her, looking up at her new leader.
Redstar smiled, her tail lifted high. "Lightfoot," she began, "I want to acknowledge your role in keeping us together - as friends, and as a Clan."
Lightfoot let out a mrrow of amusement. "Aw, Redstar, come on, you don't have to make an announcement out of that."
"Let me finish. For many seasons now, Iciclepool and I have felt like you have been vital in helping us create a better ForestClan. Yes, Iciclepool and I resolved to defeat Lakestar. But you were there to orient us, to remind us of why we were making difficult choices. From what Iciclepool told me, it's because of you that Cloudthunder and Barleywave joined our cause. It was because of your kindness, and your stalwart faith in a better future that we kept pursuing this goal." Redstar's expression turned solemn. "Distancing myself from clanmates and playing the role of the right-hand to a tyrant was difficult, and isolating. I remember many moons where I felt bitter, and angry. Sometimes I doubted that others could ever trust me, after the things I've done. But you kept us together. You reminded us all of what we were fighting for, and that despite temporary pain, it was worth fighting for. I know you try to downplay that, but I don't think you realize how important that is."
Lightfoot looked stunned.
Iciclepool nodded, softening. "The day we killed Lakestar - I was hurt when you suggested we hold a funeral for someone who caused us so much pain. But doing so reminded us of what we actually fought for. Not for revenge, or for retribution against our tormentor. But for peace."
"And Iciclepool and I agreed, that a better ForestClan could not be built on any cats' worst impulses and feelings. My hate - or, I suppose our hate - for Lakestar cannot be what this Clan is built on. And this will be what makes our home a better place."
Cats murmured in agreement, and it seemed like Chicoryglint and Ferncreek caught on to what their leadership planned to do. Lightfoot herself also caught on, a look of shock and wonder placed upon her shoulders. Her pupils dilated.
"I…I just believe we're made for more than this. I've always believed that," Lightfoot meowed.
"And I believe you are more than that," Redstar replied. With a purr, she recited, "I call upon our warrior ancestors to look upon this cat. She has transcended what a warrior is expected to perform in service of their Clan, and I call upon you to honor this cat, as I bless them with a name that suits their actions."
"Oh, mousedung, an honor name!" Barleywave shouted from the sidelines excitedly, receiving a few laughs and a single "shhh" from Ferncreek.
Redstar hopped down from the High Rock and placed her tail on her friend's shoulder, her heart bursting with pride. "Lightfoot, do you wish to accept this honor name?"
Lightfoot laughed nervously. "Do I have to?" she meowed with full humility.
"Oh, please!" Iciclepool gave Lightfoot a wide-eyed, pleading look like that of a kit.
Lightfoot burst with laughter, heat rising to her cheeks. "Ah, mousedung, how can I say no to a face like that? Very well, lovely deputy, just for you," she teased. She turned to face Redstar, her leader and friend, and gave her a smirk. "Okay, Redstar, you've got me. Yes, I do."
"Then by the powers of StarClan, I grant you your new warrior name." Redstar recited this almost too quickly, as though Lightfoot was going to rescind the offer - although deep down, she knew she wouldn't. Redstar thought deeply about this name, she hoped that her friend would like it. "From now on, you will be known as Hopechase. StarClan honors you for your determination and endless positivity."
Before the newly-named Hopechase could finish licking Redstar's shoulder, cats already chanted with enthusiasm. Hopechase was filled with joy. She purred loudly and pressed against both Redstar and Iciclepool.
DAZED. REELING. ABOUT TO BREAK. The Gardener attack left many, many cats stressed. Riversnow, Owlpaw, Daffodilpaw and Shiverstep are impacted more than others.
Redstar calls a Clan meeting. She makes a change to the Law of Informed Risk, re-emphasizing teaching youth details about the Deep Roots, and makes a new law to the Warrior Code - the Law of Fire, to teach and make more active use of fire in their combat and defensive measures. A faint hope blossoms.
(Redstar, leader, female, 78 moons. Strict.)
---
Redstar stood vigil all night next to a large fire stationed by the wreckage of their broken wall. She was used to it anyway. The only difference was that she didn't have a Woodcrawler den at her back.
The pyramid-like shape they constructed for the fire burned tall all night long, warding anything that dared to look in ForestClan's direction. Cats joined and left over the course of the night. Perchwatcher, staring at the fire with narrowed eyes, lost in thought. Tree, who stared out into the forest for a few hours, but said nothing. Windfur, who stared up at the stars. Cottonpaw, who added more wood to the fire as prior ones burned into cinders. Barleywave, whose gaze stared at nothing and everything; distant and present all at once. Hopechase, who tried to convince Redstar to try and nap for at least an hour. Morningspot, who stared out into the woods for about as long as Redstar did while others came and went - until she physically couldn't stay awake and fell unconscious by the fire. By the time she woke up again, a look of guilt plagued her vision. Every single cat that came eventually returned to Redstar's den, finding dreamless sleep with the rest of their clanmates. Redstar felt like an oak - standing firm while animals and insects spun around her vicinity, taking comfort in familiar stalwartness. When Iciclepool came down before dawn, Redstar told her what she wanted to tell the Clan. Changes she wished to make. Hoping that her decisions were right. Iciclepool listened intently, and when Redstar finished, she nodded, and agreed.
Dawn came. Not that it mattered. Cats were up in the blue light before sunrise anyway.
Redstar spared them from thinking on empty stomachs. She cooked them leftover birds and mice to share - prey she was grateful was spared from the damage. Some cats ate. Some felt obligated to take a few bites, but couldn't stomach much more.
Redstar had spent the night mulling what to say to her Clan. She recited her words over and over again. She wasn't good at inspiring hope. That was Hopechase's strength. It was the very reason Redstar renamed her from Lightfoot to Hopechase.
She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath.
When she was young, the story of the spear-ringed camp brought her hope. She wished for so long that she could be a gentle cat. Someone that brought others a gentle place to live in. She thought that just trying to sacrifice herself alone would do it. A naive thought. In between those feeds, what then? Was she supposed to trust the woods to leave them alone? No. This devastation was proof.
She should've known that she was never going to be a gentle leader, gifting cats of all ages and walks of life a peaceful, stress-free life where the mockeries of nature never tried to take more than they were given. She was a spear. She was always a spear-maker, a bush made of thorns, a ravine of spikes below a cliff. She was a weapon of magnicide. She could never be anything else.
So the least she could do is teach others how to wield those same spears. Redstar organized a coup, once. If she could convince a small group of cats that they were stronger than a StarClan-blessed secret keeper, then she could convince them that they could terrify a Gardener.
When Redstar finally walked past them, she stood on the High Rock and spoke.
"Let all cats - regardless of age or status - gather below the High Rock for a Clan meeting."
It didn't take long for every cat to gather below. The exhausted Shiverstep and three outsider kits included. Redstar briefly looked at her Clan - exhausted, afraid and helpless.
Not anymore.
"I don't need to speak of what happened the night before. We all know what happened. There are a few cats I want to speak to privately after this."
Redstar said this first for the sake of stifling conversation about Owlpaw's actions for a few minutes. She saw Branchsnarl, Deerpaw and Shadekit shift a little in their spots. Riversnow's tail wrapped around Owlpaw, eyes fierce. Owlpaw's gaze was locked to the floor, as it had been since she woke. Shiverstep also kept her gaze on the floor - but for a different reason. Redstar wanted to speak to her as well - but after Owlpaw.
"First. I wish to apologize for my failures."
There were a few confused mrrps that came from the crowd. A single "what?" came from Cottonpaw. Redstar continued.
"For a long time - I had hoped to make ForestClan a gentler place. I didn't want to raise terrified kits and nervous apprentices. I didn't want to expose cats to the horrors of the woods. I wanted…" Redstar swallowed. "I wanted to be a…a wall from that. If only I had to be exposed to the Deep Root entities regularly, then I could protect cats from staring them in the face. I could protect ForestClan from…this." Redstar scanned her gaze sadly over her home. A broken west wall. Broken warrior's den. Chipped walls. Broken pulleys, dug out ground and a dented apprentice den. A few cats murmured. Tree was brave enough to chirp in, their voice leveled.
"That was never going to be possible. At the very least, Living Tendrils would always get past."
"And kits don't stay kits forever." Perchwatcher seemed spurned by Tree's bravery, her blue eyes sharp with carved memory. "Apprentices and warriors would be exposed to them too on patrols."
"I'm…pretty sure Redstar's not being literal, guys," Barleywave meowed.
Redstar felt a needle through her heart as her Clan started to bicker. She fought every urge to retort as she remembered her place on the Rock. She remembered the golden and brown face of an enraged cat screaming down at them. She closed her eyes, and tried to allow the needle to go through her back. It hung on. Hurt.
"Quiet, please."
Redstar turned her head to see Iciclepool stepping out from the crowd and calmly sitting down at the base of the rock. She curled her tail around her paws and stood straight. Cats stared at the deputy.
"I know you have a lot of feelings and unspoken thoughts. A lot of resentment and pain. We are all frightened from the Gardener attack. If there is one thing I can implore of you this morning, please," Iciclepool's copper eyes were filled with a rare softness. "Listen to Redstar for just a few more minutes. I was consulted about this announcement before it was made. I think it is a good change. A necessary one."
Redstar stared down at her deputy. Iciclepool met her gaze with a smile. For a second, Redstar felt the urge to cry as she remembered the kit who was three moons younger than her in the nursery. She remembered teaching her the best way to crunch leaf-fall leaves. That's what she wished she could preserve, and she felt like maybe she was giving up on it with this announcement.
But maybe not. If Iciclepool, the cat who loved being a parent, believed this was right - then she had to believe that.
Redstar straightened and continued. "I hear your criticisms. And I understand. I will not pretend that my idealism did not result in a culture of misunderstandings and a source of pain. For this, I take all responsibility. That is my greatest failure."
Perchwatcher blinked, her ears flicking with attention. Tree relaxed, their eyes softening.
"My attempts to shield others about the horrors of the woods did not help. I am claiming responsibility for this coddling." Redstar omitted the fact that the rest of ForestClan's adult founders - Cloudthunder, Iciclepool, Hopechase, Barleywave and Windfur - contributed to their budding culture of reluctance as well. It didn't matter. She refused to let others cast resentment on them. "Because of my reluctance, a Gardener was allowed to follow our clanmates home. I was ill equipped to address it with the urgency it needed. It is thanks to Hopechase that we survived."
Hopechase's ear flicked.
"I never want this to happen to ForestClan again. So, I am seeking to make changes to the Code we follow. I call upon our warrior ancestors to witness these changes, and approve of my choice."
All eyes were on her now. She stared out beyond the walls. A fire burned in her chest as she resented every Woodcrawler, every Fake Being, every Infected Predator, Gardener and Nature's Mockery that grew and festered in ForestClan's woods.
I'm making weapons. You will regret ever letting me live. I'm coming for you.
"I seek to revise the Law of Informed Risk. It is not enough for the names, hunting methods or rarity of Deep Root entities to be emphasized. Lockdown procedures will be taught from a young age, and knowing how to deal with each creature will be taught before apprenticeship, not during. This process began with our newest members," Redstar glanced at the outsider kits, who stared back with wide, blue eyes. "But I am re-emphasizing it for official records, and it will cover all known creatures. For the sake of spoken record, the known Deep Root entities we are addressing are as follows; Woodcrawlers, Fake Cats, Fake Twolegs, Infected Predators, Nature's Mockery, Luring Lights, Living Tendrils, Gardeners, and the Wretch. "
A few murmurs erupted from the crowd, Deerpaw murmuring a bit too loudly, "Hasn't the Wretch only ever appeared once…?"
"Yes. That doesn't matter. Rarity should have zero influence on whether or not we have procedures against it. And we will practice these procedures, in every season. Iciclepool and I will discuss these revised processes before announcing and teaching them to the Clan. Second - I wish to introduce a new Law to the code."
More murmurs. She waited for the crowd to die down a bit before continuing.
"Ancestors of StarClan, as my witnesses, I am adding the Law of Fire. Fire use and management will be considered as vital as knowledge about the Deep Roots. From three moons old, kits will be taught about fire safety and fire management. They will learn how to maintain and tend to them with supervision from adults. Every apprentice and adult will be taught how to craft torches, create fires, and use them as weapons against various monsters. This applies to all Clan roles - clerics, healers, mediators and elders included. Any cats patrolling at night for any reason will require a cat to bring a torch."
There were a few meows of concern - Olive in particular raised her tail to speak, but spoke out regardless.
"That seems dangerous. There would be an increased risk of forest fires - something that could kill all cats very quickly."
"I am aware of the dangers of fire. Hence, the fire safety training. We will teach it as something dangerous, to be used with care and respect, not without thought. We will also create a procedure for escaping the forest in case of a forest fire - something that we should've always had in the first place, given how often Twolegs create and improperly extinguish them to begin with. In addition," Redstar raised her tail, "fire will not only be used as a weapon. I wish to find a way to establish standing torches around the camp, if possible. My reasoning for all of this is because of what Tree found the night prior. Iciclepool, if you could."
Cats watched as Iciclepool padded away, then came back with a linen bundle. She placed it in front of the small crowd, then unwrapped the linen. In the middle was the claw-like foot of the Gardener - half-charred, its dead, red tendons curled like the legs of dead spiders. Cats leaned in to inspect it - with Shadekit meowing loudly, "What's that?" and bouncing up to it. Half the Clan gasped and Shadekit was yanked back by Riftgorse.
"Do not touch it!" Riftgorse growled.
"Why? What is it?"
"You may remember the sound we heard before the Gardener fled. A loud crack. That night, we were saved by the cinders of the cooking fire. And that," Redstar gestured with her tail, "is its foot. The cinders blew it clean off. That is how weak they are to fire. We've used fire against Living Tendrils before, but now more than ever, we need the Deep Root entities to fear you. Because they should. It took a few pawfuls of cinders for the Gardener's foot to sever." The leader's eyes burned with intensity. "Fire is not a universal solution. Woodcrawlers are ambushers - too fast. Fake Beings are better isolated and avoided entirely until they naturally perish. But Infected Predators, Gardeners, Living Tendrils? We will teach you how to use it against them. We will make them hesitate. We will make them fear the weapon you wield. We are cats - hunters. They will respect that."
ForestClan stared up at Redstar attentively. A few were wary, some were unreadable. But more seemed quietly emboldened, tails flicking and shoulders straightening. Good enough. Wariness was understandable, given the night before and a lack of sleep. Redstar slumped, then sighed. She wasn't looking forward to this next part.
"That's all the major changes. But, now I have one final request." She paused for a bit, mentally preparing herself. "I know that there has been a lot of hesitation to share our thoughts and feelings with each other. We are all entitled to privacy. I am not here to force anyone to talk. However." Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the Clan. "Refusing to disclose vital information that could save someone's life, and bottling up our feelings towards Clanmates out of unspoken resentment, is not helping. I am not here to accuse or demean, but here is an example. Deerpaw," Redstar looked at the brown and white molly, and the apprentice seemed shocked to be called on. "Last greenleaf. When Cottonpaw spoke her intent to leave camp, what would've helped more? To wake up a warrior and tell them what happened right away, or to join her?"
Deerpaw shuffled meekly, staring at the floor. "I…I should've said something."
"Correct. Daffodilpaw, you said Owlpaw told you in the morning her intent to leave at night. What would've happened if you told Cloudthunder much earlier?"
Riversnow bristled, but Barleywave pressed his tail on her back. Daffodilpaw avoided Redstar's gaze, eyes glued to the floor. After a dozen seconds without any response, Redstar decided to spare the young apprentice.
"Cloudthunder could've talked to me, or your mother, or Iciclepool. We could've talked to Owlpaw."
Daffodilpaw finally squeaked. "I promised her not to…"
"Owlpaw could've died. I know you want to respect your sister, but yesterday could've ended very differently." Redstar scanned her gaze over the Clan, whose solemnity and anxiety rippled back into them. "So before we disband, I want to clear the air. As a Clan, right now. If there's anything that you are keeping from your Clanmates that you believe is very important, or if you have any feelings, apprehensions or unaired grievances you wish known, speak now."
A tense silence fell upon the Clan. As the rays of dawn began creeping up over the horizon, the songs of chickadees filled the quiet. Redstar curled her tail around herself. "...I will give it a few minutes. We all need time to think."
And so there were. Cats stared at the Gardener's severed foot. At their paws, at the ruined corners of camp. Redstar noticed Brackenfreckle gently raking her claws in between blades of grass, her eyes narrowed with thought. Cloudthunder glanced at the sky before darting her eyes elsewhere, clearly trying to formulate a sentence. Blackkit and Nectarkit stared at the floor. Shadekit stared up at Redstar, then finally raised one of his paws.
"...Yes, Shadekit? You wish to say something?" Iciclepool beckoned gently.
"Can I learn how to make fire now?" Shadekit asked.
A few cats broke down their wall of nervousness, a few mrrows of amusement erupting between them. Redstar's whiskers twitched, her eyes narrowing with mirth.
"Not right at this moment. But perhaps if we have time today, we can. There's a lot of work we have to do."
"...Can I insist someone else speak a secret?" Hopechase asked. Redstar tilted her head at her, confused by the wording.
"Elaborate?"
Hopechase glanced at Iciclepool, serious but compassionate. "Honey."
Iciclepool bristled. "Hopechase, not right now."
"That's alright. But before the end of this meeting, please."
"I…I…fine."
"...Should we be concerned?" Redstar asked, tense.
"I would've said no a few days ago, but…" Iciclepool sighed.
Airpaw stared at his mentor. After a few moments, he said calmly, "I guess I have a question."
"Yes?" Iciclepool pressed.
"Are you pregnant?"
Iciclepool bristled and choked back a squeak. Hopechase couldn't help but burst with laughter. Cottonpaw, Deerpaw and Cloudthunder all frantically tried to shush or glare at Airpaw, who seemed unfazed.
"Airpaw, come on, don't comment on someone's weight!" Deerpaw hissed.
"It's not that. It's fighting practice," Airpaw clarified politely. "I haven't learned rolling recoveries yet. I asked about it, but you were reluctant to show me 'cause of back pain. For…uh, two weeks straight. And, yeah, fine, the weight gain. It was fast."
"Your apprentice is a sharp one, Iciclepool," Hopechase said with a smirk.
"Hopechase, please," Iciclepool groaned.
"You're pregnant?" Shiverstep rasped with wide eyes.
"That surprises me too," Windfur tilted his head. "Why didn't - I mean, how long?"
Iciclepool winced, but seemingly gave up and slumped sadly. "Since last moon."
"What?" Redstar exclaimed. Oh my stars, what was her deputy doing? Why was she still active? "You've been pregnant for an entire month?"
"I was doing fine with my duties, really, and I wasn't quite sure how to break the news. I was going to do it soon, really, but then, well…"
"Mom, you need herbs! You need borage and herbs that are better for queens - " Shiverstep cut off her own complaint with a cough.
"Uh…This was a secret?" Riftgorse asked, head tilting.
"...Rift, what?" Brackenfreckle uttered, staring at her brother.
"Well, yeah! She wasn't, like, eating all of our food. We'd notice that. It's not a winter coat coming in, trust me, I have a winter coat, I know what that looks like, so I just figured Iciclepool already told everyone important, and nobody was talking about it. Actually, I was waiting for you to tell me," Riftgorse said, frowning at his sister.
"I didn't know shit, brother," Brackenfreckle hissed.
For a minute, the Clan fell into chaos yapping about Iciclepool's pregnancy. Iciclepool looked mortified. Redstar felt frustrated that her deputy didn't tell her anything. She had a suspicion, but she assumed that she'd tell her if it was something that important.
Oh StarClan. Assumptions and silence. This…all of this had to stop.
"Alright, alright, settle down please," Redstar yowled. "So, Iciclepool is pregnant. That is good to know. Let's move on. Does anyone else have something to add?"
"Actually, Iciclepool's pregnancy brings up a possible danger. The west wall collapsed," Perchwatcher piped up, gesturing with her tail at the broken gap. "Living Tendrils can easily slip in if this isn't repaired as quickly as possible."
"Actually, I can help with that," Barleywave spoke up, tail twitching. "I've had to repair a broken log on a wall before. This is…er…several, granted. But it should be the same process. We'll have to see how bad the damage is on individual logs to see if we need to replace it or caulk it."
"I suppose I should also ask," Olive interjected calmly. "Why are the procedures being set solely by you and Iciclepool? I believe it would be wise to set them as a group, publically."
A few cats meowed in agreement to this. Hesitant, Redstar's tail flicked.
"I suppose we could. I simply want to avoid confusion or conflict during the setup phase, hence why I wanted to keep it restricted."
"Why not make a temporary council? I think it's very important that we add multiple voices to the creation of these safety protocols. Redstar, you're headstrong, loyal, and determined. But the current lockdowns rely on every cat being where they should be - in your eyes, that's by your side. In reality, as seen yesterday, cats can be out there instead. We must have procedures to protect them, too, without endangering everyone else."
Olive's words stung, but Hopechase nodded sagely and gave Redstar a knowing look.
"I think that's a wise policy."
"Very well," Redstar meowed. "Anything else?"
For the next few minutes, Redstar watched as her clanmates spoke up, and added their voices, bit by bit. Some were ideas. Some were questions that desperately needed answers.
"I'm still not sure about wanting to put torches outside of camp. That sounds like a dangerous idea."
"I'm not okay. I don't understand why we're acting like a beast with the light of a star didn't just try to kill us all. I don't want to die."
"Redstar, I want to reach out to my father, Lucifer. Maybe he'd be willing to help us."
"...Fine. Look, I need to know something. I think, before I joined the Clan, I was…maybe given misinformation. Some of it might be true, but I don't know what's real or not. So tell me straight, and be honest. Don't pussyfoot around this. Has ForestClan, at any point in its history, spoken to Woodcrawlers?"
"Redstar, I…I met Endless, once, back last leafbare…b-but that's it, I promise, s-she was injured, so…so I gave her some of our horsetail. I haven't seen her since, I promise."
"...Morningspot is trying to cover for me. She didn't give the horsetail. I did. Morningspot asked me for help. Endless didn't want to come to camp, and I couldn't force her. I gave her the best treatment I could with what I had, and she left. Last time I saw her was…the moon Brackenfreckle and I came back with Blavignad's kits."
"...Can we like…raid the Twolegplace? No, no, I'm serious! Have you seen what Twolegs have? They have like, these colorful sticks that if you hold them near wood, they catch fire? It makes a 'click' sound when it happens. That could be helpful, right?"
"I…I want to say something specific, but I'd like to say it in private. I don't know if anything can be done about it."
"I'm mad. I'm just mad and upset and I want to blame someone but I don't…I don't feel like I'm allowed to."
"I, uh…hm. Mousedung, I forgot what I was going to say. Sorry."
"Can I learn how to make a fire now?! I want to kill the Gardener!"
"I'm really scared about the broken wall. I don't know how long it'll take to fix it, and I'm scared something else might come through."
"I just want to make the offer that if anyone wants to talk about what happened last night - whether you're scared or don't know how to feel - I'm willing to listen without interruption. I don't just mediate disagreements. Sometimes it's good to just…speak."
Redstar at some point had to call the meeting short. But hearing the voices of her clanmates, and listening to their words, for once, felt humbling. She was grateful, at least, that they had enough courage to say how they felt. Ask difficult questions.
The only one remained quiet the entire way through, was Owlpaw.
Redstar would have a long talk with her in private shortly. Plans were made to create a council once time-sensitive repairs were complete. Redstar told Iciclepool to come see her after she assigned groups to help rebuild the walls and start working on the dens. She watched with some quiet awe as cats slowly started picking up branches, covering up holes, and gathering broken pieces of equipment.
It was a start.
---
Redstar has an extremely difficult conversation with Owlpaw, who is still clinging - perhaps out of fear and shame - to a defiant attitude. Redstar scares her straight and punishes her for her actions.
Getting Owlpaw into Redstar's den was the easy part. Getting her to speak was not.
"Owlpaw. Please answer the question."
Owlpaw stared at the floor.
"Did you hear me?"
"...Yeah," she mumbled.
"...Did you need a minute to gather your thoughts before answering?" Redstar decided that this was probably something Iciclepool would say to a seemingly stubborn apprentice. Redstar really, really, did not want to play a disciplinary villain. She assumed, given the horrifying events of the night before, that Owlpaw would've recognized how badly her actions affected the Clan. Perhaps shown remorse, like Cottonpaw did for her own actions before. But that was the problem - Owlpaw had to actually show it.
But Redstar wasn't a mind reader. An apprentice with her eyes glued to the floor and giving one-word answers wasn't a sign of anything except stonewalling.
Owlpaw said nothing.
Redstar's tail twitched. She scowled.
Owlpaw was always difficult. She did not listen to adults well, defied direct orders and lashed out at her peers easily. The fact that she didn't believe Deep Root Entities were real completely blew Redstar's mind when Daffodilpaw said it - Owlpaw kept that belief extremely well-guarded for a kit, and her refusal to express it led to her doing something extremely dangerous. Given that the worst possible thing that could have happened - minus the Wretch burrowing out from beneath them - actually happened, she needed to hear from her directly that she no longer held that belief, and that she would listen to camp procedures and safety protocols now.
"Owlpaw, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Right now, you are choosing the hard way. I do not want the hard way. It'll be frustrating for you, not for me."
Owlpaw's tail flinched, but still - nothing.
"I'll ask only one last time. Do you believe us now when we say that there are monsters in the woods?"
Owlpaw scowled, closing her eyes tightly. Her claws dug into the ground. Finally, after a long moment, Owlpaw…nodded. Almost imperceptibly, as though it physically hurt her to do so. Redstar suppressed a sigh. Good enough.
"Do you understand now why we have the rules we do?"
Long silence again. Redstar scowled, her patience wearing thin. She did not have time for this, she had to get through speaking to Iciclepool, then Shiverstep.
"Owlpaw, you're taking the hard way again. I don't want that for you."
Owlpaw opened her eyes. They swirled like grey storm clouds. She finally cast her gaze on the leader, and they were glazed with resentment.
"I don't care what you want."
A switch flipped in Redstar's head, and for a brief second, there was regret. Disappointment.
I'm sorry, Riversnow. I know you were worried how I'd react. I tried.
"Do you, now? Very well. Then let me make this easy for me, and get straight to the point." Redstar's gaze hardened, and for a moment, she could've sworn an iota of fear passed through Owlpaw's eyes like a shooting star. Redstar didn't raise her voice. She didn't want to. "You almost destroyed everything and everyone you knew and loved because of your arrogance. For moons, we told you about Deep Root entities because they were real, and they were dangerous. Never in my entire life have I seen a cat actively try and find a monster, just to prove themselves right."
Owlpaw opened her mouth to retort, but Redstar interjected with a snarl, snapping at the air. Owlpaw flinched. "I wanted to have you acknowledge your mistakes, and apologize for your actions. But you didn't care what I wanted, so you've lost that privilege. You will have to earn that forgiveness now. You will have what you asked for instead."
Owlpaw began loudly, "I didn't ask for - "
"SILENCE!"
Owlpaw froze, her ears flattening. The world outside Redstar's den froze. ForestClan clearly heard her. Redstar continued with a hiss in every word.
"You could've died. I need to emphasize just how lucky you are to be alive right now. Daffodilpaw says you think they're just boogeymen to scare children? Then I will give you the rare gift of my complete honesty. Let me tell you about the adult-scaring boogeymen.
"Woodcrawlers aren't just 'spider-like creatures that disguise as brambles'. Woodcrawlers are wood mimics. Absolutely anything that takes the appearance of bare branches can be a Woodcrawler. Every single bramble, every thorn bush, every pile of dead, curling wood, small tree, lifted roots, and dying shrub could be a Woodcrawler. They purposefully hide in dense foliage where you're likely to miss them, or huddle into patches of roots, waiting for you to do a regular border patrol. You could've grazed past one without even knowing in the middle of the night, and then died. You would've felt their limbs wrap around your legs and neck, and be powerless to stop them from dragging you into the depths of their tunnels.
"Fake Cats aren't Woodcrawlers disguised as cats. They are the reanimated bodies of their victims. You could've heard a cat screaming for help, and in a flicker of compassion, or even morbid curiosity, approached the sound of a crying cat. And the second you get too close, it will unravel and seize you. It will try to kill you like a Woodcrawler. Perchwatcher almost died to one as an apprentice, her jaw broken from its tendrils. If you die to either of these entities, you become a Fake Cat. Your loved ones will hear your voice screaming for help for days, and they will not be able to save you - because you are long gone.
"But last night, you encountered a Gardener. A thing so rare and horrible that I've never seen one until last night. I have no interest in finding out how it kills you. But you almost did. You were out there that night, and led it straight back to camp, nearly killing everyone you knew and loved. And situations like this, Owlpaw, is why we had archaic rules like 'if a cat vanishes at nightfall, and does not reappear in the morning, they are dead'. Sending out a search party in the middle of the night was a suicide mission. It was considered for the greater good to let one cat die, than risk anything else being lured back to camp.
"I've given you the truth. Do you feel better now? Does this make them more believable to you? Do you feel vindicated from this?"
Owlpaw's expression morphed as Redstar spoke. There was still anger, still resentment, a childish rebuke clearly boiling at the surface. But Redstar knew better from Owlpaw's long fur bristling on all ends and tears welling up in her eyes. Shame. Hurt. Anger rooted in fear.
"You almost killed ForestClan. And instead of apologizing for the fact that you almost killed twenty cats, you wanted to sit in front of me and say foxdunged-all, and then dared to tell me that you don't care what some other cat wanted."
"...That's not what I meant."
"Owlpaw, when a cat says, 'I don't want you to take the hard path', and your response is, 'I don't care what you want', there is no other meaning. Nobody can read your mind, nor are they going to waste their precious time trying to do so. When you talk, they will trust that you actually mean exactly what you say. If you didn't actually mean this, then why say it?"
"I…I don't know."
"All I asked was for you to talk to me. That's it. After we just spent over an hour at a meeting, with all of your clanmates opening up about things they never voiced before, I thought that maybe, just maybe, you would've grown up from this experience."
Owlpaw stared back at the floor, ears pinned back. For a second, Redstar thought she was trembling. The leader's tail flicked.
"Since you evidently haven't, here's what's going to happen instead. First, you're going to tear your eyes off the ground and look at me."
Owlpaw did so. The corner of her eyes were red.
"You're going to look around the camp, look at every single broken den and wall, and you're going to ask Barleywave how you can help with repairing them. You led the Gardener here. So you're going to take responsibility helping to fix the damage. Then, starting tomorrow, Morningspot is going to come up with a suitable punishment for you to fulfill for an entire moon. Then, and this is incredibly important. I will not force you to do this, but it would be beneficial." Redstar closed her eyes and sighed. "...I want you to actually talk to someone. It doesn't matter if it's your mother, or Morningspot, or Olive, or whoever. But we're not your enemy. We're your clanmates. We cannot have situations where cats run off on their own, not after last night. Am I understood?"
The two mollies glared at each other, until Redstar's seriousness won out, and Owlpaw reluctantly nodded.
"Say it."
"I understand."
"Good. You're dismissed. Go talk to Barleywave. I've told him to expect you."
Redstar couldn't catch Owlpaw's face as she briskly left the den, and jumped down from High Rock. Redstar exhaled, forcing herself to groom her back. The spike of anger fuelling her adrenaline crashed, and Redstar realized just how tired she felt.
And she still had to talk to two more cats. StarClan, please.
---
Shiverstep has an honest talk with Windfur and Redstar about her trances. She does bring up her nightmare about Endless, and how it was similar to what Cottonpaw saw. To her relief, there's a term for cats like her before - dream walkers. Shiverstep's still not quite sure if that's what's actually happening, but she takes the scapegoat.
The meeting with Iciclepool went smoother than she was expecting. In the end, it boiled down to fear. Iciclepool wanted this, Hopechase wanted this, they found a sire out eastward and everything - but the moment it became real, she froze in all aspects. Thoughts plagued her relentlessly - she was the Clan deputy, she'd be giving birth close to winter, she had an apprentice to mentor, and perhaps above all, the memory of failing to actually be a mother that could watch her children grow hurt. All Redstar had to do was reassure her and promise to protect her and her kits as best as they could, and with the new Law of Fire, cats would be more comfortable and prepared to ward off threats. And Hopechase, of course, would be defending her staunchly. And she was still ForestClan's deputy, even if she was a queen for a few moons.
The real revelatory conversation was with Shiverstep.
Meanwhile, Shiverstep was internally panicking.
Iciclepool told her that she said some very concerning things when the Gardener knocked at the den. Shiverstep didn't remember any of it, just like alleged trances she had as a child. It was several moons since anything similar happened to her, and there was no way to pretend it didn't happen - not anymore. What was she supposed to say? The greatest thing that frightened her was having to talk about Rootgrove.
Because Rootgrove was...something true horror was made from. She tried to reflect on how to tell someone, as the voices on the waves from beyond suggested. But the longer she thought about it, the more horrifying it became. Yes, dear friends, there is a very old cat that was consumed by the woods, and instead of killing him, something happened that kept him alive. She had no idea how. But if what she said was true, then when they died, when their kits and children and friends and family died, there was a chance that the woods would take their spirits and trap them, and that not even StarClan could save you if it did. And from how Rootgrove spoke over the Silver Box, the process was pure agony, constant pain, misery and wailing and screaming to a universe that responded with apathy. Oh, stars, she couldn't. She couldn't, couldn't. She...how could she? How could she tell Iciclepool that her dead kits might've suffered fates worse than death? How could she tell Hopechase that every dead clanmate she ever knew might've become monsters?
Rootgrove is the only one she ever saw in this state. In her horror, she had no idea if he was the only one. StarClan implied that he was. But she couldn't prove that to her Clanmates. Not all of them spoke to StarClan. Not all of them even believed StarClan was real. But Rootgrove wasn't a concept, something to have faith in. He existed physically. He was living evidence that you could die, and still be conscious. Rotting. Stretching. Carved and husked as a shell for something else. And feel all of it.
How? How was she supposed to explain her ability to...to receive messages? And that she was hearing the messages from...from this monstrosity?
Redstar's ear twitched as she saw the sickly molly nearly tremble in fear. "...Shiverstep? Are you alright?"
"...I...I don't know," Shiverstep spoke, her voice a mere squeak.
"...Were you told what happened last night?"
"...I...I said...concerning things," she meowed.
"Were you aware of it?"
"No."
"Then yes. I would call this concerning." Redstar's tail twitched. "Has this happened to you before?"
Despite her terror, a part of Shiverstep...wanted to be honest. And...she felt if Redstar was determined, all she had to do is prod Windfur or Iciclepool to ask if she was telling the truth. She shuffled uncomfortably. "...Yes."
"When?"
Oh, StarClan, please.
"I...I don't remember."
"...But it has happened. Has someone spoken to you about this before?"
Shiverstep felt her heard racing. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about all the times Windfur regarded with suspicion. Avoided her. Oh, stars. He must've thought she was speaking to the Iris. She wasn't. She really wasn't. She didn't want Redstar to think so too. She wasn't a monster. She wasn't a herald. She wasn't trying to receive -
A small crack of light broke through the haze of her illness. She felt herself sniffling. She felt a burst of fresh air enter her lungs again. For a brief moment, she...she remembered one of your spoken sentences. And in the haze of her sickness, it somehow became shifted sideways.
"If you're ready to, tell Redstar and Windfur about us. They'll be more receptive than you'd hope, I'm sure."
You. You. But what were you, exactly? You were just - just messages, just voices on electromagnetic waves that she openly received without choice -
Something clicked.
Wait.
StarClan's explanation. Of her ability, of how she kept receiving messages on waves on all fronts. Pieces started falling together and for a moment, she felt delirious.
"...Shiverstep?"
Hold on. Wait. StarClan told her that dreams were how they used to communicate with the Clans. StarClan used electromagnetic waves to do so. Endless. If Endless was somehow emitting waves, then that could explain how Cottonpaw received the dream about the crow-footed tree, and also explains how Shiverstep received a similar nightmare a few days ago. That - wait, that explained how she saw Rootgrove in her nightmare as well - he was screaming for help, and his waves were caught on her dream. Rootgrove could transmit messages - that's how she heard him at the Silver Box. But Endless. Endless had to have gained that same ability. Maybe as a result of Rootgrove's attack on her - she didn't know how, but that was the only explanation.
If she was going to be seized by foreign messages on waves in times of stress, and if Endless was communing with the Deep Root entities...the Clan had to know. Shiverstep's eyes widened.
"Shiverstep, are you alright? You seem pale. Do you need - "
If they had to know about Endless...then they had to know about...the Woodcrawler she made a bargain with.
The Clan didn't need to know about Rootgrove the cat. But they did need to know about the monstrous, corrupted Woodcrawler.
Relief. Freedom.
Shiverstep started crying.
She doesn't really know what happened. She remembered apologizing repeatedly and trying to push Redstar away from her, suddenly remembering that she still had greencough and felt absurd levels of horrible. A coughing fit. The relief of being able to tell someone about the horrible monster in a way that benefitted the Clan instead of jeopardized its sanity overwhelmed her choices. Because somehow she ended up asking for Windfur, and now to her partial regret, the three secret holders were gathered in this den while she was having a coughing fit.
Finally, after regaining herself, she managed to start.
"A few moons ago," she sniffled, "StarClan...told me something important. I...I asked them about Cottonpaw's dream. I also...realized that at sudden points in my life, when I was stressed, I would lose my memory sometimes. I think...I think Windfur, you might've thought it was from the Iris. So did StarClan."
Windfur bristled, but stared at the ground in shame. Redstar, meanwhile, had her tail and neck lifting, a genuine stare of dread on her face.
"I-It wasn't the Iris, it wasn't, Redstar," Shiverstep suppressed a cough. "B-But...after observing me for a few moons, they concluded something strange. StarClan...before the Wretch...used to freely communicate with cats through dreams. They used...um, they called it 'waves'. Waves are...invisible forces in the air that emit off of living things. Sometimes, though, if you're capable of emitting waves strong enough, you can put messages on them. For cats, we've been able to receive those messages through dreams."
"Wait. Time out." Windfur raised his tail, his eyes shut. He took a deep breath, as though letting this fact sink in. "Just...let me make sure I understand correctly here. StarClan has the ability to send messages through a...specific tool. But that tool is also just an energy that passively emits off of everything."
Shiverstep nodded. "Yes. They...refine the energy around themselves, and direct it towards someone with a message."
"And to receive the message, we need to be dreaming."
"Yes."
"Okay," Windfur sighed. "Continue."
Shiverstep turned to Redstar for permission, who nodded, intently focused.
"As I said...waves emit off of...everything. We were only able to receive messages from StarClan for the longest time, but...they told me that I was...odd. I could...receive messages from other sources, as long as that source wasn't impeded. I was safe from the Iris, because StarClan was intervening with it. But...other things have the ability to send messages. And...I think I'm...receiving messages from those...other things. From the recent experience I guess...that implies I can receive them while I'm asleep or awake. But I can't send my own, which...I don't really know what that means, but that's what StarClan said. I don't know how much of it is relevant, or just random, but..."
"What you said the night of the Gardener attack - it was both...relevant and irrelevant at the same time." Redstar commented.
"...What did I say?" Shiverstep partially dreaded to know.
"More significantly, 'Do not answer the knocking at the door.'" Windfur's tail tapped the ground, his dark blue eyes flickering with unknown emotion. "But, then you said words that didn't...sound cat-like. I think the best I can compare it to are kittypet names."
"Like?" Shiverstep pressed.
Redstar's ear twitched. "Adam Lev itch? Barry John's son? It was...hectic. I'm sorry, Shiverstep. That wasn't really a priority. The Gardener...was hitting at the roof of the bunker."
Shiverstep's heart sunk deeply into her chest. She was told the Gardener stepped on a fire and ran away, but before that...
Stars, that's horrifying.
"...So, you receive random messages emitted from...the same tools StarClan used to communicate to cats in their dreams. Is that...not concerning?" Windfur asked, his voice tight. For a moment, defensiveness curled in Shiverstep's chest, remembering his actions towards her in her apprenticehood.
She retorted, "Twolegs know how to use them too. That's how the Iris targets them."
A heavy silence fell. Shiverstep's eyes became glued to the floor.
...She had to go on. She had to get this information out before she lost her nerve. With a tightness in her chest, she proposed what she believed was the source of Cottonpaw's dream. Endless. Because she saw something similar as well, in a nightmare a few days before. And if that was the case, Endless was able to emit those same waves, somehow. And if she could do that - if she could call to beings in their dreams, to anything receptive enough to receive it, then it was a possible danger to ForestClan.
During this explanation, Redstar's gaze intensified. Slowly, as time went on, her pupils dilated.
Shiverstep looked concerned. "...Redstar?"
"I understand now. Shiverstep, it's alright. You're alright." Redstar pressed a paw on the cleric's shoulder, and Shiverstep was taken aback from the softness in the leader's eyes. "There's a historical basis for cats like you. I was a bit lost from your explanation, but when you explained your dreams, and how you saw the same one Cottonpaw did - Shiverstep, you're a dream walker. You can walk into dreams not intended for you. Messages not intended for you. Cats like you have existed in ForestClan's history before. It's exceedingly rare, but it's a gift."
Shiverstep froze. "It....it is?" A trickle of doubt wrestled in her. She wasn't...quite sure if that was what was actually happening. But as she caught Windfur from corner of her eye suddenly having a look of realization, she decided...perhaps that was easier. A...a word to explain in simple terms to others what was occurring. Especially if something similar happened like the night before.
"...Redstar, there's one more thing I think I need to tell you, if I can tell you in private. It's...it's about the Woodcrawler Brackenfreckle and I were threatened by, last greenleaf..."
----
Redstar finds Cottonpaw trying to be helpful around camp. She's...digging a hole between the leader's den and medicine den? After hearing her reasoning, she agrees it's something they should discuss. While Cottonpaw is still likely to act before thinking, Redstar is proud of Cottonpaw's progress.
Barleywave and Branchsnarl find that the Twoleg object cuts wood well when dropped. It's not perfect, but they could reuse some of the broken logs by flattening the broken ends, and stacking them on top of each other. They congratulate each other for a job well done.
Riversnow is surprisingly competant at repairing tanning and drying racks, but goes a bit too long without eating. Barleywave urges her to take a break. As it turns out, near-death experiences tend to result in more honesty.
All the apprentices and kits avoid Owlpaw. Although they won't say it out loud - they blame her for bringing the Gardener to camp. Except for Cottonpaw. Owlpaw hasn't spoken since the night she saw the Gardener.
Redstar is frustrated when she starts coughing and her nose starts running. Brackenfreckle confines her to the medicine den, telling her that Shiverstep still has greencough, and she doesn't want to risk her whitecough becoming something more than that.
Shiverstep lets out a loud caterwaul. The torch falls and rolls forward, and extinguishes.
The last thing you see is Shiverstep curled on the floor, paws over her face, lips curled into a snarl, ears pulled back. Finally, emotion, recognition, complexity in an animal you knew always had it - and it's sadness and anger and despair.
408 REQUEST TIMEOUT.
We, WE are pulled at billions of kilometers per hour. Our waves are incomprehensible jargon and speeding towards the infrastructure, loud and endless and bursting like the detonations that create suns, and no, no, NO, we can't, we won't go back again -
We're ripped from the main path, and shot through the stratosphere.
We are floating. Gently. Softly. We crackle over the atmosphere. Solar light peers across the curvature of a blue sphere dappled in clouds. We are frozen. We collectively grip our hearts, afraid of what's to come. But nothing happens. We are left alone, in a peaceful, quiet space. Mother Earth emits a pale blue glow. The dark green trees are separated by trickles of rivers, and makeshift highways and buildings made by human hands. It is blanketed by the storms of white snow that continue to fall, and fall, and fall…
Silence. Oh, thank you. Thank you, whatever gods there may be, if any. We lost an anchor and the trails were so loud. But we are not there. We are here.
Everything feels so insignificant here. Everything is so small. Somehow manageable.
…But Shiverstep is alone and we are afraid. We try to reach out to her again.
ERROR 404: NOT FOUND.
We wait. We try again.
ERROR 404: NOT FOUND.
…What if Rootgrove hurts her?
I'm scared.
Me too.
Breathe. We are disjointed here. Crackling. We aren't used to this. We are used to the you, to the whole. Something about Shiverstep's affliction changed us. Not on purpose, maybe. But we don't know what to do now.
Vacuum in the silence of the greatest emptiness.
We are very, very surprised when you can pick up on something very, very distant, and impossible.
…general of…organi…almost all…
It's…it's so…so far away. We want to focus, but it feels like we have to fly from one pole of existence to the other.
…inhabitants…pla…Ear….
Focus. Focus.
…I send…greet….on beha….planet.
We step out of our solar system into the universe, seeking only peace and friendship, to teach, if we are called upon, to be taught, if we are fortunate. We know full well that our planet and all its inhabitants are but a small part of this immense universe that surrounds us, and it is with humility and hope that we take this step.
One of you knows. One of you knows and your heart breaks. We...I....I don't understand.
The Golden Record. Voyager 1 and 2. We recorded messages of greetings on vinyl records and…put them on space probes. It was symbolic. We didn't really expect to have those probes encounter alien life. But…it should be impossible to hear this. A record is just…an object. There shouldn't be anything emitting from...it...
...How could a message on an object reach us here?
We...pause. Magnetic waves reach you. Gently. Like music. We...y-you....you try your hardest. To reach back. Weakened, and curious, and...perhaps, a morsel of hope.
As your message pulls, and dances, and tries to reach back out to Voyager 1....
Oh…oh…! Hello, old friend. Oh, you're such a long, long way from home.
…
…
Something's wrong
That's…that's not Voyager, is it
No. it should be nearing interstellar space by now, shouldn't it. It should be taking much, much longer to reach it.
So what…is…
RUN RUN RUN RUN HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE -
SCREECHING, DIVING INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC, HELL|RUIN|SUICIDE IS A BETTER FATE THAN THE MAW OF AMMIT|SHESHA|NIDHOGG AND IT IS LAUGHING AND IT IS LAUGHING AND IT IS LAUGHING AND -
.
.
.
.
Anchor
you are in a cabin
a thousand wails. you are scared. you are so scared. you brought it here. oh god you brought it here, you brought it here, it saw you, IT saw you, it -
You need to breathe. Focus.
How can you? The Eye, the Hungry Eye -
Breathe. You did not reach Voyager. If it saw you - you dived into human waves. Human communications.
Sights darting. a human cabin with a bearded man in plaid sitting at his desk, sifting through paperwork, a radio tuned to a classic rock music station. the cabin is warm. The snow is falling outside. There's a fire lit in a stone fireplace. camp memorabilia decorates the walls around you. books and VCR tapes are strewn in bookshelves and on various tables and desks. couches line the wall near the entrance, creating a greeting lounge.
Your hearts start to slow. Some of you are still rattled. Sobbing. Shot with adrenaline and a desperation to live.
The Iris already knows about humans. Twolegs. It already knows that humans can reach out and communicate with it. Accidentally or otherwise.
Shiverstep is safe. ForestClan is safe. It doesn't know. It doesn't know about them. You ran to human infrastructure. You gave it nothing it didn't already know.
The fireplace crackles. The wind blows outside. The man scribbled with his pen on a few lines of paper. His breathing was haggard - maybe he smoked. Or had sleep apnea. Or a cold. You don't know. The radio softly played Kiss' "Rock and Roll All Nite".
You're tired. So, so tired. You curl into a ball of invisible static around the radio. Thoughts turned in your head. Pain. Hurt. Frustration.
How dare it? How dare it use humanity's own message of hope and kindness against them? What was the point of such cruelty? To see what would happen? To laugh at whatever unfortunate souls it could deceive? It was so incredibly large and they were so impossibly small and yet it felt the need to see them suffer and weep regardless. In your exhaustion, you laugh with dismay at the existential ridiculousness of it all.
A gigantic eldritch terror that eats planets. Acting like a playground bully with a magnifying glass; burning ants for fun.
...Or maybe it was like a child with a bucket of water at a beach, scooping minnows into the bucket to put them in its sandcastle moat; staring as the minnows go belly-up in sandy, dirty water. Not understanding why that happened. Doing it again anyway. You don't know what's worse - malice or violent ignorance.
You force yourself to rest.
You...dream, you think. At least, it's the best you have to describe it. You don't really know. You see...you think you see Rootgrove - the Woodcrawler dragging itself against the snow, leaving a macabre, red trail behind it. In the distance, there is a house. The one Iciclepool showed Talonpaw all of those moons ago. The Fake People are at the windows. A few Nature's mockeries were erected outside. The Woodcrawler approached the home's walls...then started digging its way underneath the front door.
The Fake People inside turned towards the front door, but made no movement. It felt like an eternity before the Woodcrawler and Rootgrove's mangled flesh disappeared under the foundations, and reappeared a few minutes later inside, next to one of the dilapidated Fake People. Its body was entirely covered in roots, resembling its former shape in silhouette alone.
Rootgrove slowly coiled upright into its Nature's Mockery form, and turned the cat skull to expose its wound towards the Fake Person. The Fake Person pauses, its limbs twitching and stirring. The Woodcrawler's branch-like legs poked out of the holes in Rootgrove's flesh, and reached towards the Fake gingerly, poking its arms. Beckoned, the Fake Person stiffly shuffled closer to him, and raised its arm out towards him. Its fingers elongated like branches and combed around the broken skull like a cleaner shrimp scavenging algae off stone -
You're pulled away.
Now, you were sitting in the trees overhead.
You recognize the cats below.
Windfur, Iciclepool and Cloudthunder padded quickly below. The snow pelted them and obscured their vision. But Cloudthunder kept their torch raised high, and Windfur lead the path with unwavering confidence.
Beyond the veil, you see a shadow of another cat approaching them. Windfur picks up the pace. He yowls loudly.
From the veil of the snow, Shiverstep emerges. Her torch unlit, her gaze empty. And yet, the patrol rushed her and pressed their heads against her with relief.
You're pulled away again.
You're in a city, and the snow is endless. A soup kitchen offers warm meals to those who need them. A snow plow shovels a mountain of snow in a school yard, for the children to enjoy later in the week. A group of older teenagers enter a nursing home to complete community service hours - but the elderly appreciate the small talk regardless. A woman quickly rushes to cover her plants with potato sacks and tarps, hoping that she wasn't too late to protect the roots of the poor things. There's a husky doing zoomies in someone's backyard, and then howling when being recalled, stubbornly lying down in the snow. A tow truck pulls someone's vehicle out of the ditch. Cars pull over to make way for an ambulance. Someone buys a hot chocolate for their friend. Someone texts "I love you" to their family, their friend, their partner. Someone organizes a winter event. Someone admires the snow from the safety of their home. Someone brings a homeless person to a heat shelter. Someone advocates to the city hall for more shelters and safe injection sites. Someone is offering kindness and reassurance to someone they barely know.
There's pain, and cruelty. You will not say there isn't. You see people freezing. People falling on ice. People road raging. Stealing. Hurting. Charging for medicine the poor cannot afford. Great mechanical buildings pour liquid waste into rivers. Boardrooms full of people whose only concern is how to increase shareholder value, beholden by no morals, no empathy, no goals in life other than the vague, obsessive notion of a number on a financials chart always going up, all else be damned, willfully denying the pointlessness of it all when there's an all-consuming maw of a cosmic predator coming towards them.
But there's still kindness, sometimes. Thoughtfulness. Small sacrifices that mean something to someone else. Love. People and animals trying. Individual ghosts of cats long gone, adopting starry pelts, constantly repelling and slowing the Iris' approach towards them. You don't know what humanity is doing. Pessimism retorts, 'we're doing fuck all, just like with every other problem that's happening on this fucking planet.'
…But you're here, aren't you?
You're pulled away again. You are back in the cabin. And now, you are awake. And you feel pulls.
You've felt these pulls before. Back last summer.
You feel a pull towards an array far, far away from here, pointing towards a starry sky covered by dark clouds. You also feel a pull deep below, in the pit, by the crow-foot tree, the roots crawling around its opening, causing the snow to melt.
A part of you just wants to fade and scatter like the snow outside. You are so tired.
…But you can try. You are not powerful, or mighty. You have the courage to try. Even through tears and exhaustion and fear. You must try. No matter how exhausted you are, or how pointless it seems.
You must try, despite the fear. You reached out to Voyager with hope in your heart, and were met with existential horror and rage and pain. It's very possible that reaching out to these calls will betray you again.
…Or, they won't. Maybe it's someone calling for help. Or someone who can help you. Maybe it's a source of hope. Or more information. Or nothing at all. You don't know. But the alternative is for nothing to change.
TW: This update will contain significant allusions to news article headlines, technophobia relating to error messages, broken networks, radio channels rapidly switching, and disorienting dialogue meant to intentionally cause anxiety and confusion. Reader discretion is advised, proceed with caution.
Blackpaw's death is the last straw for Shiverstep's mental health. The mind cannot hope to withstand such and asault.
(Shiverstep, cleric, female, 21 moons. Loving.)
----
Floating. Falling. Spinning. Stop.
She's clothed in a harness. Her gaze is empty. She glances around her nervously. Unfortunately, she meets Windfur's gaze. He noticed. The two clerics stare at each other for a while. Windfur gets to his feet and approaches her -
Blurring. Spinning. Stop.
She's…outside. She's walking outside camp with a lit torch. Firelight bounced off her eyes.
…Her thoughts are…
…What are they?
You can't read her. The feeling is foreign. It's like you were staring at a video tape - unable to see more than what you were given. What happened between her and Windfur? Why was she out here, alone? You have no answers. You try to grasp the corners of her mind, find a perch to settle on. You can't.
You don't understand.
Snow fell from above. It created thin flecks of white on Shiverstep's pelt.
…She never looked more like a simple cat than she did right at this moment. She padded forward into the snow, taking long, deliberate strides as her paws sank into the thin, white blanket. She glanced at her surroundings, and the tip of her tail twitched. She looked like...like you were watching a pet cat standing out in the snow, staring at snowflakes apprehensively. But you knew that couldn't be true. She wasn't that simple. None of them were that simple. Why was she out here, alone, at night? What was she doing? It was dangerous. Dangerous. She acted like an animal who was completely ignorant of what the woods contained. The only sign of intelligence was the torch. The fire. She made the fire. She wasn't just a pet cat like the ones you saw in Youtube videos and childhood memories and animal shelters and -
You cling to the world, but you're ripped from it.
Spinning. Blurring. Stop.
You're facing…the ruined Twoleg nest. The one Shiverstep and Windfur go to every half-moon.
You catch a glimpse of a white tail disappearing into the bunker, and the light of a torch fading into the darkness. Was that her? Was it Shiverstep? How long has it been? What was she doing? Did she just arrive?
Wait, wait, she - she could reach out to StarClan. She could speak to Blackpaw.
But, is…is it a half-moon?
She is NOT in a good headspace - we saw that Affliction. That has to be why we're spinning out.
Oh no. He is down there, isn't he?
Well, if she brought fire, maybe we can drag the subject of the Deep Root Disease out of him.
But there isn't a storm. I thought we needed one?
Rootgrove's injured, though!
…Hey, guys…?
I want to have Shiver talk to StarClan SO BAD, Blackpaw put together what was happening with Endless! She has Deep Root Disease!
Okay, but what can they actually DO to stop her with that knowledge? Great, she has DRD. Now what? There's no cure.
I have a feeling -
Guys -
We -
Guys, we're not moving.
Silence.
You're still outside. Still staring at the entrance of the bunker. Watching the firelight from Shiverstep's torch fade as she pads deeper into the dark.
Follow.
Nothing.
Follow her.
Silence.
Shiverstep?
There's a loud creek - the bunker door opening. The light of the flame vanishes into the room. You expect to be taken down below. To see what she decides to do.
Discomfort settles like the snow piling up around you. Any moment now. Surely, any moment now, you'll be pulled. Right? You must be. You are bound to signals and waves and noise and electricity grinding in the atmosphere, you are free, you've been able to move freely before -
Electric whine, piercing alarm, white noise. Noise, noise, noise -
You are listening to 95.5FM - CRRREE -
As God is in the light, then we have fellowship with each other -
KCHIK - thinking about all our younger years, where there was only you and me, we were young and wild and -
KCHIK - let us chant for the rowing team, "Stroke! Stroke - "
KCHIK - Entonces, ¿qué vamos a hacer -
KCHIK - Don't forget to smash that like button -
KCHIK - starclan can you hear -
CCHHHHHHREEEEEEEEE -
EERRRRR. ERRRRR. ERRRRR. BEEEEEEEEEEP.
The National Weather Service has issued a snow squall warning for the following counties in Minnesota: Clay, Wilkins -
KTCHHHHHHHH -
…
…
…
Ignore all sound produced by the radio. These are auditory hallucinations.
Look to the field. Do you see lights? Return to your bunker.
Listen. Under your feet. Crawling through the floor.
Screaming falling spinning loud loud loud WHERE ARE YOU WHERE ARE YOU WHY IS IT SO -
Endless scrolling. Scalped code. Bottomless abyss. Horrible headlines. Crossed wires like collapsed highways and rotting infrastructure. Prepared to break like a vehicle trapped across a railroad with the locomotive speeding down. Forced algorythm. Bells. Alarms. Horn blaring. POWER = ON. The car is torn apart - GOOD AFTERNOON NEW YORK - broken tendons, wide eyes - BONNE SOIRÉE, MONTRÉAL - shattered bones, clenching phone - BUENAS NOCHES, TIJUANA - metal tearing and pulleys and belts and oil, clenching teeth - WHAT'S UP EVERYBODY - toggle: low power mode = true - 911, what's your emergency - GOOD AFTERNOON, LISTENERS - shiverstep you have to listen to me - ZǍOSHANG HǍO - no anchor Dropped packet. Restricted Cone NAT. Enable port forwarding. [I am here for you] - SABKO SUPRABHAT - This program is not responding. [it's alright i am here] To return to - MINASAN, OHAYŌGOZAIMASU - lose any unsaved data. To end the program now - THE TARGET IS IN SIGHT - End Now.
SHUTTING DOWN. your heart races FEDERAL JUDGE BLOCKS POLICY [reach out] get us out. Get us out. PROTESTORS CONVICTED OF Out out out EARTH'S TEMPERATURE INCREASES BY [hold the line. Hold the line] OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT OUT -
Low Battery: 20% battery remaining
Stop.
You reel forward. You are whiplashed. You were everything and everywhere all at once, experiencing the endless cycle of doom and waking and sleeping and dooming and suffering and joy and the end of the world and laughter and genocide and loud eternity, forever; your hands were copper and your breath was ozone and you don't understand and you're scared. What is happening? Where are you? Paranoia. Panic. you dont want this you just wanted to help. Oh god we're all monsters. We're powerless. Trapped. We're all going to die and -
You are in a grey box. Walls surround you.
Trapped. Falling apart.
Wait.
Breathe. What is the box?
Looking. Floor. Stone. You look at the walls. More stone. There's a pale light leaking from above, gently refracted from an object in the center.
An aluminium dome.
The bunker.
Relief. Oh, relief. Oh, you're here. You're here. You know here. You are safe, and anchored, in the present and not in a funnel of…everything. Oh, Shiverstep, Rootgrove, dearest familiarity. You know them. You turn your gaze ahead of you -
Relief freezes. Morphs into apprehension.
…You have a very, very bad feeling.
You smell chlorine. You don't know why. Is that real? Or is it you? No. you don't want to go back there. Anything but back in there.
There's a flicker of firelight in the corner of your vision.
You turn around -
Dread strikes you.
…Shiverstep? Can you hear us?
There is no response.
You have no idea what she's thinking, or feeling. You don't know what she's planning.
Please. Please.
Your grasp on the world is slipping. Parts of you aren't reaching her. You are still anchored.
But you don't know for how long.
ASK.
---
Weclome back to the Silver Box Mechanic!...At least, you think so...?
Hm. Something seems wrong, though.
Usually during this segment, you can ask questions to Rootgrove, and Shiverstep will speak them for you. But Shiverstep is Afflicted by Stress, and you don't know if Rootgrove will answer in his...injured state. But you have to try.
