#laurelclaw

[angiebumblebee]

LarkClan Bios #3- Mossflower

Current Name: Mossflower Past Name(s): N/A Gender: She-Cat Pronouns: She/Her Age: 24 Moons (2 Years) Rank: Medicine Cat Mentor(s): Laurelclaw (Deceased) Apprentice(s): N/A Mother(s): Lionfang (Deceased) Father(s): Galefoot (Deceased) Sibling(s): Perchkit (Deceased), Toadkit (Deceased) Crush: N/A Mate: Tawnybreeze (Currently in HareClan) Offspring: ???

Description: Mossflower had always been shy. Play-fighting with other kits made her anxious, and she hated the thought of having to do it in real life. She would always find excuses to help out in the medicine den, cleaning out old nests and talking to sick patients. When she was a kit, a harsh Leaf-Bare caused an outbreak of yellowcough. The severe disease claimed the lives of Perchkit, Toadkit, and Lionfang, Mossflower's littermates and mother. Her father Galefoot was devastated by the losses and became distant when it came to his remaining daughter. Watching her family fall apart from such a terrible illness settled the idea of being a medicine cat apprentice in Mossflower's mind. Currently, now that she's LarkClan's sole medicine cat, Mossflower is a little worried. While she's completely confident in her abilities as a medicine cat and is still sure this is the path she would like to take, her relationship with a HareClan tom is leaving her torn. She doesn't want to abandon her duties and leave her clan behind, but she has a strong longing to follow her heart and be with the cat she loves.

[ailurocide]

How does erythropoietic porphyria effect Lichenclaw? (Meaning like both how it shows/impacts her lol)

Due to the way the Vale has a lot of bioluminescence and natural UV light (don’t think about it too hard, shh), Laurelclaw’s teeth and claws are almost always, constantly glowing orange-red.

However, she also has an extreme sensitivity to sunlight. If she’s out in the sun for too long, she experiences some pretty intense pain, and even when she isn’t in the sunlight, she has a lot of ghost and chronic pain due to it.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It was a lucky thing the Runagate was used to running all over the Territory in a single day. The wind was astir, and cats were on the move.

It was starting in the north – groups of well-muscled cats were spreading out from the leaders’ home and small, fleet messengers and scouts raced ahead of them, darting around like dragonflies over a pond, skidding to a halt in front of traveling cats or nesting families and informing them with wide, intense eyes about this dangerous group of rebels that no one could find or predict.

A fine way to spread panic, the Runagate thought, then, more cynically, not that it will help.

Indeed, a lifetime of easy hunting and dozing days had lulled most of these cats into hardly having the energy to look doubtfully at each other before politely thanking the reporter for the news and sending them away so naptime could resume. The Fleet were taking their jobs seriously; the “civilians”, as they always referred to the rest of the Clan, were not.

Still, the Runagate knew this calm before the storm. Certainly not on this scale, but they’d seen it before. Now was not the time to sit around, confident that things would be fine.

Not that it ever was.

The brothers would have to go without seeing their mother. Four patrollers had been stationed around her, and all of them looked ready for a fight. Even that big white fellow would struggle against them, and the rest of his friends weren’t exactly soldiers (though perhaps Redheart could take a swing or two). The resting ground for the Vultures and this Nettlecloud were out of the way anyway, but the Runagate had a feeling that wouldn’t have been an issue for the dying molly’s sons.

The thing they would consider an issue was the search party still following them. They were marching at a steady pace, one that cats of the Fleet would be able to keep up even over a week. It was, after all, their duty to travel.

The Runagate checked in on them much more regularly than they had ever done for anyone else. Redheart’s eagerness had rubbed off on them, and now they didn’t just want to run away or warn. They wanted to be active. They wanted to contribute and really observe the world around them. They were awake.

It was a rather nice feeling, really.

And so they watched, and followed, and popped back in to the renegades on the evening after their talk with Redheart. Everyone was awake this time. They really had no choice but to make themselves seen.

The dark grey one noticed them first. Her ear twitched at the whispers of the Runagate’s movement through the grass. When she looked around, she said aloud, “Is someone here?”

The rest of the group raised their heads as well, now alert. All of them stood up, even the blind one, who hardly seemed bothered on a bad day. Redheart and Greyleaf sniffed the air and perked up.

“It’s alright,” Redheart said to the others. “This is a friend.” She could not see the shade, but she seemed to know where they were anyway, looking in their direction. “Come on out. You’re safe here.”

A moment’s hesitation, developed from generations of frightening others with their appearance… and then, for once, finally, the Runagate stepped into the open.

Their reception was not unanimous – the dark grey one, the white fellow and his little brown friend all bristled and made various noises of alarm. Redheart, Greyleaf and the brother were hardly ruffled, just nodded a greeting. The blind molly sniffed the air and her ears slid back, tail slowly winding back and forth like a snake as her eyes narrowed in concentration.

The apprentice was the interesting one. She gasped and almost leaned back where she stood, eyes wide in shock. “It’s you!”

Your mind is awakened, I sense. The Runagate lowered their head a little in a half-nod. Perhaps I’ve hurt you that way. I’m sorry.

“I’m not hearing anything,” the blind one said slowly, “but I am hearing something all the same. Is this…?”

“The Runagate.” Greyleaf swept out with a paw in a slightly sardonic gesture of beholding. “Meet the catalyst for all of this, everyone.”

The white and dark grey cats relaxed a little, though their eyes were wary. The brown one’s back hair still bristled and his mouth was shut tight.

“S’alright, Beetlefoot,” the brother said patiently. “We got us an ally here.”

“We do.” Redheart looked to the Runagate, standing tall, all business again. “You’ve got news, I assume?”

Indeed. The Runagate took a moment to feel half a flicker of amusement at the slight shivers of the white cat as they spoke, then continued. It would seem the entirety of the Fleet is after you. News is spreading south that you’re all wanted. If you’re to head north, it'd be wise to go as quickly as possible. Perhaps not through the valley, though. They turned their gaze to the brothers. And I could not get close to your mother to see exactly how she’s doing. There’s a patrol there who I would say are looking to arrest you if you go near her.

The brother and Greyleaf sighed in unison, a shaky, unhappy pair of sighs. The wary and hostile cats simmered down into sympathy and shared worried expressions with each other.

I assume you know there’s a patrol after you, the Runagate continued, and went on after a round of nods. They’re moving a little faster than you all are. You’re hidden in the grass, but your scent is fresh, and they’re closing in. I would pick up the pace. Or perhaps go somewhere they cannot follow.

A moment of silence before the apprentice turned her head to gaze at the mountain they had been trekking towards. “Is there any way we can lose them up there? It’s steeper than the hills, it looks like…”

“The mountain?” the blind one asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s perfect.” She smiled and lifted her tail high. “It’s steep and it’s full of tunnels. Very easy to traverse if you know your pathway.”

“Which none of us do,” the brother said.

“I do, my boy,” the blind one said with a bit of a teasingly condescending tone. “I’ve been all over that half of the mountain. I can get us through that part easy.” She paused, then hummed. “The problem would be when we hit the Brae’s forest. They won’t take a shining to us intruding on their land.”

“I can guide us then,” the brown one said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him with great surprise. His eyes were now on the ground, but he still stood stiff and tall (about as tall as he could get, at least).

“That’ll be useful,” the blind molly remarked after the silence had gone on long enough. “Then we have our path set.”

“Once we’re on the mountain, we’ll be able to see the cats after us better, I think.” The white one now looked nervously to the Runagate. “How… how close are they now?”

They’d catch you within half a day, were you to stay still.

“Then we better not waste time.” Redheart’s eyes went round to each cat. “Are you all willing to walk a little more into the night? The sooner we reach the mountain, the sooner we can stop for longer, if we are indeed hidden.”

“We will be.” The blind cat nodded. “I can promise you that.”

“I say we move, then.” The brother looked to Greyleaf, then to the others, who all voiced their agreement. To Redheart, he said, “Best go now.”

“Right.” Redheart turned her tired-but-awake eyes to the Runagate. “You’re free to do as you like, but we’d appreciate if you could keep an eye on those chasing us. Or if you see anything we should know about.”

Happy to help. The Runagate bowed their head – then, just to be a little cheeky, they took a step back and vanished into the dark, allowing themselves a little smile when the grey molly swore in shock.

 ---

 No time was wasted. The second the Runagate was gone, Redheart and Darkpelt took the lead, keeping the group going at a brisk trot even into the night. The grass shrank and softened under their feet, then gradually vanished as the ground steeped upwards so suddenly that one could trip and fall if they weren't paying attention. The soil reddened and turned airy, until dust kicked up with even the most gentle of steps.

“No wonder the Versant cats all smell like dust,” Flyfang grumbled, nose wrinkled as she failed to fight off a sneeze.

“Is it as bad as smelling like mud and fish?” Darkpelt asked cheerily, head almost upside down over her back. “We all gotta smell like where we live, you know.”

“Keep your voices down,” Beetlefoot hissed. “Someone might be around.”

“Not at this time of night.” Darkpelt waved her tail, dismissing his worries. “Versant just relaxes at home when it gets dark. And there should be some hollows close ahead we can stop in for the night.”

Beetlefoot didn’t respond, but Flyfang could see he wasn’t satisfied with that. She tapped his side with her tail, not sure if she was jokingly prodding him or trying to reassure him that it was fine. Either way, he stiffened in his paces, so she withdrew and kept trotting alongside Littlepaw.

“How are you doing?” she asked her apprentice (her apprentice!) in an undertone.

“Tired,” Littlepaw whispered back. “But I can keep going, I promise.”

“Good thing we don’t have far to go.” Flyfang eyed Darkpelt’s strutting form, which almost blended into the shadows. “At least, she thinks so.”

Darkpelt made a sound that was vaguely amused. “I know so, my friend. Here, actually- the ground just hardened. We’re a hop away.”

“Um…” Laurelclaw craned his neck forward, peering at the bumpy red dust and rocks they were scaling, pine trees jutting up in their way. “I know it’s dark, but I don’t see anything like a den up ahead.”

“That’s the point!” Darkpelt hopped up onto a cropped-out stone without slowing down. “Everyone follow me.”

One by one, the cats jumped after her, going in a single-file line. Being cats, they had fine balance, but those that had lived in the flatlands, such as the brothers and Flyfang herself, couldn’t escape wobbling a bit on the narrowing paths that were littered with oversized pebbles. Flyfang hardly had a chance to complain before Darkpelt turned left immediately after a pine tree and vanished. Redheart, immediately after her, disappeared as well with a noise of surprise – then Greyleaf, then Mistface, then Littlepaw, and then Flyfang, with Laurelclaw and Beetlefoot behind her.

Behind the pine was a hollowed out den that seemed to stretch on forever into the earth. The ceiling and walls were crossed unevenly with zig-zagging tree roots holding the soil in place. It was cool and dry, and when Flyfang looked back outside, she had a perfect view of the valley they had just left. It was too far away to see whoever was following them, but then again, those cats couldn’t see the den either, so perhaps it didn't matter.

“Wow…” Laurelclaw had to crouch a little and duck his head to fit through the entrance, but he was able to straighten up as the den widened out. “This is perfect. Why isn’t anyone here?”

“There’re dens and tunnels all over here,” Darkpelt said. “Enough to house half the Clan. It’s called ‘the Rootlands’ by natives. The pines made the ground stable enough to be dug up wherever one pleases.”

Mistface tilted his head. “You travel here a lot to know all this?”

“I was born here, actually.” Darkpelt gave a self-satisfied nod. “Let me tell you what, nothing gets you prepped for walking blind like living on a slope like this.”

“That explains a lot about you,” Beetlefoot muttered.

Darkpelt laughed and gestured with her paw in a sweeping motion. “Settle down, everyone. We’ll have to go without hunting for tonight – there’s nothing around here.”

“That sucks.” Greyleaf stretched one side of his mouth back in a half-grimace. “Well, I can wait.”

“I can too.” Flyfang pawed at a spot ahead of her and sat down on it, a little put off by how stiff the ground was. “We’ll hunt as soon as we can.”

Various murmurs of unhappy resignation echoed in the den. Everyone gradually found a place to rest, settled down and fell into silence. Littlepaw rested against Flyfang, paws tucked tightly under her body and eyes unfocused.

Flyfang gently nosed her shoulder. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

Littlepaw didn’t answer at first. When she did, her voice was so quiet the den didn’t carry it around the walls. “Just thinking about…” She shuffled. “Everything. All these lies we get told.” She frowned. “Or maybe they weren’t lies. But I don’t know, and it bothers me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, StarClan’s a lie, and we all believed it, right?” Littlepaw looked up at her mentor, eyes glimmering with distress. “But then the Runagate’s real, but they’re good. And I got thinking while we walked – if the aspects were real, wouldn’t they have stopped this monster for us? Aileron’s whole thing is fighting off evil beings. Why couldn’t she do anything?”

No one spoke, but Flyfang could see they were all listening.

“And the rest of the stories!” Littlepaw’s curly-furred tail puffed out. “All these spirits and ghosts and beasts, I don’t even know if they’re real. Does anyone? Were they ever real? Were they just fables to scare kits? Are any of the predators the patrollers talk about… do they even exist? What’s real and what isn’t? How can we tell?”

Silence. Littlepaw stared into Flyfang’s eyes desperately, like she had the answers. She took in a soft breath and let it out slowly.

“Well,” she said quietly, “I suppose the only way we’re going to find out is when we take out the biggest factor in the equation. Whatever it’s created, maybe that’ll go away with it.”

“We can’t assume much on the part of the aspects, anyway,” Redheart said, voice between firm and soothing. “It’s possible that StarClan is too strong even for them.”

“And if they’re just a story too?” Littlepaw’s voice hitched and she looked at the deputy now, ears pinned back.

“We’ll cross that trail when we get to it.” Redheart’s usually weary and hard face was soft and a little melancholy. “Right now, I wouldn’t worry about it. We have much bigger prey to catch. Whatever comes next will come next.”

“Can’t promise nothin’,” Mistface said on the tail-end of a yawn. “But if it helps, lil’un, I’d like to think them bein’ part of our tales and communities makes them real enough. They’ve been inspirin’ and entertainin’ all this time, drivin’ cats to be better or happier with the world around them. Ain’t that more important than if they’re actually causin’ the rain and snow?”

There was no answer again, but the air in the den warmed and relaxed. Laurelclaw sighed like he had been holding his breath. Greyleaf nodded approvingly to his brother. Flyfang felt Littlepaw lose the tension in her body, and her tail-fur smoothed out again.

“That does help,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Mistface’s lazy smile on his face seemed more genuine than it usually was. “Our deputy here’s right, anyway. No purpose in worryin’ now. Let’s focus on what we got right in front of us.” His eyes slid over to Greyleaf. “Not that it’s much more soothin’ of a topic.”

Greyleaf huffed a chuckle. “It’ll just be a bad dream soon enough.”

Flyfang looked down at Littlepaw as she shifted to lean against her mentor, eyes shutting. Flyfang helped her along with a purr, and soon Littlepaw’s breaths slowed. Everyone else fell asleep soon after her, but Flyfang was awake for just a bit longer. She studied their faces, how some twitched their lips or ears, how Greyleaf and Redheart’s expressions were tight and troubled. Were they seeing it still?

Flyfang gradually lowered her chin onto her paws, staring ahead at nothing. She didn’t want to admit that Littlepaw’s worries were gently digging their dirty little talons into the back of her head as well.

It was a good question she asked: If StarClan wasn’t real… was anything?

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Ferntangle

Aliases / Nicknames: Fern, Ferny, Hateful Shrew

Gender: she-cat

Sexuality: heterosexual

Family: Junipereye (mother), Rabbithop (father), Dewshine (sister), Windrush (adopted sister), Cherrykit (brother), Lightningpaw (aunt), Badgerstrike (mate), Brightbranch, Cinderstream, Acornkit, Nectarkit (daughters), Ottertail, Flintsnout, Finchfeather, Thistlekit, Bumblekit, Fidgetkit (sons), Weepingwillow, Hollysight, Oliveskin (granddaughters), Flamescreech, Sumacstar/claw, Eveningleap (grandsons), Pinebranch (paternal grandmother), Oakbark (paternal grandfather)

Other Relations: Laurelclaw (mentor), Beetleshell (apprentice)

Clan: DarkClan

Rank: elder

Characteristics: abusive mother, murderer

Number of Victims: 12

Number of Murders: 2

Murder Method: cyanide poisoning, snapping necks

Method of Harm: denying food, scratching, biting

Known Victims: Cherrykit (cyanide poisoning), Eclipsestare (snapped neck), Thistlekit, Bumblekit, Acornkit, Fidgetkit, Nectarkit, Ottertail, Flintsnout, Finchfeather, Brightbranch, Cinderstream (victims of abuse)

Victim Profile: brother, enemy warrior, kits

Cause of Death: killed by Grassblade while protecting the nursery

Cautionary Tale: always make sure kits have enough food

Story:

Cherrykit wouldn't stop whining about being hungry, so Fernkit had an idea. She went to the apple tree in camp and gathered up a bunch of fallen green apples. She gave them to him to eat, which he did, but then he got really sick. Cherrykit didn't get better, half a moon later, Fernkit was at his vigil.

Ferntangle noticed a tortoiseshell crossing the LeafClan border, and she pounced. The tortoiseshell's head hit against a tree and it bent in a weird way, there was a sickly snap that echoed through the woods. Ferntangle ran.

Then, her first two litters starved. She claimed that it was Cherrykit getting his vengeance when really, it was her nor feeding them nearly enough. She hated all her other kits except for Ottertail, that didn't save him though.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @jackisbored​

--Ferntangle and Badgerstrike are second cousins.

--Cherrykit never cursed her first litters, they were both born during prey shortages and Ferntangle didn't feed them enough.

--She sounds like Wendie Malick.

[clansofthehighland]

Creekclan Allegiances

Leader: Silverstar, a strict, old fashioned silver-white tom

Deputy: Yewfang, a she cat who's kind personality balances out Silver's more abrasive one.

Healer: Crowstripe, an anxious grey Tom.

Warriors:

Redhare, a strong white and red tabby Tom.

Smokefoot, an earnest siamese Tom.

Slugclaw, a brittle tabby she cat.

Ravenpelt, a reliable tortie she cat.

Pinetail, a easy going golden Tom.

Loachfur, a tough tom with an unexpected soft side.

Spiderfang, an ambitious young black and white Tom.

Burnetstorm, a skilled she cat.

Berryclaw, a snippy Tom.

Apprentices:

Badgerpaw, a promising black and white Tom.

Sparrowpaw, a small brown Tom.

Oakpaw, a fiery she cat.

Firpaw, an empathetic golden tom.

Icepaw, a fast white she cat.

Deerpaw, a lonely Tom.

Queens:

Heatherface, a brown and white permaqueen

Ashtail, a hairless cat pregnant with her late mate's kits.

Cormorantface, a tabby carrying a litter of kits, and a secret.

Elders:

Aspenblaze, a former healer driven mad.

Laurelclaw, a brown Tom

Waxnose, a hairless she cat that lost her leg as an apprentice.

[doesntkissandtell-blog]

laurel-c-law replied to your post:ooc

I feel you on that snow business.

I'm not a good snow driver so yeah. I don't want to risk my new car because last year I wrecked my car in the snow. let's just not.

[sexaddixt-archive]

laurel-c-law replied to your post:laurel-c-law replied to your post: ;; I just...

Bahaha I thought Laurel more as Velma because keeps to herself and Michaela as Daphne because she’s pretty materialistic and Connor as Freddie because wannabe leader. But yes Asher as Shaggy xD and Wes as Scooby because puppy

Omg... I love you explanation even more.. yes... I can totally see it now.. Yes, there whole GANG is there! I was just reading in between the lines to hard. But yes. ^_^

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Mistface had never been so eager to do anything in his life as he was now. By the look of it, the same could be said for everyone else.

Even Beetlefoot was relatively cheery. He had been the first to suggest the route the group would take: to avoid potential arresters, they would travel east towards the marshlands and make a wide berth around the valley, climbing along the mountainside and emerging north on the land by the path the Plage took in their travels to the coast. The idea was warmly received, brightening Beetlefoot’s dour face up and, if Mistface wasn’t mistaken, adding a bit of a strut to his usual choppy trot.

Greyleaf and Flyfang were at the lead – they knew this section of the Territory the best (Mistface declining any authority) and, working together, could navigate the streams and patches of land in the south quickly enough that the party could get a sizable lead before anyone would find out where they were going.

“I’m surprised we lived so close to each other and never met,” Mistface remarked, several paces behind the two.

“Well, you know how reclusive the Marish are,” Flyfang said over her shoulder. “It would've been a miracle if you even caught a glance of me from a distance.”

“Then there’s more land back there than I thought.” Mistface’s front foot kicked aimlessly at an acorn shell. “We heard tell there was a lake no one would pass around.”

“There is,” Flyfang said. “It’s just further south. And no, none of us have gone past it. I don’t think there’s much there to explore, honestly. Just a long stretch of flat grassland-��� She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, you can see a mountain range in the distance, but it’s so far off, why bother?”

“S’pose that’s fair,” Mistface replied. He kept his second thought to himself: if this quest failed, the Clan may need to discover what that mountain range was like.

Chatter fluttered back and forth around the party, mostly anecdotes about the marshes and how life was living in the south part of the Territory. Mistface hardly paid any attention to it; he just padded along, grateful for the sunlight when they stepped out of the border of the oak forest and into grassland again.

“Hang on.” Darkpelt suddenly stopped. “Everyone, noses in the air.”

The rest of the cats looked at each other, puzzled, but did as she said.

“I don’t smell anything,” Laurelclaw said.

“Then look around.” Darkpelt’s ears slid back. “I don’t think we’re alone anymore.”

“I'll check,” Littlepaw said, and hurried off around a bend of oaks before anyone could say otherwise. She was back in a few moments, tail bushy in alarm.

“There’s a group of cats entering the forest,” she hissed. “I just barely saw them go through the trees. They’re all big.”

“Then we need to move,” Redheart said. “Flyfang, can we head south more? Will the marsh hide us?”

Flyfang looked at Greyleaf like he had an answer. “I mean- yeah, the grass is tall, and the smell’s thick, but… that’s Marish land.”

“Would there be anyone out hunting around this time?” Redheart persisted. “Do we have a chance of getting through unseen?”

Flyfang squinted in thought, then turned to Redheart. “The part we’d go through is usually poor pickings in the morning. But we have to be quick.”

“Let’s not waste time, then.” Redheart gave everyone a curt nod and started off at a loping jog, Flyfang and Greyleaf at her side. The party went after them at just slow enough of a pace that Darkpelt could keep up with no guidance, but fast enough to outrun the trackers.

The grass met them quickly, swallowing them all in narrow green walls. They went single file now, Mistface at the rear behind Darkpelt. He glanced back at the forest, half-expecting their scents to be caught instantly and for the Fleet cats to be upon them.

“I’ll tell you what,” Darkpelt said, “it’d be nice if one of you southern belles would show me how to walk without getting hit in the face by these stalks.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to do,” Mistface said. “You just get used to it.”

Darkpelt harrumphed, but kept trotting.

The grass darkened and turned coarse in a minute or two, and the wind grew stronger the farther they went south. Eventually, Mistface’s head broke free through the surface of the grass and he could see the troop up ahead of him – just in time, because he almost walked off of a small ledge and fell into water. He jumped before he could, and landed on a patch of ground. Darkpelt, by the looks of it, had almost fallen in herself, and, unusually, her tail was twitching. Perhaps the grass had gotten to her.

“Let’s be quick,” Flyfang said, leaping past another stream. “The scent here can protect us, but the Marish-“

“Um…” Laurelclaw raised a white paw. “Flyfang? Over there.”

Everyone stopped and looked to the right, where Laurelclaw was pointing his paw now. As if to spite them, there was a patrol of cats heading their way. At the front was a grey-brown-and-white older molly, eyes narrowed and face set in a scowl. Behind her were other bristling patched cats, and two dark-colored apprentices. Mistface glanced at Flyfang and blinked; she was frozen where she stood.

“Flyfang!” cried one of the apprentices, a spitting image of the dark grey warrior. She ran forward, followed by the black one, but the head of the patrol almost flung her away with a back foot.

“Your nerve is impressive,” she said in a voice like she was trying to be stoic and was having a hard time of it. “Especially bringing strangers.”

The renegades bunched together without a word. Laurelclaw stood beside Flyfang, almost as stiff as she was.

“You’re okay!” the black apprentice exclaimed, delight in her voice. “They said you were going to die!”

She might just, soon enough, thought Mistface, but he said nothing. He could gather that these were Flyfang’s sisters, which meant it wasn’t his time to talk.

Flyfang swallowed hard and took an unsteady step forward. “Hi, girls.”

Again, the apprentices tried to push past the adults, but were forced back. The four other cats spread out a little in a wall to block them, tails lashing.

“Risking our safety for nothing,” the molly growled. “We searched for you when you ran away, and we gave you up for dead.”

“And you might as well be,” a ginger-patched tom said angrily. “How dare you come back! With outsiders, no less!”

This woke Flyfang up. She bristled and sank her claws into the soft ground. “Let me see them, Minnownose.”

The molly narrowed her eyes and took a step closer, voice steely. “You lost all rights to visiting when you betrayed us. Get out.”

“I’m planning to,” Flyfang snapped. “But I’m not going without talking to my sisters. I might not get the chance again.”

“You certainly won’t.” Minnownose stood straight and glared down her nose at Flyfang. “We know you’re coming back for them soon, and we’ll be very prepared to make you regret that decision. You don’t have any control over them, remember-“

Laurelclaw suddenly strode forward and shouldered Minnownose so hard that she stumbled sideways and fell with a grunt of shock. The ginger-patched tom growled and started to approach his deputy, but Laurelclaw turned his head and glared down at him with a fierceness Mistface had not seen before. The tom flinched away, and the other family members stepped back.

That made things very clear for the Marish – they all fell silent and cowed, the apprentices’ way open. Laurelclaw looked at Flyfang and jerked his head in the direction of her sisters. As stunned as the rest of the renegades, Flyfang hesitated on her first few steps, giving Laurelclaw a look of awe. By the shine in her sisters’ eyes as they went to meet her, they were equally impressed.

“Gnatpaw and Mosquitopaw,” Flyfang murmured, pressing her muzzle to one head, and then the other. “You’re getting big already. You were supposed to wait, you brats.”

The dark grey one (likely Gnatpaw) rubbed her head on Flyfang’s shoulder. “We tried to, I swear.”

“You got us the best mentors,” the black one said, almost pushing Flyfang by rubbing against her. “They’re nice to us. Minnownose isn’t, though.”

“If I make it back,” Flyfang said, “I’ll rectify that.”

Gnatpaw tilted her head. “Where are you going? Aren’t you here for us?”

“Don’t leave again!” Mosquitopaw almost wailed. “You just came home!”

Flyfang looked back at her friends. Mistface’s eyes drifted downwards, unwilling to tell the twins anything.

“I can’t explain to you what I’m doing right now,” she said softly to her sisters. “It's just too dangerous to bring you with me today. But I’m going to do everything in my power to come get you. I promise."

The apprentices looked at each other despairingly.

“Minnownose isn’t going to stop me.” Flyfang coldly glared at the older molly, who had gotten up and backed away from Laurelclaw. “Nothing is, if I can help it. Right now, though… I’m doing something very important.”

“Life-changing, really,” Darkpelt said. “You’ll know if we succeeded.”

Gnatpaw seemed to finally notice the rest of the travelers. She squinted at them suspiciously. “You’re taking another apprentice, wherever you’re going.”

Littlepaw waved her tail nervously. “I’m… I’m your sister’s apprentice, actually.”

Mosquitopaw gasped and looked at her sister with (hopefully fake) outrage. “You better not have replaced us!”

“No one’s replacing you.” Flyfang gently touched her nose to Mosquitopaw’s head. “If I make it through this, you’ll be out of here in no time. I promise.”

“Make it through what?” Minnownose asked testily.

Flyfang didn’t acknowledge her. She just touched her nose to Gnatpaw’s head now. “You’ll understand in time. I’ll tell you all about it when I come back for you.”

Mistface caught Redheart’s eye and the two shared a knowing, glum look. They didn’t know or like the chances of returning for these two.

The apprentices were still unhappy, but they seemed to understand. Both of them leaned forward to bump their heads against their sister's shoulders. Flyfang’s chin lowered right between their ears and she sighed.

“I love you two,” she murmured. “Be the worst Marish you can be.”

“We will,” Mosquitopaw said.

“Even worse than you,” Gnatpaw added.

Flyfang lingered for a moment, then slowly stepped back. Her jaw was set as she turned around and trudged back to the rest of her crew, tail low. Laurelclaw nodded to the apprentices and followed her.

“Let’s move,” Redheart said quietly.

Flyfang said nothing, just returned to the front of the group with Greyleaf and led them away from the Marish patrol, who all watched them go. No one in either group spoke a word.

When they were far enough that the Marish were only dots of color, Mistface looked up at Laurelclaw.

“I will be tanned,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you to be a brute.”

Laurelclaw glanced back, worried. “I didn’t mean to push her over that hard. I hope I didn’t scare them too badly-“

Flyfang threw her head back and laughed so loud that the cats close to her jumped. “You totally did! Don’t be sorry for it! That was awesome!”

“I cannot believe I didn’t get to witness that with my own eyes,” Darkpelt said. “All I heard was that broad start up with nonsense and then fall over. What I’d pay to see it myself!”

Laurelclaw laughed bashfully. “I mean, you should get to talk to your sisters, if we’re doing this. It’s only fair.”

“I owe you big time for that,” Flyfang said, tapping him with her tail. “And if we make it, I’m definitely getting them out of there.”

“We’ll be here to help you,” Redheart said. “I will, at least.”

A ripple of confirmations and support went through the group of eight. Flyfang looked back at them with a broad smile and glimmering eyes.

“Thanks, guys,” she said.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Thirteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The five witnesses glanced at each other, unsure. Darkpelt, Redheart and Mistface stood together, with Darkpelt taking the lead. Her tail danced about merrily and her ears were perked. It looked a little like she had spotted particularly fat prey and was preparing to catch it.

“So,” she said, “this whole StarClan thing, right? Real puzzle, isn’t it?”

Mistface gave her a very dry look (though he wasn’t bothering to hide his smile). Redheart’s eyes rolled skyward for just a heartbeat.

“Seems a difficult thing,” Darkpelt went on. “We’ll have to consider our options carefully when we approach this topic.”

“What options?” Beetlefoot said. “All we can do is run.”

“Incorrect!” Darkpelt’s grin broadened. “As you all may have guessed, I’ve been doing some real hard thinking on this particular topic, and just now broached my newest theory to our deputy and…” She turned towards Mistface. “I’m trying to find a nice way to call you ‘smarter than your assumed looks would imply’.”

“Get to the point, Darkpelt,” Mistface said. “Now ain’t the time for jokes.”

“That is true, at least.” Darkpelt shook her head in self-admonishment and returned her attention to her audience. “Anyway, my theory posits as such: the false StarClan eats souls, as we all know. This would imply it needs a way to sustain itself. Which-“ She leaned a little forward. “-implies further that it is, in some form, alive. And if it’s alive, it can be killed.”

Greyleaf stared at her. For perhaps the first time since meeting Redheart in the waking world, his heart leapt with a sudden excitement. His mind immediately was working furiously away at this idea, many thoughts shouting over each other with plans and what information he’d collected over the years.

"You think that's possible?" Flyfang's eyes were wide.

"I'm quite certain it is," Darkpelt said. "Anything can die. What makes this so different?"

“I-“ Laurelclaw shuffled his feet, halfway between nervous and eager. “Well, I would like to think so, but how does something like that die?"

“That’s the puzzle part,” Darkpelt said. “It’s not going to die like a cat. It’s not built like us. It relies on souls and belief to get anything done.”

Littlepaw’s ears perked. “Belief?”

“Belief,” Darkpelt repeated. “That’s the key. It’s a mental game. This thing’s power is all in the mind.”

A realization hit Greyleaf in a full-force tackle. He stood up, tail straight out and bushy. “It’s a psychic monster. It relies on your thoughts and beliefs to be effective.”

“Therefore-“ Darkpelt almost wiggled in excitement. “Therefore, if there’s a way to take it on, it’ll be all in our heads.”

“Take it on?” Beetlefoot repeated, looking bewildered.

“We don’t need to flee from it.” Darkpelt’s paws kneaded at the ground. “We need to figure out how to attack it within itself – within our minds, in our sleep, perhaps.”

Greyleaf couldn’t help a rush of adrenaline in his blood himself that made him want to jump up and down. “It can take a dead soul and it can lie to us, but that’s all it can do. There’s a weakness somewhere that we can find just in a dream.”

“Yes!” Darkpelt nodded fervently at him. “Precisely!”

Mistface spoke now. “Thing is that we ain’t seers, and even seers don’t got the power to force StarClan to meet them wherever or whenever they like. So we gotta march up to its den and make it acknowledge us.” He looked at Redheart. “Which is how we’ve made a new plan.”

“The plan so far – young as it is – is this.” Redheart’s voice was level, but there was an intensity behind it that belied her excitement. “We want to head north and get to the Lighthouse. That place is the most direct link to StarClan – it will have to respond to us there. Once there, if everyone who comes with us dreams at once, we stand much more of a chance of defeating it through what means are possible.”

Darkpelt flicked a paw in Mistface’s general direction. “Your theory so far, my lad?”

Mistface, of the three, was the only one talking like he was conversing the weather. He tilted his head, eyes contemplative. “Just a theory, mind, but Redheart explained to me a little of what this thing is like. Nightmarish.” He looked almost sadly at Greyleaf. “Can’t even imagine it in my head without a little panic.”

Greyleaf offered a weak smile in return.

Mistface breathed in slowly and continued. “But what I gathered is that this thing’s just as much land as it is a monster. It shows seers landscapes same as it does ghosts. That can’t all be simple illusions – it ain’t that original. My guess is that, if we are to destroy it, we gotta approach it like we’re destroying a forest or a field.”

“How do we do that?” Flyfang asked. She was halfway to eagerness, but she still sounded hesitant. “We can’t just claw it to death.”

Mistface smiled lazily at her. “We’ll just have to get creative, won’t we?”

“That ‘we’, by the way,” Darkpelt added, “refers to whoever wants to come with us. I’m putting my paw in on this plan, and so are Redheart and Mistface. You all are free to leave, and maybe you should. I won’t lie and say we’re guaranteed to stay sane and in good health on this quest, but-“

“I’m in,” Greyleaf said.

Mistface beamed.

“Don’t know why I even pretended to ask you.” Darkpelt’s laugh was like her elation had filled her and had nowhere to go but forcibly out. “That’s four. Warriors, your thoughts?”

“Think carefully,” Redheart said. “You’ll be traveling with me and Greyleaf, and we’re both wanted. Even besides StarClan and whatever risks we face with it, you could be arrested for assisting us and trying to escape the Territory.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Flyfang said. “I’m coming with. As if there’s another option.”

Laurelclaw nodded at Flyfang. “Same for me. You- you might need a little muscle anyway, if someone tries to stop us.”

“Look at you actually offering to fight,” Beetlefoot said wryly. “We’ll probably need it.”

“Then you’re with us?” Mistface asked him.

Beetlefoot nodded as well - curtly, but with a spark in his eyes. “Any way I can help, I will. This is too important to decline.”

Littlepaw jumped to her feet. “I’m coming too!”

Every adult looked her way. Greyleaf could see on their faces that they’d all completely forgotten the apprentice. He had too, to be fair, but it was still a little funny.

Redheart frowned a little, tone careful. “Littlepaw, I can honor your enthusiasm, but I don’t think we can keep you with us from this point on. It’s been dangerous enough for you just in these past couple of days. The leaders will be looking for us-“

Littlepaw shook her head violently. “Let them. I’m not quitting here.”

“Littlepaw-“ started Flyfang.

“You’re going!” Littlepaw looked at her, outraged. “And the only reason you’re not my mentor is because we didn’t do the ceremony! You can’t just leave me behind!”

Laurelclaw tried next. “It’s dangerous for all of us, nevermind you, you know? We don’t know what StarClan can do to us. I mean, I’m sure it’ll tell everyone to chase us down if it catches wind of what we’re doing. We just don’t want you to get in trouble with us.” He cowed a little when Littlepaw glared at him. “Legal or physical, I mean.”

“He’s not wrong,” Darkpelt said. “Heading straight into the wasp’s nest may have some dire consequences for us, if we get there before the Clan gets us. We have absolutely no idea of how much it can hurt us until and when we get to the Lighthouse.”

Littlepaw stood as tall as her tiny stature would allow, tail lashing and eyes fiery and determined. “You don’t get it. I have just as much stake in this as you do. Not because of my family and my own life.” She paused, swallowed, and continued, a little shakier and angrier at the same time. “I helped propagate the lie of StarClan. I helped this thing deceive everyone. It deceived me! I bought into its crap and I told everyone what it told me, and they bought into its crap too. You can’t just send me home and expect me to forget everything I’ve learned, and everything I’ve helped it do.”

“No one blames you for being fooled,” Redheart said soothingly. “That isn’t your fault.”

“But it’s going to be my fault if I don’t do something about it,” Littlepaw countered. She gave everyone a defiant, fiery stare that was so uncharacteristic on her pretty face that Greyleaf almost wanted to draw back a little in alarm. “So you can take me with you or I can follow you the whole way to the Lighthouse, no matter how hard you try to drive me off. Either way, I’m part of this, and I don’t care what I need to do to help stop StarClan, with or without your approval.”

There was a silence. The adults now looked at each other, silently debating back and forth. Greyleaf regarded Littlepaw with sympathy. He understood her fear of that helpless frustration at being put aside and forced to do nothing with this horrible knowledge in her head.

“Let her come with us,” he said. “It’s only fair.”

“Getting an apprentice in trouble with the leaders, though…” Laurelclaw said anxiously.

“It’s her choice.” Greyleaf nodded to Littlepaw. “And I can’t make her live with what she knows and be unable to do anything about it.”

Mistface hummed. “She is right. We ain’t her mentor. Or her mother, for that matter. Let her do what she wants.”

Redheart had her head down, eyes narrowed in thought. She looked up again after a moment and said to Littlepaw, “My caveat is this: we can make Flyfang your mentor right now, and she will have the final say in what you do. If she says no, then you go home.”

Flyfang and Littlepaw blinked in surprise, looked at each other, and then smiled at the same time.

“Sounds fair to me,” Flyfang said. “Littlepaw?”

“Let’s do it,” Littlepaw said. “And don’t disappoint me.”

Flyfang poorly restrained a chuckle and looked at everyone else for confirmation. Without a word, the rest of the cats stood and moved to allow Flyfang, Littlepaw and Redheart some space. Greyleaf was grateful for how oddly light-feeling the moment was.

Redheart took a step forward, completely clear of Mistface and Darkpelt, and raised her voice a little, enough for it to be heard clearly in the thick woods.

“The apprentice before us has reached a turning point in her life,” she began. “She has chosen to leave behind the path of seerhood and turn to warriorhood. We honor her decision with this ceremony. Littlepaw, as an approved deputy of the Clan, I thank you for your service as a seer-in-training and change your status to warrior-in-training.” She looked warmly at Flyfang. “Flyfang, you have already taken charge of Littlepaw’s education and protection these past months. You will be her official mentor from here to her graduation and naming ceremony. I ask you to pass on your skills as a fighter and hunter to her.”

Flyfang and Littlepaw faced each other and touched noses. Greyleaf could see excitement and nervousness fluffing Littlepaw’s fur. He waited, not sure whether to hope for Flyfang’s approval or Littlepaw’s dismissal. From the tension in the air, everyone else was thinking the same thing.

“And with that…” Redheart’s eyes turned serious again. “Flyfang, it’s your call. Will she come with us?”

Flyfang looked down at Littlepaw, a flurry of emotions passing through her face. Littlepaw’s tail trembled a little.

After what felt like an eternity, Flyfang said to Redheart, “She will.”

Littlepaw bounced twice before catching herself and standing stiff and serious. Greyleaf couldn’t help a sigh of relief, odd thing though it was to be relieved about. The other adults relaxed and exchanged looks again, some worried, some optimistic.

“Then that’s that.” Redheart smiled at Littlepaw. “Your mentor has the final word.”

“Not that it would have made a difference,” Beetlefoot muttered. “She was going to follow us.”

“But now I don’t have to,” Littlepaw said, grinning. “So when do we head north?”

“Preferably as soon as possible,” Darkpelt said. “We’re losing cats daily. We ought to put a stop to this swiftly as we can.”

“We leave as soon as we’ve eaten,” Redheart said.

Everyone brightened at this. Greyleaf could feel the same thrill he had in his heart from the others. Having this plan – even the slimmest spider-silk of hope – it felt like having a reason to live. As the group of renegades started chatting to each other about possible trails and ideas, Greyleaf and Mistface simultaneously got up and met each other halfway.

“We’re savin’ Mama,” Mistface said, quiet enough for only Greyleaf to hear him. “She ain’t goin’ to that thing.”

Greyleaf nodded firmly. “It’ll have to get us first.”

Mistface’s features were calm, but Greyleaf could see, deep in his green eyes, a steadily burning determination. Greyleaf smiled grimly, feeling that determination roaring away in his own heart.

Hang on a little longer, Mama, he thought, hoping it could reach her somehow.

Just a little bit longer.

We’re coming for it.

You’ll be safe soon.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Eight

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Awaken.

The single word rippled through the heads of every one of the renegades, but Mistface was the first to react to it by blinking back into the real world and looking up to see the familiar shadowy creature standing quietly in front of him.

“Been a bit,” Mistface mumbled, voice deep and thick with sleep. He lifted his head, surprised that the sunlight wasn’t hurting his eyes. He realized a moment later that this was because the sun was not up – the sky had just started to turn pale in the north, stars still free to roam across the black night.

“Little early to be wakin’ us, don’t you think?” he remarked, as Greyleaf’s head, fur mussed, rose as well.

The Runagate kept their barely-there eyes on Mistface. I believe it to be vital that you continue your quest as soon as possible, for I have news.

All around them came the grumbles and hissing breaths of those shaken out of their sleep right as they were in the deepest part of it. Mistface waited for everyone to catch sight of the Runagate before he sat up and shook his pelt to wake himself up a little more. It barely worked.

“What’s wrong?” Redheart was the most alert by now, barring her eyes. That exhausted look never left them. “Has the patrol caught up to us?”

The Runagate glanced around, as if to assure themselves that everyone was up, before turning to the deputy. Not yet. They have no idea where you went. Whatever you did, they’ve been thrown off your trail.

Several sighs of relief.

It matters little. The Runagate slowly rotated to look at everyone. The Clan knows of you all. Any cat that sights you is to report to a patroller or to the leaders.

Now every breath was cut off before they could become gasps. Everyone exchanged worried looks, save Darkpelt, who simply grimaced.

“Is there any way we can go around any other warriors and avoid being caught?” Littlepaw asked nervously. “There has to be something.”

“If we can make it to the Machair, the path to the Lighthouse should be clear,” Laurelclaw said quickly. “It’s just- it’s just a question of making it.”

“Well, the Territory ends close to here, right?” Flyfang leaned her head forward a little to glance at everyone from where she sat. “There’s just the leaders’ dens, and then the walk to the coast. Right?”

“That’s the thing,” Redheart sighed. “We need to pass through those dens. And I have no idea what will be there, or where to go.”

Greyleaf cleared his throat. “I know the tunnels up there. I’ve got a general idea of the schedule and who will be around…but…”

“That may be altered with the search for us,” Mistface finished.

“Yeah.” Greyleaf nodded unhappily. “That’s the thing.”

The Runagate inclined their head in Greyleaf’s direction. You will have to go through the tunnels, I’m afraid. Everywhere else is guarded, or else there will be those that can stop you.

“And no one will try to stop us in the dens?” Darkpelt asked dryly.

The Runagate didn’t answer right away. Their faint eyes squinted a little, their nose raised in the air, like they were smelling something.

Finally, slowly, they said, There may be hope there. Help, even, perhaps.

“What do you mean?” Redheart peered at them, scrutinizing.

There was a disturbance there in these few past days. The Runagate’s words felt faintly enthused. I was not there to see it, but there is a loose root within the leaders and high deputies.

Littlepaw’s eyes widened. “Does someone know about StarClan there?”

I can only guess, the Runagate replied, but that astray feeling in me has not been wrong before.

Everyone looked at each other again, somehow pleasantly surprised and concerned at once.

Flee through the tunnels. The Runagate took a step back. I will be ahead of you. Any troubles you may face, you will know from me first.

“We appreciate it,” Redheart said quietly. She raised her chin and looked around the broken ring of cats. “Few cats will be up right now. We should go while we have some cover. Beetlefoot, can you lead us out of the woods?”

Beetlefoot immediately stood up, front paws together. “We don’t have far to go. The leaders’ dens are visible from the border.”

“Excellent.” Redheart got to her feet too. “Let’s head out.”

The Runagate dipped their head and was gone before anyone had time to blink.

“Final push,” Flyfang said to Littlepaw as Beetlefoot trotted off, leading everyone out of the clearing. “Then we’ll be out of the Territory. You still want to come?”

“I do,” Littlepaw said firmly. “I’m not leaving now or ever.”

Flyfang didn’t respond, but Mistface saw that nostalgic, distant fondness in her eyes. He privately wondered if this crew was going to get to collect Flyfang’s sisters after all.

Beetlefoot was right; the forest ended rather quickly, and they soon found themselves having to run across a wide cut of open and flat land, eight figures trying not to leave a trail in the dewy grass that had softened significantly from their last encounters with the stuff. No one seemed to be around, but not even Mistface was willing to slow down and check more thoroughly.

The leaders’ dens were all underground, everyone knew that. What wasn’t as well known was the fact that a sea of brush and bramble stood guard over the area, twisting into small mazes or just serving as a hostile hedge that could not be crossed. The cats really didn’t have a choice but to go underground if they wanted to escape notice – it was impossible to get past the brambles and go straight forward.

It was entirely silent, save for a small breeze shifting a leave or two in the plants. That did not make Mistface feel any more confident.

“This way,” Greyleaf whispered, and led the crew past a few holes into the earth, turning around a right corner formed by thorns and sharp leaves. Everyone followed single-file, with Redheart and Mistface closest behind him. Several more turns were made before Greyleaf paused in front of what looked to be a den entrance. Oddly, the brambles seemed to be pulled back by vines themselves instead of the throughway being hollowed out from the hedge. Mistface didn’t have a moment to inspect before his brother started off again, moving through the entrance.

They stepped into a wide space, walled like the stone houses in the Clast settlement, but instead made of the foliage they had been passing through. That was the uninteresting part. What got Mistface’s attention was that, in this huge space, many plants with flowers or colored stems or even just brush with cobwebs all over them were growing in perfectly straight rows. Each plant was immaculately fresh, and the ground around some of them was dark with moisture. Mistface looked up and saw some of the entrance-bordering vines spread out along a leafy wall, and even their flowers and berries were perfect.

“This is the garden,” Greyleaf whispered before anyone could ask. “They plant herbs here specifically for the leaders’ use. That way, I don’t have to go far to get medicine.”

Mistface had heard bits and pieces about the garden before from his brother, but seeing it in practice lit his mind up. “It’s a marvel that no one else’s thought of this before.”

“Well, the Loopers supposedly cultivate some mint varieties.” Greyleaf made a face. “I doubt it’s for medicinal purposes, though.”

Mistface’s eyes rolled immediately.

“Who are Loopers?” Littlepaw whispered.

“No one special,” Darkpelt muttered, and even she sounded annoyed. “Just some losers that-“

Something rustled over the wall. Everyone froze.

Darkpelt sniffed the air, ears perked. After a long, long moment, she whispered, “We’re alone.”

“Good. Now, where’s…” Greyleaf trotted up to a batch of bright orange poppies and ducked his head down, pawing at a small hole just behind the row of flowers. “Mistface, get a big leaf. I want to take some of these seeds with us.”

“What for?” Laurelclaw asked as Mistface obeyed his brother, looking for the broadest leaf he could find.

“Poppy seeds help induce sleep.” Greyleaf pawed out some very tiny dark seeds. “I figure we can all fall asleep at the same time if we take some at the Lighthouse.”

“Then we’re all in it together,” Darkpelt said. “Not a bad idea.”

Mistface found a broad leaf and pulled it off of the plant it was on (he had no idea what it was called, but it was quite fresh-smelling). He brought it to his brother, who took it with a “thank you”. The rather sizeable pile of poppy seeds were then pawed onto the leaf, which Greyleaf rolled up carefully and folded over.

“We’ll have to be careful not to drop this,” he said. “This is a pretty valuable supply I just took.”

“I can carry it,” Beetlefoot offered.

Greyleaf blinked in surprise. “Well…sure, if you can remember not to talk with this in your mouth.”

“Won’t be hard,” Beetlefoot muttered, and met Greyleaf halfway. He took the bundle, about the size of a bird’s egg, and nodded firmly. With that, Greyleaf turned and started through another entrance on the far side of the wall left to where they had come from. They all went after him, Beetlefoot taking up the rear.

Abruptly, their path sloped downward, and they found themselves underground, winding through turns and broad hollows that Greyleaf clearly knew by heart, with how easily he turned left or right without slowing down. It wasn’t as dark as it could have been, oddly enough – there were small holes in the ceiling everywhere to let in light. Mistface glanced up at every hole they passed under, curious.

“What do they do about these holes when it rains?” he asked Greyleaf.

“Usually they get covered up with leaves,” Greyleaf said quietly. “There’s a fig tree above ground right above here, and its-“

He stopped in his tracks. Redheart nearly bumped into him before freezing as well. Mistface had to peer over her shoulder to see what she was looking at. When he did, his chest went cold.

Sitting in a broad, hollowed-out chamber just ahead of them was the small ginger leader of the Clast, Fernstar.

Everyone went completely still. They were still in a tunnel. Mistface’s eyes darted around, searching for a way to escape before they were noticed.

“I see you,” Fernstar murmured, and yet her voice seemed to ring in the chamber. “Come in.”

Hesitantly, all glancing at each other, the renegades filed in, sticking in a close cluster, even in the open space. Greyleaf was bristling hard, his tail shaking.

When a long moment of silence had passed, Redheart swallowed and took a step forward. “Fernstar, I know what you must have heard, but… please, you need to let us pass unnoticed. We’re on a mission.”

Fernstar wasn’t looking directly at her; her gaze roamed over the collected cats with half-closed eyes, as if lost in thought.

Redheart tried again. “I can’t explain to you what we’re doing – it won’t make any sense to you – but trust me, it’s more vital than you could possibly imagine.”

“And trust me,” Greyleaf said, voice low and intense, “we’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish it.”

Mistface stared at his brother. He wasn’t planning on threatening a leader to get by, was he?

Fernstar’s eyes finally focused as they settled on Greyleaf. “I heard about your troubles.”

Greyleaf squinted at her.

“You saw something,” she continued. She briefly glanced down at the floor, her voice even more quiet. “And perhaps I’ve seen it too.”

Greyleaf’s eyes widened immediately. He and Redheart looked at each other in disbelief.

“What’d you see?” Mistface ventured to ask.

Fernstar took in a long, deep breath, then let it out. She looked deeply troubled. “Something that has me considering what I know and what I think I know.”

Everyone was silent, waiting. Not even a breath was drawn.

Fernstar tilted her head a little, regarding Redheart with something like fondness, if fondness could be so melancholy.

“Go,” she said, and stood up. “No one else is awake. Whatever you’re doing, now’s your chance to make it happen.”

Redheart shakily sighed with relief, and moved forward until she was almost nose-to-nose with Fernstar. She bowed her head, murmuring, “Thank you. If we succeed, you’ll understand.”

Fernstar touched her nose between Redheart’s ears. “I expect a thorough explanation when you’re done.”

“You’ll get that and more,” Greyleaf said. “I can promise you that.”

Fernstar seemed to analyze him for a moment, before moving to the wall and sitting down, facing the renegades. “You’d do best to hurry.”

Redheart looked to Greyleaf, then to the others. They all nodded. Greyleaf’s claws flexed for just an instant before he started off again. He crossed the chamber and went into another tunnel. As everyone went along, passing Fernstar, they all dipped their heads respectfully. Even Darkpelt seemed to know now was not the time to be cheeky. She just let Laurelclaw lead her along with his tail, her own tail tapping the ground as they went.

It was silent, the walk through the rest of the tunnels, and quite tense. Mistface thought it felt…appropriate. Dramatically appropriate, in a way, like heroes sneaking around a sleeping monster.

Which, really, was sort of what they were doing.

Hopefully. The heroes didn’t tend to die in stories like that.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Eleven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The silence continued into the dawn. No one got much sleep after Littlepaw’s vision. They were all afraid that they would be next.

Laurelclaw tried his best to stay positive, he really did. He pulled up as many hopeful, happy thoughts as he could while standing guard outside of Littlepaw’s den, ready to jump in and shake her out of another nightmare at the drop of a feather. Flyfang had tried to tell him to rest, but there was a silent understanding between the two that neither of them was going to sleep again when Littlepaw was at risk of falling back into whatever horrible space she had been in. Flyfang had conceded and gone into the den to be closer to her half-apprentice. When Laurelclaw glanced in occasionally, she was curled around Littlepaw’s tightly balled-up body, watching her with exhausted fear. He couldn’t blame her.

It wasn’t just that which made him fail to keep a happy image in his head. All of his happy images were of his family, the Plage – his mother, father, goofy deputy and snarky former mentor, among all the others, walking together, sharing jokes, watching the waves of the ocean rear and collapse, stretching their foam as far as it could go up the beach. The sense of companionship and confidence. Security in their strength as they stood together.

All of it suddenly felt so pointless, in the grand scheme of things. So temporary.

Laurelclaw fought against the dread that came with every reminder that his family was not going to a happy afterlife. He failed to keep it down. It soaked into his chest and stomach, sticking against the walls of his insides, making him sick. He shivered with nausea many times throughout the night.

The sun barely made it through the thick canopy above the makeshift camp. Laurelclaw hardly noticed it was daylight until Flyfang emerged from the den and shook out her fur. She wordlessly went off into the woods, tail dragging on the ground after her.

Everyone was awake and outside, sitting uncomfortably in silence, before Flyfang returned, carrying prey. Beetlefoot went with her to retrieve everything else she had caught, but there were still no words exchanged. They all formed a ring again and picked listlessly at their meals, nibbling without tasting.

Laurelclaw was absorbed in his own thoughts, but the tension eventually became too much to ignore. He followed his urge to say something.

“You know…” he started, and winced when everyone looked at him like he had shouted. “Imagining everyone’s reaction to all of this, it’s… it can be a little funny, I think.”

Silence. Every face was baffled. Laurelclaw internally berated himself and tried again.  

“It’s just me thinking about my mom, really,” he said while fighting off shakiness in his voice. “She’d- she would want to go to sleep and find StarClan and fight it to the death herself. She’d leap at the opportunity. But my dad, he’d run. He’d take the entire family with him – the whole Clan, probably – and flee as far as he could go. He was always a little timid like that.”

The silence calmed a little. Laurelclaw could see the others considering their own families.

“I think…” Flyfang’s eyes lifted up towards the treetops, contemplating. “I think the Marish would panic. My sisters, maybe they wouldn’t get it. They’d think it’s some monster from a story, something easy to beat on your way to becoming a hero. It’d be exciting for them.” Her voice lowered a little, tightened. “I’d prefer for them to think of it that way.”

Surprisingly, Beetlefoot spoke next. “I know the Fleet would all follow Redheart’s idea to get the entire Clan out of the Territory, if they could. Though everyone where I was born is… rather traditional. They prefer the aspects. But they still cling to them going to StarClan for their ‘good behavior’ and ‘righteous worship’. If they knew that all their praying and piousness meant nothing, they might just fling themselves into the river. Leap into the mouth of the beast. Get it over with as soon as possible.”

Laurelclaw looked at Beetlefoot, a little startled. It was the most he had ever said about himself. That tiny, weak cynicism in him remarked wryly about how of course it was unhappy and dour, coming from Beetlefoot. He told that part to hush and be nice.

“My mom wouldn’t believe it,” Littlepaw said, a bit muted and flat. She wasn’t looking at anyone. “She’d find every excuse under the sun to reason it away as a mistake or a lie.”

“Hard thing to convince anyone about,” Mistface said.

Laurelclaw couldn’t help some desperation in his voice. “Isn’t there anything we can do? We could warn everyone, right? Spread the word?”

Redheart sighed, more in a world-weary way than in annoyance with him (thankfully). “I’ve wanted to run around the Territory and tell everyone the truth so many times, Laurelclaw. But the Runagate’s been doing that for generations now, and they’ve barely gotten anywhere. We’re not the first ones to know about StarClan. We probably won’t be the last.”

“I don’t know how much we could do, anyway,” Greyleaf said. His claws were deeply sunk into the soft ground. “Who would believe a deputy on the run, and who would believe a healer, of all cats?”

“But Littlepaw-“ started Laurelclaw, but Redheart shook her head.

“She’s not a seer anymore,” she said. “And so many of our actual seers are fooled, StarClan can easily lie to them and call us insane. Littlepaw got lucky with the Runagate visiting her and StarClan trying to talk to her again, it seems.”

“‘Lucky’ is a real subjective word,” Mistface remarked. “Ain’t sure how lucky it is to see what y’all see.”

“About as lucky as bearing witness to a murder when no one else was around, I suppose,” Beetlefoot said darkly.

“You aren’t wrong.” Greyleaf looked down at his paws and carefully retracted his claws, grimacing. “It’s a stroke of incredible fortune that any of you believed us to begin with. I mean…” He looked to his brother. “You didn’t at first, right? Even you?”

Mistface gave him a non-smile. “Thought you might’ve been crazy for a minute, yes.”

“And he’s my brother.” Greyleaf turned back to everyone else. “The thing is that, yeah, you all believed us, but you’re a smaller group with at least relatively open minds, and it still took a second to win you over. Telling a much larger crowd, or a couple of strangers you’ve never spoken to before, that’s going to be a lot harder to convince.”

“That’s the trouble with all of us,” Darkpelt said suddenly. “I’ve noticed it in my line of work. Cats like to follow along with the crowd because it makes us feel more secure, like somehow more cats means more logical thinking and correct choices. And we cling to any line of security we can get. If you were told a horrible truth, and someone in your group said ‘that’s nonsense!’, you’d be inclined to believe them. It’s safer for your sanity.”

“Then how did we all believe it?” Flyfang, despite her words, did not sound argumentative. She looked more puzzled than anything.

Darkpelt shifted to tuck her front paws underneath her chest and she shut her eyes. Her tone became contemplative. “For me, at least, it just makes sense. I’ve always believed that nothing is impossible, given how real StarClan seemed all my life. And the connections between Redheart and Greyleaf, especially the nightmares, made me far too curious to just pass them off as insane and leave it at that.” She opened her eyes and turned her head in Flyfang’s direction. “Like I said the other day, they have a completely bonkers story that no one would expect to be believed, except a nutter. But a nutter wouldn’t also have the story make sense if one stops to think about the logistics of it.”

“And you believed based on that?” Mistface asked, eyes half-closed as he regarded her doubtfully. 

“Better reason than just a blood connection,” Darkpelt said, with a jaunty nod at him. “You’d believe Greyleaf if he told you he was Derecho in physical form.”

Mistface, surprisingly, did not react with his usual flat irritation. Rather, he looked amused. “It’d make more sense for him to be Gelid, with everything about Gelid’s inevitability, relating to what we know now.”

“You’d make a better Gelid than me,” Greyleaf said.

“Or Brume,” Beetlefoot muttered. “Slow and fluffy as you are.”

Mistface gave a breathy laugh, and with that the air of the ring loosened and relaxed. Appetites returned, everyone now eating properly and with a little more enjoyment of their food. It was quiet again for a while, until Beetlefoot spoke up, almost quiet enough that Laurelclaw didn't hear him.

“You know, Brume and Gelid used to be the same aspect,” he murmured.

Littlepaw perked up immediately. “I thought I heard something like that when I was a kit. Who were they?”

Speaking a little louder and, rather nicely, almost friendlier, Beetlefoot looked at Littlepaw. “They were called Rime. He was the aspect of ice and fog, once. He split into two a long time ago. The Brae still pray to him, though, as if he hasn’t been halved.”

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Flyfang said. “How could he still exist and be two different aspects at the same time?”

“Nothing the Brae do makes sense.” Beetlefoot shook his head. “They’re reclusive idiots.”

“Sounds like the Marish,” Flyfang said, almost nostalgically. “I had to peal out of there when they had their backs turned. They don’t want anyone leaving or coming in.”

Mistface swallowed a mouse tail. “Y’all got more problems in your families than they’re worth, if you ask me.”

“Your brother is on the run because he’s immune to a monster's visions,” Flyfang said, giving him a sarcastic head tilt. “Don’t you talk on family.”

“He’s kind of right, though,” Laurelclaw offered. “I love the Plage, but they can be a lot to handle. They all keep pushing me to be a patroller in the Fleet.”

Littlepaw lifted a paw to hide a smile. “They’ve met you, right?”

“I say the same thing.” Laurelclaw sighed a bit dramatically, for humor’s sake. “I’m just good at taking hits, that’s all.”

“You would not be a good patroller,” said Beetlefoot. “They’re all eager for a fight.” He paused, considering. “Though you cut an intimidating enough figure. You do have a chip in your ear.”

Laurelclaw lowered his head, a little embarrassed. “That was just an accident in my assessment.”

Littlepaw could not hide her smile now. “Have you been in a single real fight at all?”

“…No.” Laurelclaw’s ears (including the chipped one) started to burn, but Littlepaw’s laugh - quiet and small, but genuine - cooled them down again. Flyfang shook her head in mock disappointment. Even Redheart smiled.

There was a lull in the conversation again, but it was nice now – Laurelclaw could see everyone’s relief at the lightening of the mood as they exchanged friendly glances or started grooming their fur. Mistface and Greyleaf were talking in low voices to each other, and Greyleaf seemed calm for once.

“AH!”

A collective jump and the crew all looked at Darkpelt. She had shot up into a sitting position, her eyes huge even compared to her normal wide-eyed blind stare. Her tail stood straight up, fur sticking out like a fox’s.

“Something wrong?” Flyfang ventured when nothing was said.

“StarClan’s visions.” Darkpelt’s head twisted this way and that, like she was seeing something they couldn’t. “Greyleaf has been immune to them his whole life, and Littlepaw can see through the veil. ‘Through the veil’.” Her head turned in Redheart’s direction. “That’s what the Runagate told you. That was the specific wording.”

Redheart haltingly answered, confused. “It was, yes.”

“Littlepaw, Greyleaf, neither of you believe anymore, if you ever did.” Darkpelt looked between them. “As soon as you knew the truth, StarClan couldn’t work its magic on you.”

Littlepaw’s face fell. She seemed to be recalling the memory of her nightmare. “Yes. The field I always see was dead, and then it fell apart.”

“Is there a point to this?” Beetlefoot's head was craned a bit forward and his eyes were narrowed like Darkpelt’s were whenever she was concentrating.

“I don’t know yet.” Darkpelt lowered herself down again. “But it’s important. I can feel that. We have the veil and the knowledge of immunity. That’s all based on belief.” She squinted hard. “Belief. That’s going to be a factor. Keep that in your heads, everyone. We’re going to need to think.”

Laurelclaw didn’t know what to say. Thinking was not his strong suite to begin with, but this incredibly vague command to 'keep belief in his head' was already beyond him.

“Um…” He tilted his head, forgetting for a moment that Darkpelt couldn’t see him. “What does that factor into?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Darkpelt said. “We’ll just have to wrack our noggins and see. Think hard, everyone. Think harder than you’ve ever thought in your lives. Our home and Clan depend on it.”

Redheart regarded Darkpelt with some puzzlement, but eventually she gave a small sigh. “We can do that. I hope this is going somewhere.”

“It is.” For the first time since they’d left the Clast, Darkpelt smiled broadly. “I promise.”

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Ten

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It was hell.

It was grey, and alien, and broken, and none of it made sense. Abstract impressions of trees that bent in wrong places aimlessly floated, jagged spirals etched into their fog-like bark. Stones, sharp and faded like they were hidden behind a mist, stared coldly at the intruders as pulsing, horrible colors swirled within them, looking like the idea of a frog’s egg with a squirming, monstrous tadpole inside. There was no ground, nothing to give the feeling of standing on one's own feet. They were suspended in the air, if one could even call this oppressive atmosphere such a thing. The suffocating pressure tightened around each cat’s throat and filled their lungs with a chilly pain – and yet, this place was not chilly. It wasn’t warm. It was a terrifying nothing. There was no wind, no shade, no source of light. It was impossible to properly describe, and worse to be present for.

This was the true territory of the false StarClan, the eldritch place it had always painted over with a blooming field and a smiling spirit.

But, curiously…

“Is this it?” Beetlefoot choked. “Is this StarClan?”

“No,” Greyleaf said. “This is just its home.” He raised his voice, angrily continuing, “You’re hiding, aren’t you? Now that you can’t lie to us, you cowardly piece of-“

“Greyleaf,” Redheart said.

Greyleaf bit down the rest of his words, glaring at the “landscape” in front of him. A simmering heat brewed in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, everyone else, even Mistface, was shaking.

Redheart turned her head and said to them, “Now’s the time. Let’s burn it down.”

Like a jolt of energy coursed through all of them at once, the renegades straightened up in tandem and moved forward, half-swimming, half-walking, until they were in an uneven line on either side of Greyleaf and Redheart. Mistface came to Greyleaf’s right, his face tense but calmer than before.

Glances back and forth and grim nods. At once, the renegades’ focused energy and anger flared to life, and fire burst from their bodies.

The flames knew their task – they lunged for the broken trees first, the shapes in their bark filling with increasingly bright streaks of fire before sizzling and fracturing apart. The branches did not fall; rather, they broke off of their owners and began to dissolve. The stones were next, and they charred black, concealing those shaped colors and then cracking and leaking like broken eggs. The colors fluttered outward like butterflies, attempting to escape, but the flames caught them and dragged them down, swallowing them whole.

A violent shake and indescribably wretched groan, and everything went black.

Greyleaf looked around wildly – he couldn’t see anything. His brother, Redheart, the others, they were gone. The heat of the fire still clung to his pelt, but what he was aiming at, he wasn’t sure. For a moment, he faltered.

Then Littlepaw cried out, and she sounded quite close by.

Experimentally, Greyleaf reached a paw sideways. He touched fur – his brother’s fur.

“We’re still together!” he shouted. “It’s just a veil!”

He could feel Redheart tensing beside him. Her voice was lower, but confident. “Keep burning. It’ll come to us. Brace yourselves!”

“You’ll have to do better than that, liar!” Darkpelt challenged, a grin in her voice.

Her words encouraged the rest, and the heat increased. Through the black, faint streams of gold and orange and red faded in. The veil was cracking already.

The fire was searing Greyleaf’s body, but there was an odd comfort in it, as one would the blazing sun after a week of snow. It almost hurt, but in that was a reassurance that it was real.

Or at least real enough to destroy a psychic creature.

That thought barely passed through Greyleaf’s head when something else emerged through the black. Something he knew very well, that had plagued his dreams since the beginning of his life. Something that caused the flames to falter and several of the cats to shriek or scream in horror.

StarClan had been flushed out of hiding, and now it faced them all. No veil, no mirages, nothing to protect them from the full incomprehensible hideousness of its being.

“Focus!” Greyleaf shouted between gasps, the crackles of the fire beginning to shrink back. “Don’t let it get to you!”

That was a stupid order. Of course it was getting to them. It had been getting to him every time he saw it. Colors unlike any seen in the Territory wavered across its bloated body. Clustered masses of black, like wet tumors, watched them, staring these little ants down. Things that did not belong on a living creature pushed through what barely qualified as flesh, trembled and fell off, scattering into dust.

Greyleaf was terrified. He always was. There was no escaping that.

But he could feel the terror from everyone else radiating out of their souls, and that shook him enough to boil with rage built up from a lifetime of anxiety and helplessness and frustration. Brilliant yellow flames flared from him again, brighter than before, and he shook himself violently.

Then, softly, a voice like a thought in his head.

If you want it to disappear, the Runagate whispered, kill it. All it can do now is lie and try to scare you.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Greyleaf was afraid he’d lost everyone, or that some of them had woken up. Then, slowly, the heat increased until it was almost intolerable, and the fire rushed forward again to greet the beast that pretended it was StarClan. Greyleaf shivered with a very dark satisfaction as the shrieking crack of logs breaking and groan of grated stones painfully ran through his ears. The beast writhed in agony, trying with its many limbs to shake away the flames.

The black was beginning to fade around Greyleaf. At his sides were the vaguest of silhouettes of his brother and Redheart, and the faint colors of everyone else. The warm-colored streams were paling just as much as his own flames, and they spread out until they covered every inch of ground. That fear was still palpable, but it wasn’t stopping them.

A roar of thunder that shook everything around him violently, and through it, he could hear words, unspoken but understood, running through his head without his direction.

Is this how it’s to go? he realized he was thinking. The Territory’s protection, the Clan’s eternal peace, all gone for a few dead cats? Is this really the right thing to do? Will we just let our misunderstanding get to us and destroy all we know and love? Threaten the lives of those we say we want to protect?

Images rushed over his eyes. Cats he had never seen before stood in front of him, smiling peacefully and purring, flickering back and forth between each other. He somehow knew who they were: Laurelclaw’s deputy. Redheart’s family. Flyfang. Her sisters. Beetlefoot’s mentor. Darkpelt’s father.

Then, slowly replacing them all, a grey silhouette hovered in front of Greyleaf, focusing into a familiar face. Drooping, long fur, kind eyes, a gentle, loving smile. The shape of his mother.

Every hair on Greyleaf’s body bristled with hate.

“How,” he growled through gritted teeth, “dare you.”

The visage of Nettlecloud exploded into pure white flames. Its eyes went hollow and wide, its mouth dropped open and open and open in a silent wail as it crumbled into ash and scattered into the dark.

Instantly, clarity filled Greyleaf’s head and heart, and unbridled rage coursed through his veins.

“HOW DARE YOU!” he bellowed, his voice echoing in his own ears. “YOU LYING PIECE OF MUCK!”

The illusions crumbled into dust in his side vision. The others had heard him, and they were shaking off the lies too.

“BURN IT!” Greyleaf roared. “BURN IT TO ASHES! BURN IT TO NOTHING! MAKE IT SUFFER!”

Fire crackled around him and heat sank its teeth into his bones. Close to him, growls of determination, Redheart shouting encouragement – and somehow, through the suffocating blaze, Mistface’s cold presence close to him, a single source of coolness, of fresh air. He could feel his brother breathing steadily, slowly, spiting the abomination, and at once Greyleaf understood the coolness to be icy fury.

He must have been shown the same thing.

Good. He understood now.

The tree-and-rock screams of pain ratcheted up and up until Greyleaf was certain he was going to lose his hearing at any moment. The blackening shape of the false StarClan was crumbling under the inferno. Everything around him was white and yellow, and Greyleaf lost all sense of where he was or, briefly, what he was doing-

And then he opened his eyes.

His head jerked up so hard that something cracked in his neck. He looked around wildly, lost and scared as he had been as a kit having nightmares.

He was in the Lighthouse. The flames were gone, replaced with a chilly breeze that should have been a relief, but only frightened Greyleaf into realizing that he had been forced out of the dream. Around him, everyone else had woken with a start, exchanging confused stares and breathing hard.

“Where’s-“ Laurelclaw was almost hyperventilating. “Where did it-“

“Littlepaw?” Flyfang stood up shakily. “Are you alright?”

“I’m...” Littlepaw inhaled a wobbly breath. “I’m fine. Did we…”

“Hold on,” Darkpelt said.

Everyone looked her way as she carefully and stiffly got to her feet. She shut her eyes, ears back a little, sniffing the air. She opened her eyes again and smiled broadly.

“Feel it?” she asked.

“Feel what?” Beetlefoot stared at her.

“Exactly.” Darkpelt’s tail jumped around. “When we got here, there was a presence. You could feel StarClan.”

Greyleaf’s eyes widened. He looked at Redheart. She was just as shocked.

Slowly, she smiled too.

“It’s gone,” she said. A shaky laugh bubbled out of her. “It’s gone!”

“Did we kill it?!” Littlepaw’s fear washed away immediately as she jumped up. “Is it dead?!”

“It has to be.” Mistface was the only serene one out of everyone’s swiftly growing excitement. “Y’all saw it. Burnt to a crisp.”

Greyleaf grinned. Darkpelt was right – there was no feeling but the cold air that he was now very happily welcoming in his fur. The undercurrent of fear and hate that ran through his body almost every heartbeat of his life was gone too. For once, for once in his life, he felt truly safe.

“I don’t want to jinx anything,” Darkpelt said, “but I think we did it.”

Flyfang hooted with jubilation and met a joyous Littlepaw halfway to check her over. Laurelclaw was almost giggling with relief as he rose too. Mistface didn’t move, but his purr could almost be heard over Laurelclaw. Even Beetlefoot had a small smile on his face, staring at the ground like he couldn’t believe it. Greyleaf caught Redheart’s eye and they shared a silent exchange of an emotion one could only feel if they had been haunted for years and years and that undefeatable ghost had suddenly vanished forever.

“What an adventure this has been,” Darkpelt said, sounding like she was talking to herself. “I doubt a single person will believe anything about this, but I don’t quite know if I care.”

We’ll have to see.

Greyleaf looked to the stepping-stone pathway. The Runagate, fainter than ever, was standing in the entryway, calmly regarding the celebrations that were trailing off as the others came to notice them.

Redheart stood and walked over to them, Greyleaf close behind.

“Thank you,” Redheart said softly. “For everything. I don’t know what I could possibly pay you back with.”

You already did, the Runagate replied. I only come now to thank you in return. I’ve a place to go, and I wanted to see you happy before I left.

No one asked where they were going. It was silently understood what they meant.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Greyleaf offered, having no idea what else to say. “But it really is over, right?”

The Runagate’s fading eyes turned to him. The false StarClan, yes. I saw it die. That is what woke you all up. The dream is over.

Flyfang laughed, euphoric. “The Clan’s safe, then!”

“The real trouble is gettin’ everyone to believe us about this,” Mistface said. “But at the very least, no one’s goin’ to that thing.”

Something flickered over the Runagate’s face, but they were almost transparent now, and Greyleaf couldn’t define it. They bowed their head to him and Redheart.

You’ve done more than you know, they whispered. Look to the sky when you leave this place.

Redheart nodded, her throat visibly tight. Greyleaf gently bumped his cheek against her shoulder.

“Rest in peace,” he said to the Runagate. “Aspects know you deserve it.”

The Runagate said nothing. They just blinked slowly at him. He thought he saw a smile…

Then they were gone.

There was a long moment of quiet, everyone still. Then finally, Mistface cleared his throat.

“Shall we go?” he suggested. “Got a long journey home, and lots of cats to see.”

Greyleaf blinked, then shook himself and nodded. “Right, yeah. Let’s hurry. Actually, Laurelclaw, are there places to hunt around here?”

“Oh!” Laurelclaw tip-tapped his front paws excitedly. “I know a great spot, there’s land prey there too-“

Redheart chucked under her breath and nodded to him. “Lead the way.”

The walk back down out of the Lighthouse was a lot quicker and easier, though Darkpelt almost tripped once over a badly-shaped stone. Greyleaf inhaled deeply as they emerged outside, infinitely grateful for this cool, breathable, fresh air.

“Oh,” Mistface said quietly.

Greyleaf looked at him; his eyes were to the sky. He followed his brother’s line of sight, as did the others, and was surprised.

“I’ve never seen that many stars,” Mistface said. “Figure they’re new?”

“They have to be.” Greyleaf tilted his head back and forth, eyes roaming over the endless night sky. “There were barely any when we got here.”

Littlepaw gasped. “Do you think all the souls it ate are free now?”

“That’s got to be what this all is.” Mistface looked down at her warmly. “I’m guessin’ it’ll be this way from now on, at least.”

“I have to wonder if the real StarClan will come back to us,” Darkpelt said. “It seems to me that there’re enough stars to form them again, if they fell apart.”

“They better,” Beetlefoot said. “We’re likely going to need actual guidance from here on out. Who knows how what we did will affect the Clan.”

“Aren’t you a ray of joy,” Darkpelt returned. She swiveled her ears. “Laurelclaw, can we hunt now?”

“Oh- right!” The big white tom jumped and started off at a trot. “This way, here. I can get you guys some fish, too. They’re really tasty.”

“Is there a fish called a ‘goby’?” Littlepaw asked, almost running to keep pace with him. “I’ve heard that name somewhere…”

The group followed after them, chatting with each other. Redheart and Greyleaf walked at the back together.

“It’s really gone,” she whispered to him. “We never have to see it again.”

Greyleaf grinned at her. “And we never will.”

She beamed back at him – the biggest smile he’d ever seen on her face – and continued forward. Her eyes were alert now. Their exhaustion was gone.

Greyleaf walked along with her, more relaxed than any other time in his life.

It was nice, not having to fight to protect his sanity anymore.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Nine

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The silence continued until the renegades finally climbed out of the tunnels, and by then Mistface could hardly believe an eternity hadn’t passed. In fact, it seemed like any time had passed at all in the outside world – the sky was paler, but the sun still hid under the horizon.

Mistface had never been so far from home before. He didn’t pause, but his steps were slow as he looked around this new landscape. The tunnels were undetectable behind their guarding brambles, and the brambles themselves stopped abruptly in an almost perfectly straight line. Past them, the hills of the west declined smoothly until the land was barely sloped. The way to the coast that the Plage took was obvious enough; there was a broad, straight path wide enough to allow ten cats to walk side-by-side. Small, dark strands of grass hung over the edges of the path, softer than their coarse cousins in the southern part of the valley.

“Oh, perfect!” Laurelclaw brightened up, standing straight. “We’re close!”

“So we are,” Redheart said. “Laurelclaw, you know the way.”

The behemoth of a tom suddenly somehow had the appearance of a nervous apprentice, his ears slid back. “Well, I mean, it’ll be pretty obvious where we’re going, now that I think about it, but- but I’m happy to lead.”

In response, Greyleaf stepped to the side and inclined his head a little at Laurelclaw. He quickly trotted to the front of the party, gesturing with his tail for everyone to follow him.

As they walked, everyone’s heads were turning from left to right to left again, eyes wide in awe. Thousands of plants, flowers and trees and brush, that almost none of them had seen before clustered together like dear friends huddling against the cold. Red-and-green scrub covered a good deal of the landscape, with bunches of flowers in mostly pale colors poking their blossoms up above the scrubs. Smooth-barked trees, shorter than usual but still quite tall, lazily bent and curved their branches like they couldn’t be bothered to wake up enough to stand properly like a pine. That was to say nothing of the smell of the place as they walked: a new but identifiable perfume straight from the flowers, sweet and fresh.

“This place is beautiful,” Littlepaw said, voice soft with admiration.

“It really is!” Laurelclaw’s steps became a little bouncier. “I’m lucky I get to walk in it so much. Just wait until we hit midway, it gets real sandy there.”

“Never messed with sand before,” Mistface said. “Heard it’s hard to get out between your toes.”

“You get used to it,” Laurelclaw said, beaming. “After a while, you get uncomfortable when your paws are perfectly clean.”

“Speak for yourself,” Greyleaf half-muttered. His head was low like he was pulling a load behind his back, and he was walking slow enough that Mistface was about to outpace him.

The rest of the crew was ahead, so Mistface waited until he was next to his brother to bow his head close to Greyleaf’s.

“You alright?” he murmured.

Greyleaf’s eyes were hard and tired. They were focused on the ground directly ahead of him.

“Just thinking,” he said quietly. “Not sure how much time we have left.”

Mistface’s chest and throat tightened. He tried to be optimistic, but he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth, ones meant to encourage his brother that their mother was still alive. That she hadn’t been taken by that thing.

Greyleaf seemed to know what his brother was thinking, because he turned his head and smiled hollowly. “Guess it doesn’t matter right now, yeah? We’re almost there.”

Mistface narrowed his eyes a little and gave a firm nod. “One last day. We’ll make it.”

Greyleaf’s eyes flickered between both of Mistface’s, like he was searching for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t appear to find it. His smile was slightly more genuine when he looked back to the path.

“We’ll make it,” he echoed.

Mistface tapped his brother’s back with his tail, and Greyleaf returned the gesture. A faint breeze drifted between them, dancing along the top of their fur. The air felt like it was gently tugging the negativity out of their bodies. Together, they picked up their pace, catching up to the rest of the group. Mistface was relieved to see Greyleaf’s eyes relax a little, the hardness softening into determination.

Conversation among the others gradually rose with the sun (save for Beetlefoot, as his mouth was occupied with his sacred bundle). Idle nothings – favorite prey, observations of the world around them, musings on the weather and gratefulness that no clouds were coming – but there was a comfort in the unimportance of the topics. Even without participating, Mistface’s tired legs and paws warmed and gained a little vigor back. His head stayed high and his tail even dared to wave around with the wind.

The sun was at its peak when the air turned salty. Mistface had never smelled salt like this before, but he instantly understood what it was from stories he had heard from those that had traveled with the Plage (or at least gotten second-hand accounts from them). It was strong, but not unpleasantly so. It felt refreshing, in a way.

The refreshing air and conversation continued on, but talk eventually petered out. The cut-off sleep and lack of prey today slowly overrode their enthusiasm. Not that a full meal would soothe their troubles at this point, Mistface mused. If anything, it might make them all feel queasy. He had a feeling that every stomach was as subtly icy and uncomfortable as his.

He wasn’t entirely off. The further this long and wide path went on, the hungrier everyone got, and the less they wanted food at all. There wasn’t anything to hunt anyway, but what really drove them was the weight of their task slowly pressing down on their shoulders and backs, a thought in their minds that no one could ignore. They hardly noticed the dust turning to sand under their feet.

Then, with the sun steadily sinking, there in the distance-

“That’s it,” Laurelclaw said, voice bereft of any more enthusiasm.

Everyone immediately followed his line of sight. Just visible on the jagged, rocky horizon was something tall and red-brown. It was hard to see from this distance, but it had a white peak reflecting the sunlight, and the land around it was smooth.

“The Lighthouse,” Redheart breathed.

“How far do we have to go?” Darkpelt asked.

“Not far,” Flyfang said, hushed. “It’s close enough that…it looks like we’d be there by night.”

“About that time, yeah.” Laurelclaw’s tail quivered. “We actually made it.”

No one spoke. No one could speak. Mistface and Greyleaf swapped tense looks. Then Greyleaf strode forward, almost shouldering the other cats out of the way.

“Let’s go,” he said. His voice had a tinge of aggressiveness to it. “Hurry.”

Everyone almost jumped, like they had forgotten themselves, and in unison the walk became a trot. Hair along eight backs stood straight. Every tail was bristling and alternating between lashing with preemptive hostility and sticking straight out from nerves.

Gradually, the Machair faded out, and the land turned harder underneath the sand. Rocks cropped up, dark and covered with some strange form of lichen. The wind blew with more intensity – even the brothers felt it to their skin now. Light from the sun faded as it sank into the horizon, the sky turning purple, and the consistent crashing of waves became audible. All the while, the Lighthouse grew bigger and bigger, waiting patiently to welcome its invaders.

     StarClan knew they were there. Greyleaf could feel it in the marrow of his bones.

There was nothing visible, no breathing, no indication that anyone else was around. The renegades were physically alone. The Lighthouse was just a stone pillar.

But one would have to be an idiot to not sense it. StarClan was watching them. It was something Greyleaf knew in the way one knew to breathe.

He looked back at the rest of the cats. They were all staring up at the Lighthouse’s white peak, eyes occasionally darting farther up to the sky. Stars were just barely glimmering in the night, far less than there should have been.

Greyleaf knew they were all afraid. He had a vague sense that some part of him was, too. The bigger part of him was just angry, and he was letting that anger soak in his body, steel his nerves.

“You all ready?” he asked.

Everyone slowly looked back down at him. One at a time, they nodded. Greyleaf returned the final nod and started walking again, with those invisible eyes pinned on the intruders.

They circled left and found an entrance – a tall, rectangular opening like those in the houses of the Clast. Stepping in, they found the way up to be blocks of stone, forcing them to half-jump, half-climb up a spiral tunnel.

“It’s weird,” Littlepaw said, finally breaking the silence. “I was going to come here eventually as a seer apprentice, and now I’m coming here before I’m a warrior. I’m not supposed to be here, really.”

Greyleaf didn’t say it, but he darkly wondered to himself if Littlepaw would get to be a warrior at all.

“None of us are supposed to be here,” Darkpelt said. “At least, according to StarClan.”

“Well, we’re here now,” Redheart replied curtly. “Whether it wants us to be or not.”

No one else spoke. The tension of being observed like pieces of prey was bearing down harder and harder with every stepping-stone they climbed.

Eventually, the ground leveled, and they found themselves in a large, circular den. The walls were also stone, but there were openings all around that allowed a view of the landscape. The sea crashed and drew back and pushed white waves in the dark. The sun was entirely gone. There was no moon. The stars were dull and smattered.

Greyleaf looked to Beetlefoot. “The seeds?”

Beetlefoot stepped forward and set down his rolled-up leaf. The seeds were in perfect condition as the leaf opened again.

“Alright.” Greyleaf inhaled and exhaled, steadying himself before he could start shaking. “Everyone take two or three. There should be enough.”

One by one, they obliged, carefully scooting their seeds away from the pile before licking them up. There were still some left when Greyleaf took his fill.

“Remember the plan,” Redheart said when all of the poppy seeds were swallowed. “Brace yourself, and burn what you see. Focus your willpower as hard as you can. We should all be together-“

“And if we aren’t?” Beetlefoot asked quietly.

Redheart stiffened a fraction, but she continued. “Then we’ll have to rely on ourselves, and the feeling that we’re together.” She paused. “It… it will terrify you, if you see it for what it is. Don’t let panic get to you. Be warriors. Fight it.”

There wasn’t a verbal response, but the group breathed deeply almost in unison. The air was suffocating in here, even with the holes to the outside.

“Alright.” Redheart sat down. Greyleaf knew her well enough to see the fear she was valiantly trying to hide. “Let’s sleep. Remember, we’re all here, even if you think you’re alone.”

Again, no response except for everyone silently lying down, everyone touching someone, whether by tail or backs pressed together. Greyleaf was close to Mistface, trying to absorb the calmness his brother was so good at managing to keep at all times.

Slowly, sleep took them, and their eyes shut.

   And then they opened.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Seven

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Beetlefoot landed precisely where he meant to: hidden from view atop the cliff was a soft mound of soil, the result of a lot of work on the part of the Brae to make their area easier to access. The perspective from above was confusing thanks to the shadows present most of the day, making it look like there was nothing there at all.

Beetlefoot wasted no time. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he whipped sideways and pelted it into the open, down through the dip in the mountain’s face where melted snow ran down in a stream during early springtime.

As he expected, there were shouts of anger. The Fleet’s deputy yelled his name.

“Beetlefoot!” Fogpetal barked. “Come down here immediately! That’s an order!”

Beetlefoot barely slowed his pace enough to taunt them with a clamber upwards onto the slope again. He paused for a moment, pretending to look around for places to go.

“Go after him,” he heard Fogpetal growl. When he looked down, Frostclaw and the golden tom Brushdust were sprinting straight for him.

Perfect.

Beetlefoot ran into the dense woods, keeping an even speed to give himself room for error if he tripped or needed to jump, but not too much to discourage the other Fleet cats from following him. Time had not erased his memories of this place; he crossed a stream and cleared a few logs without paying much attention.

“Beetlefoot!” Frostclaw yowled. “Why are you betraying us?! For nothing?!”

“Come back!” Brushdust added, just as angry. “You need to help your family, Beetlefoot! What’s wrong with you?!”

What’s wrong with me, Beetlefoot snarled in his mind, almost furious enough to stop, turn around and attack Brushdust. What’s wrong with me. Always me. Never you. You didn’t care about me before, but now that I’m inconveniencing you…

Focus. He needed to focus. Berate them later.

He grit his teeth and fired up his legs until they were mere blurs, paws hardly touching the ground. The Fleet cats behind him were breathing hard, struggling to keep up with him. He kept his pace tightly controlled – he needed their scents to stretch a little further into the woods before he lost them.

Fogpetal had said it before, and though Beetlefoot hadn’t ever heard her, he knew it to be true as she did: he really was the fastest cat in the Fleet, and he was delighted to show it off. Even Brushdust, who was named for his speed as much as Beetlefoot was, couldn’t keep up. Their breaths got more ragged, and they were slowly lagging behind. They were out of energy and their quarry was only going faster. Beetlefoot waited until he had passed the tallest tree in the woods to start sprinting as fast as he could. Within moments, the sounds of Brushdust and Frostclaw faded away. He didn’t have to look back to know they had given up and stopped.

That was fine. The important part was that they had left their scents on a path in the center of Brae territory.

Beetlefoot slowed down into a jog when he could no longer hear either of his chasers. He needed to preserve some energy for the next stage in the plan.

He continued on, breathing harder and harder to prepare, before coming up to a huge, piled-up swath of brambles and berry bushes. The scent of cats came through the hidden entrance, a tangle of thorny vines that looked much harder to pass through than it was. He hesitated for a moment before bracing himself and scrambling through the entrance like his tail was on fire. He flopped onto his stomach on the loamy earth for the effect.

When he looked up, panting, a sea of brown and tortoiseshell and ginger faces were focused on him. Every hair on every back was standing straight up, and every muzzle was wrinkled with alarm and anger. Nothing had changed since he’d been gone, at least.

“Deerfur!” Beetlefoot shouted between false gasps. “Where’s Deerfur?”

A fluffy brown molly pushed through the crowd, ears pinned against her head. “What do you think you’re doing here?!”

Beetlefoot ignored her, just calling again, “Deerfur!”

Growling mutters rippled through the crowd, until an aging brown tabby parted the cats and approached with a high head and dignified steps.

“You need to have a very good reason for why you’re here again, Beetlepaw,” he said, venom in every word.

Beetlefoot didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he looked up with wide eyes, panting, “I was – nearby – and there’s cats – a whole patrol – on the border – they chased me – came to warn you…”

He had no idea what would happen if the family didn’t believe him. All he could do was try and persuade them harder. Beyond that, he was stuck.

Luckily, the Brae all looked at each other with shock, in total belief. The elder deputy narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, sniffing the air around Beetlefoot like he was a rotting jay.

“You reek of outsiders,” he said.

“Got – too close to them,” Beetlefoot gasped. He shook his head and let his breathing even out a little, adding, “They were near Versant grounds. On the border. Some came into - the woods - when I ran to warn you.”

Deerfur squinted at Beetlefoot, as if trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not. The fluffy molly was glaring at the two toms, tail lashing.

Finally, Deerfur said, “How many?”

“Nine or ten,” Beetlefoot responded. He slowly got to his feet. “They looked strong. And they’re aggressive.”

Deerfur looked behind him at the rest of Brae. “Every warrior with me. We’ll correct them.” He turned back to Beetlefoot. “Lead us to them, and then leave our woods. You’re not welcome here.”

“I’m aware.” Beetlefoot turned and quickly scooted back under the brambles. He waited for the rest of the blend of brown and ginger to exit before setting off at a run again, this time slower. The Brae followed him in total silence, and he could feel their eyes like claws scoring his back. He refused to look back, just breathed heavily and kept going. He couldn’t help a smidge of satisfaction when they reached the big pine and he heard hisses at the scent of Fleet cats.

They reached the edge of the woods and Beetlefoot paused as soon as he caught sight of Fogpetal’s patrol. There was a yowl and a wave of cats swept around him, yelling curses.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Deerfur said at nearly a shout, which clearly took effort on his part after that run. “You and your sorry Fleet rats are to leave immediately.”

Fogpetal looked shocked (and not a little nervous). She took a step forward, starting, “Greetings. We’re just here for-“

“Get OUT!” the fluffy molly screeched. “NOW!”

Mothers never change, Beetlefoot thought.

More screeches and scoldings rose from the Brae cats. Fogpetal tried to speak again, but she was shouted down. Viceroyclaw flexed her claws and strode forward, only for three cats to meet her challenge and unsheathe their claws, growling.

Beetlefoot wasted no more time in watching. He snuck to the cliff where the others were waiting, completely unnoticed by the Brae. They watched him as he came around to the side of the cliff he had jumped from and motioned silently for them. One by one, they landed beside him, some glancing in shock at the commotion down the slope. When everyone was down, he turned and ran up the mountain and into the forest, a good distance from where he had come out.

With some satisfaction, he noted that no one was following. The Brae were occupying the hunters, and there looked to be a fight soon.

Good.

“What did you do?” Laurelclaw whispered once everyone was in the forest and had slowed to a loping canter. “How did you get the Brae out here?”

“Anyone stepping near their border is cause for action,” Beetlefoot said, not looking back. The satisfaction had turned grim and his chest was tight with resentment.

“But they should’ve attacked you,” Littlepaw said. “Even I know the Brae are terrible to outsiders.”

“I was born here,” Beetlefoot said curtly, and focused hard on the ground ahead of him.

The silence behind him was heavy and awkward. He knew they all wanted to ask questions. Or pass judgement. Whatever. The two options were equally bad.

“Well,” Darkpelt said eventually, “It’s a shame we didn’t discuss that more before. We could have been gossiping about our families this whole time. Or been at each other’s throats. I don’t know how it is for you.”

Beetlefoot forced himself to relax a little. “The Brae are as awful as you’ve heard. I would just be complaining about them.”

“Still ripe gossip,” Darkpelt said lightly.

“Well, you and I both have terrible families,” Flyfang offered with a slight chuckle that was clearly meant to ease the mood and failed. “We could have been complaining together.”

Beetlefoot didn’t respond, and neither did anyone else. He kept his pace at a careful speed that he hoped the rest wouldn’t struggle on.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Greyleaf finally asked.

Beetlefoot was relieved to break the silence again. “There’s a waterfall nearby, just outside of the border. We can stop there and rest. And hunt, hopefully.”

Flyfang sighed with relief. “Thank the aspects. I’m starving.”

“We all are,” Mistface replied. “Oughta hurry, though, if the Brae are plannin’ on comin’ back for us.”

Everyone seemed game for that, so Beetlefoot started to run. He knew they was exhausted – he finally was, too – but the threat of being caught gave them just enough energy to cross through the dark and peat-thick woods at a quicker pace.

Still, it felt like they were in the growing shadows of the forest for an eternity before the waterfall’s roar could be heard in the distance. They all slowed unanimously into a trot, relieved. It took until the moon was about to escape being scraped by the pine trees’ crowns before they reached their target.

The waterfall was quite loud, which would be useful to cover their voices. The dark water reflected the moonlight even brighter than the growing dew on the plants around the river that white waves crashed down into. A fine mist rising from the falls made everything pearly and iridescent, rays of moonlight glimmering in lines to dapple the ground. The air smelled rich and fresh.

Beetlefoot led the rest of the renegades to a small cavern behind the waterfall, noticing everyone’s relief when he kept moving through the deafening echoes of the cavern and emerged on the other side to a grassy clearing. He had no intention of sleeping within the waterfall’s cover either. Being just outside was good enough.

“This is quite nice,” Redheart remarked as everyone investigated the clearing’s edges. “Do the Brae come by this way?”

“As far as they know, no one else is aware of that pathway.” Beetlefoot unconsciously spoke as if he was giving a report. “It’s rare to see any other cats here. We should be safe to rest.”

“And hunt.” Flyfang stretched and motioned with her tail. “Laurelclaw, come help me fish. There’s got to be something good in water like this."

Laurelclaw nodded, but meekly said, “I’m not that great of a hunter, just as a warning.”

“But you’ve dealt with currents stronger than anything this river's got,” Flyfang said, “so we should be fine.”

“Thank you,” Redheart said with a tired huff of air. “I wouldn’t be much use hunting right now.”

Satisfied that the clearing was safe, the rest of the cats found spots to nest in and collapsed into reclining positions. Flyfang and Laurelclaw returned and left multiple times with fish, eventually coming back for real once they had their own meals. Everyone had barely restrained themselves from eating before the two settled down with them, and once they did, there was no conversation for as long as they scarfed down their meal. Flyfang had been right - the water's bounty was quite delicious.

Oddly, even with full stomachs, the air was somewhat tense. Beetlefoot couldn’t pick out why it was or where it was coming from until Flyfang spoke up.

“So, I’m wondering,” she said. “We’re getting closer to the Lighthouse, but I haven’t heard anyone explain exactly how we’re killing StarClan.”

The silence that followed was incredibly uneasy. Beetlefoot hadn’t actually considered that problem either.

“Mistface, you said we have to ‘get creative’, right?” Flyfang looked to the fluffy tom. “But what does that mean? What do we do?”

Mistface was the only cat who didn’t look bothered by this question. He shifted onto his side, his head resting on his shoulders, eyes drifting up to the night sky.

“It’s partly land, he said,” Greyleaf offered. “And psychic. It’ll require mental power, at least.”

“And what do we use that mental power for?” Littlepaw asked. “Not- I don’t mean to be rude, or anything. I’m genuinely curious. How do we use our minds to destroy a monster like that?”

Redheart leaned her head into the circle a little, speaking quietly. “It may sound a little silly, but if we were to perhaps use our imaginations, we could conjure something up to destroy it.”

“Like what?” Laurelclaw said. “Do we- do we imagine it breaking apart, or-?”

“Don’t think that’s the way, rightly,” Mistface finally drawled. “But Redheart’s got it. Mental power from eight cats, mortal as we may be, can power somethin’ destructive. We likely can’t change StarClan itself, but we can make ourselves a little weapon to use against it.”

Beetlefoot was at a complete loss of ideas. He internally scolded himself for not being creative enough to find a solution to a problem like this when he had earlier easily tricked the Brae into doing what he wanted.

“Oh!” Littlepaw’s head jerked up. “Right! It’s land! I know what destroys land without being part of the land itself.”

“What’ve you got, kiddo?” Flyfang looked to her apprentice hopefully.

“Fire.” Littlepaw’s fur fluffed out. “Like Calcine – his fire can destroy anything.”

“Not bad.” Mistface gave her an approving nod. “That’ll be the plan, then – channel your thoughts into somethin’ representin’ your mental power, that bein’ fire…”

“And we can burn it away?” Laurelclaw asked, ears perked.

“That’s about it,” Mistface replied. “If the thing really does rely on psychic mumbo-jumbo as much as it does, turning that around on it'll likely kill it.”

Beetlefoot spoke without thinking and immediately scolded himself. “That’s not a guarantee.”

“No,” Redheart said, “but it’s an educated plan. We should all think hard while we’re on the move of other solutions, in case that fails.”

It could overpower us, Beetlefoot wanted to say, but he stopped himself from continuing to dourly ruin a good mood. Everyone seemed happy with this plan, their postures relaxed and faces calmly eager. He just lowered his chin onto his paws and studied the ground silently.

He dearly hoped, more for the sake of his fellows than anything, that this plan would work.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Four: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The renegades were up and moving just as the sun was halfway past the horizon in the north. Hunger and not a little sleepiness made all of them quiet and slow, but they trudged on after Darkpelt, who kept them going with cheery encouragements of “keep your feet moving” and “we’re on a good trail, don’t worry”.

Darkpelt had always been exceptionally nimble – Mistface still hadn’t seen her bump into anything on accident – but it was on this mountain that her skills really shined. She weaved around pines in their path, stepped over their protruding roots and ducked into tunnels that the rest would have walked past, completely unaware. She never paused, only slowed her paces a little to taste the air and continue on with a murmur of “that’s right, it was here”.

“I have no idea why you got called -pelt,” Laurelclaw said eventually. “None of us could do this.”

“Advantage of low expectations, my lad,” Darkpelt replied, tail waving over her back. “Only an idiot of a spy would want to be named after their skills. I was actually in the running for -shade or -pad, but the deputy wanted to call me some -tail variant.”

“-pelt sounds better,” Littlepaw piped up. “Darkshade is a little redundant, I think.”

“And, more importantly, cats would know something’s up with me.” Darkpelt turned her head a little to speak in Littlepaw’s direction. “Be a real risk to my job, it would.”

“Mistface did the same thing,” Greyleaf said, and then to his brother, “What were your options again?”

“Lessee…” Mistface tilted his head, thinking. “The -cloud and -throat types, if I remember right. Almost went with -song, but I decided otherwise.”

“Mistsong sounds super pretty.” Littlepaw’s eyes sparkled. Then she frowned and looked back at Mistface. “Why did you choose -face?”

Mistface gave her a smile of amusement. “Same as Darkpelt – didn’t want folks expectin’ anythin’ of me.” He huffed a small breath as he added, “No one’ll ask a pretty face to do some task or another. Liable to think we’re all stupid and lazy.”

“Well, you’re not stupid,” Greyleaf said, “but you are lazy.”

Flyfang snorted. “And you got dragged into being a spy, so you had to work. That must suck.”

“I can say this,” Mistface said. “If Greyleaf here hadn’t been part of it, I would’ve stayed home and slept my life away. This has been exciting enough to almost make it worth it, though.”

He received a laugh from Flyfang and couldn’t help a snort himself at Greyleaf's jolt at the sudden noise. Laurelclaw had a look like he was restraining a chuckle.

“Oop- careful here.” Darkpelt lifted a paw and swiveled her ears. “These tunnels coming up are pretty weak. Don’t bump into the walls, Laurelclaw, or you’ll bury all of us.”

Laurelclaw ducked his head preemptively, chuckle forgotten. “I won’t, I promise.”

“These are quite the stomping grounds to grow up on, Darkpelt,” Flyfang remarked. “How did you not, like, fall to your death or roll down the slope?”

“Oh, I rolled plenty.” Darkpelt half-laughed. “But I learned the hard way, and I got better at finding my feet. I was even better than the purebreds in Versant after a while.”

“There are purebreds in Versant?” Redheart asked. “I thought that everyone there has mixed blood.”

“Some of the older families didn’t breed out,” Darkpelt said. “But my mother was Scattered and my father brought her in to live here.” Her tone became philosophical. “Poor Mom. She was so worried for me, you know. She wanted to raise me in the valley. It was ‘safer there’ or something. Thank the aspects for Pops – he kept me here, and I got trained well in footwork.”

Littlepaw asked a question, but Mistface didn’t catch it. He had just remembered to check on Beetlefoot, who was close behind him and had been silent the entire walk. His eyes were on the ground and his face was… ‘sullen’ was not the right word. ‘Troubled’, to some degree, but that was too vague. He looked like he hadn’t heard a thing said this morning, drowning in his own thoughts.

Mistface slowed a little to distance himself a little from everyone else and turned his head as well as he could while walking to murmur, “You alright?”

Beetlefoot didn’t respond at first. Slowly, his eyes lifted and he raised his head a little. “What?”

“You’re just awful quiet, is all,” Mistface said, voice still low. “Somethin’ troublin’ you?”

For just a heartbeat, Beetlefoot opened his mouth. Then he stopped, eyes lowering, and closed it again. He shook his head.

“Nothing,” he replied, repeating quietly, “Nothing.”

Mistface was concerned enough to want to prod, but he had a strong feeling that doing so wasn’t going to go anywhere helpful. He sighed through his nose and left it with, “Well, you wanna talk, go ahead.” Then he turned forward again and sped up his pace to catch up to the rest of the group.

It took Beetlefoot a long moment to do the same.

 --

 The rebels aren’t that sneaky after all, Viceroyclaw thought with satisfaction.

The path was invisible from the bottom of the mountain, but small dots and their shadows wobbled along near the top – some dark, some grey, one big white, and one red. They sank out of view, seemingly going into the earth, only to bob back up again a little further north. Viceroyclaw didn’t know if they had seen the patrol following them, but she assumed the tall grass had protected her crew from view.

“Where in the world do they think they’re going?” One of the patrollers, Frostclaw, craned her white neck to squint at the dots. “Don’t they know they’ve got Brae territory up ahead?”

“They must be looking for a way up the mountain,” Glorypelt mused. “That’s the only way to escape us.”

“Either way,” Fogpetal cut in with narrowed eyes, “we’re following them.”

“What if they leave over the crest, ma’am?” Boarpaw looked anxiously at the grey deputy and Viceroyclaw, who were standing together. “Are we followin’ them then?”

Fogpetal turned her gaze on the calico next to her. Viceroyclaw felt every eye turn on her instantly.

She cleared her throat. “If they leave the Territory, they’re out of our paws. Whatever is waiting for them, let them deal with it.”

There was a collective wave of relief that rippled through the group – some cats sighing, others just relaxing.

“Good,” Shreddednose said. “I’m not willing to go up against catamounts for a couple idiots.” She turned her scarred face to Fogpetal. “No way we can get up there from where we are now, though. It’s way too steep.”

“Then we’ll continue on from down here,” Fogpetal said easily. “If they’re heading north, they have to come down eventually.”

The patrol seemed quite happy about this, and Viceroyclaw didn’t blame them. The mountain’s reputation had not been without merit; the soil was loose and the slope was way too steep for even these cats to traverse. Trying to clamber up this rise from the bottom with no knowledge of the secret paths Versant cats took would be idiotic. The rebels were going to exhaust themselves trying to be stealthy, anyway. It was much simpler to stay on flat ground and wait.

The only big struggle, Viceroyclaw realized as they moved throughout the day, was that there were pine trees cropping up now and again to block the view of the rebels, when they weren’t suddenly gone already. It steadily got worse as the scattered trees began bunching together, gradually broadening into a loose forest. The terrain was getting harder to see anything on, as well – rocks jutted out in the gaps between pines and the earth clumped up, becoming darker and denser, carrying a rich, pungent scent. A few times, the patrol lost sight of the rebels and had no choice but to keep moving on the assumption that they were still on track with their targets.

It was late in the afternoon when the patrol reached a split in the forest, starting from the top of the mountain and running evenly down to the foot. Viceroyclaw’s heart jumped with excitement when she saw the rebels again. They were up on a rocky cliffside, still surrounded by trees, but they were much closer now. Viceroyclaw could make out the patches on the apprentice from here.

The problem was that they had clearly seen the patrol too. They stopped where they were, as did the patrol. The two groups were still, staring at each other, some of each party speaking to each other on the next course of action.

“Hold your position,” Viceroyclaw told her cats. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the rebels. “Just wait for them to make a move. We’ll get them.”

 --

 “Ain’t much likin’ our odds, I’ll be honest,” Mistface said.

Redheart, crouched on the ledge they currently stood on, hadn’t taken her eyes off the cluster of cats below them. She said nothing.

“Should- should we turn ourselves in?” Laurelclaw asked. His fur was fluffed out with fear. “We’re sort of stuck.”

“We can get past them,” Flyfang snapped. Laurelclaw flinched. “Sorry. We can, though. We just need to find a way out of here. Darkpelt, do you know where we can go?”

Darkpelt’s teeth clicked, and her ears slid back. “This is about as far as I’ve ever gone in this area. None of this smells very familiar to me.”

Flyfang cursed under her breath. She looked around at each cat, as if expecting one of them to come up with an idea. When no one did, she said exasperatedly, “Look, if they could get to us, they would have already. There has to be some path we can take to lose them.”

“But then we have the Brae to deal with.” Greyleaf fur along his back was raised. “Son of a weasel.”

“What about over the mountain’s top?” Littlepaw asked, doing a poor job of hiding her fear.

“We have no idea what’s up there,” Redheart said. “And I don’t know if there’s a trail for us to climb that way.”

“Well, we have to do something!” Flyfang almost shouted. She was bristling much more than Greyleaf. “We’re not going down there and getting arrested!”

“We ain’t,” Mistface said as soothingly as he could. “Give it a moment. This is unfamiliar ground we’re walkin’ on, so-“

“I can handle it,” Beetlefoot said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him, surprised and puzzled. He stood stiffly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. He was half-glaring, half-contemplating something off the cliffside.

“The path we’d take would bring us close to them,” he said, sounding like he wasn’t really mentally present for what he was saying. “But I can get their attention and lead them into Brae territory. The family will handle them from there, and I’ll lead us to a safe spot.”

There was a heartbeat of silence as everyone exchanged uncertain looks. Mistface took a small step forward.

“They ain’t all gunna follow you,” he said quietly. “They’ll send their fastest after you, I’m sure, but some of them are bound to stay for us.”

“Then I’ll bring the Brae to them,” Beetlefoot said. He finally looked up and met Mistface’s eyes, his bright yellow ones focused again and sparking with determination. “And those that do come after me - good luck catching me."

Redheart stood straight and turned to move closer to Beetlefoot, regarding him with concern. “Those are your own down there. Are you willing to lead them to potential harm?”

Beetlefoot’s eyes narrowed and he turned his attention to the patrol below them. He didn’t say anything, but the barely-restrained anger in his expression told Mistface enough.

“If he knows a way down, he’ll be alright,” he said to Redheart. “I trust he can do it.”

This endorsement seemed to give the rest some hope. Some nodded, and some looked to Redheart, waiting for her direction. Redheart gazed at Beetlefoot with a sort of sympathy-worry mixed face.

“Good luck, then,” she said.

Beetlefoot didn’t respond, just walked to the edge of the cliff facing partly away from the valley. He bunched his body up, ears forward and tail still with focus…

And leaped.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Six

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The broken ring of an audience was silent for a long time after Greyleaf’s story ended. They looked at each other, at the sky, at nothing at all, trying to absorb what they had been told and to deduce whether any of it was true or not.

All of the anger seemed to have left Greyleaf, his fur lying flat, if a little clumped and stiff from the rain. He breathed normally, his eyes tired and dark. He stood straighter, like the massive weight of his knowledge had been physically lifted off his back. Redheart mirrored his posture, though her head was a little lowered and her expression was one of relief. The two of them said nothing, merely watched the cats around them.

Flyfang was the first to speak, her voice cracked and weak. “Then my mom’s soul…”

“If she’s dead, she’s in that thing,” Redheart said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Flyfang shivered hard. “And my dad…” She froze up with a gasp. “When my sisters die-“

“When we all die.” Laurelclaw looked back and forth with increasing distress, his short tail puffed up like a coyote’s. “Our families, friends – everyone-“ He turned pleadingly to Redheart and Greyleaf. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Outside of leaving?” Greyleaf’s calmness was tainted with a bitter twitch of his lip. “Probably not.”

“They could be lying,” Beetlefoot said, hardly sounding like he was certain. “They could be mistaken.”

“I doubt it,” Darkpelt said, still cool and collected, even if her pupils were constricted and her tail was shaking. “This entire thing makes sense to me. Even if they made it up, it’s way too out there to be a reasonably invented lie. Who would claim something this crazy and expect anyone to believe them?”

Beetlefoot’s mouth moved a few times, but he gave up, staring at the ground with a dumbfounded sense of fear.

Greyleaf now looked at Mistface, deeply unhappy. “Can you see now why we have to leave with Mama as soon as possible?”

Mistface tried to breathe, but it came out shaky and stuttering. “We’re…we are on a time limit, ain’t we?”

Greyleaf dipped his chin a little in a half-nod before returning his focus to the rest of the group. “So whatever you want to do with that, you can. That’s the truth, and we’re trying to save everyone before they can die here.”

“It’s quite a task, as you can see,” Redheart said. “I’m amazed that any of you believe us.”

Silence again for a long moment, before Littlepaw’s timid voice broke it. “Then…what do we do now?”

Everyone looked at each other again, seeking someone to tell them too.

Darkpelt sighed and shook out her fur. “Well, for now, we should probably just rest. It’s night and we’ll need to think things over.” She pulled one side of her mouth back, considering. “I suppose we’ll have someone coming for us soon enough. I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to have time to decide on my next course of action before they catch up to us.”

“I’ll take watch, if y’all intend to sleep,” Mistface said, a little quicker than he would have liked. He needed privacy to reflect, and he'd take it any way he could without outright abandoning the group.

A pause where everyone turned to the Clast deputy, silently seeking an answer, or an order - something to give them direction.

Redheart slowly spoke. “I think sleep would be best. None of us can go anywhere when it’s this dark and wet at the same time.”

“I can try, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep,” said Laurelclaw. He shook his head and regarded Greyleaf and Redheart almost in awe. “I have no idea how you’ve slept at all for all these years.”

“I never knew anything else,” Greyleaf muttered, and moved to the side, prodding the ground for a dry spot.

“All I had was my goal.” Redheart backed a little and sniffed the ground. “That’s what’s kept me going.”

It took a long time before everyone was settled – finding a spot that wasn’t entirely muddy or soaking grass was difficult, and their breathing gave away their stress. Mistface didn’t speak to any of them. He just sat facing the direction they had come from, ears perked, mind racing.

It could all be a lie, he wanted to remind himself. It didn’t have to be true. His brother could have just been driven mad by his nightmares and Redheart took advantage of that. Or maybe Redheart was a loony, and Greyleaf was just desperate for an explanation. And even as he thought that, he knew how stupid of a suggestion it was. Darkpelt was right – this was too strange of a story to be thought acceptable to sell to others under the knowledge that it was made up. Liars could think up sensible details from dusk ‘til dawn, and the insane could believe total nonsense. Doing both was not easy.

These thoughts turned over and over in Mistface’s head as he half-listened to the rest of the cats’ breathing slow and deepen. It took a very long time for everyone to fall asleep, and Mistface kept his ear swiveling, listening for anyone having a nightmare. He didn’t know exactly how the truth would affect them, but he wasn’t willing to disregard the idea that someone was going to see something bad.

Grass shifted.

Mistface’s head jerked around. He got halfway off his haunches. No one could have found them this early, could they?

It was black and silver out here in the night, but he thought he saw something to the side of a tree on the edge of the grove. Some shape that could have been a fox, or could have been…

“Not a chance,” he said under his breath. He stood up and craned his neck forward, squinting.

A figure, tall and dark and thin. It stood silently, regarding him as he regarded it.

He immediately knew who it was.

Mistface did one quick dart of the eyes to make sure no one was coming towards them from the north, and then stood and slowly made his way to the shadow.

It didn’t move. In fact, the way it watched him, he was sure that it had timed its visit just so that someone would see it. Its snakelike tail, fading away towards the tip, waved a little, side-to-side.

“You’re right bold, ain’t you?” Mistface said, keeping his voice low. He stopped when he was several body-lengths away. “What if we hadn’t heard their story before we saw you?”

The Runagate blinked slowly, almost dryly. I was there to hear it. Have to keep close to them these days. My voice isn’t as strong as it was.

Mistface knew that, faced with a ghost – or demon, or devil, or spirit, whatever it was – he should be at least a little nervous, if not outright scared. He knew the tales. He knew that it could have been manipulating two innocent and stressed-out cats.

Somehow, though, it felt like talking with a neighbor. Or perhaps like sharing a view with someone else of something too strange to explain.

Mistface tilted his head. “Funny, ain’t it. Whole perspective of the world gets changed in one night. Now you’re hardly anythin’ to talk to.”

I’ve been ‘hardly anything’ for a very long time, the Runagate said. Its head lowered a little. Just slowly fading while I try to spread the word. It’s all I’ve got now, like them. A pause, and then, almost too quiet to hear the thought, I don’t even remember who I was before all of this. Before I died.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mistface said - genuinely, to his surprise. “You’re nothin’ like I imagined.”

The smallest ‘hm’, that could perhaps be considered a noise of hollow amusement. They always make me out to be some pale monster with a snake’s tongue. Got real tired of watching those performances the first couple generations.

“I can only imagine.” Mistface looked back, checking to see if anyone was awake. Nothing. He turned again to the Runagate. “You’re somethin’ special, certainly. How did you get away from it? Redheart’s mother didn’t.”

She should have fled herself, the Runagate said, and its voice was just a little more intense in Mistface’s head, with some emotion he couldn’t name. I took one look before I ran for everything I held dear. Didn’t pause to ask questions. Just ran. And I’ve been running since then.

Mistface was surprised at the pity in his heart – not just because he had it at all, but because out of all of the characters in the Clan’s legends he had been told about, he didn’t expect to feel it for a supposed demon who was living through sheer determination, even when the whole Territory was against them.

A question came to his mind. “There been anyone else you’ve told? Anyone else who’s known?”

A heavy sigh…or perhaps the wind. Only a few, and only one at a time. Greyleaf and Redheart existing together is a miracle. The others, they did nothing. They could find nothing to do. Most of them just ran away. Sometimes took friends or family out of the Territory. I don’t know where they are now.

Mistface’s eyelids lowered a little as he considered this. There came another question, burning with his curiosity much more. “Greyleaf ain’t ever been affected by this. You got any idea why?”

The Runagate made another lifeless, breathy noise like a chuckle. I wish I knew. He’s a first. Not many cats like him that nothing can get to. It took everything I had just to talk to him in his dreams that one time.

“Huh.” Mistface’s eyes drifted down. “Curious. It’d be worthwhile to study that.”

If you have the time before it’s too late, certainly.

“We will,” Mistface said, startled again by a new sensation in his chest – something steady and warm, making him feel a little bolder. “Everyone’s gettin’ the time. We’ll figure somethin’ out. This ain’t continuin’.”

The Runagate’s head tilted and its eyes narrowed, but its tone was almost surprised. You intend to do something about this.

Mistface was unsure of what he was feeling, but he let it guide him into a firm nod. “If for no one else, for my family. Mama ain’t goin’ to that thing.” His fur fluffed out a little. “No one is, if I got my way. I’m sure at least some of these folks’ll feel the same.”

The Runagate blinked slowly, regarding him. The fading tail drifted back and forth slowly, like grass in the breeze. Mistface met what remained of its eyes with firm focus. Neither spoke for a moment.

I can give you all what I know, the Runagate said finally. I don’t know how much help I can be otherwise. I’m running out of… The silhouette shuddered and rippled. I’m out of everything, really. Time. Energy. Fear can only keep one going for so long, brother of Greyleaf.

Mistface gave it one nod and said, about as firmly as he could at such a quiet volume, “You’ll rest soon. We can figure this out.”

The shadowy face had a hint of a smile. I’ll hold you to that.