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Patchpelt was dying.

He could tell before it’d really happened. The fire took all of ThunderClan by surprise, though it hit the elders the hardest. Secluded and resting in their hollowed out stump, they hadn’t heard the panicked screams of their clanmates before it was too late – not to mention their frail, withering muscles weighing them down like stones. Patchpelt hadn’t quite reached that point yet, despite resigning from his warrior duties. Maybe today that was a blessing.

Flames engulfed ThunderClan camp. Patchpelt whirled, his heart beating fast. Beside him, Halftail slumped, letting out a bout of ragged coughing. Quickly, Patchpelt darted back to the older tom’s side. With a grunt, Patchpelt moved to support Halftail with his shoulder. His efforts were futile; Halftail was weakening quickly, and Patchpelt wasn’t faring much better.

All around him, fire ate up his home in ravenous bites. Patchpelt could hear the cracking and gnashing of the flickering beast’s teeth each time it swallowed another tree. He held himself rigidly. Keeping Halftail half-leaning on his shoulder, Patchpelt searched for a way out. His eyes were streaming with tears, stinging from the heavy smoke. Even if there was a way out, Patchpelt doubted he’d be able to see it. His fear morphed into despair.

Halftail let out another wheeze. “Patchpelt,” he huffed. Through the haze, Patchpelt saw the terrified flash of his yellow eyes. His own eyes welled with tears – sorrowful tears, this time. Halftail spoke again, his voice a strangled breath. “Go on without me.”

Patchpelt’s mouth formed a tight line. He didn’t answer his denmate directly, only pressing tighter to his side. This wasn’t how it ended.

Suddenly, Patchpelt spotted a hole in the rippling flames. Stealing the chance, Patchpelt shoved Halftail forward and staggered along after him. His breathing was strained; every gasp of air was met with a burning in his throat. Surrounding him was unbearable heat, like he was trapped inside the sun. Patchpelt unsheathed his claws and gritted his teeth, forging ahead.

The slight glimmer of hope was nothing more than a facade, a glint in the reflection of a starless sky. Patchpelt’s heart sank when he found himself once again walled in by the leaping orange lights. Similar hopelessness was seen on Halftail’s face.

That’s when Patchpelt really began to feel it. As another tree fell, sending up an explosion of smoldering ash, Patchpelt slumped down, his chest spasming as he coughed. Halftail turned to help him up, but he too was stopped by the smoke. Patchpelt could feel the flames licking hungrily at his fur, threatening to bring him the same fate as it did to the trees above, but Patchpelt couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to his paws again.

It’s over. Patchpelt realized it in mild surprise. He’d lived his broken, lonely life, and now his time was up. The scraps of family Patchpelt pulled around himself like a nest of protective bracken would mourn and move on.

Patchpelt’s head flopped sideways, his cheek pressed against the ashen leaf litter. Through dreamlike vision, he could see a flame-colored cat approaching him, as though the fire were claiming him at last. Patchpelt wheezed desperately, uncertain of his own motives; was he calling for help? Laughing to himself? It didn’t matter. Any help the fiery cat could’ve offered had come far too late.

There had been a time where Patchpelt, like many other young, curious kits, wondered how it felt to die. After many moons of living, Patchpelt was finally getting his answer. Rising pain, a breaking point, darkness, then nothing. It was, for lack of better word, a release.

Then, as quickly as it ended, Patchpelt’s eyes fluttered open again. The pain had been lifted from his muscles, and he felt light instead of burdened. The fire continued to rage around him, but Patchpelt couldn’t feel its heat. And as Patchpelt began to fully take in his surroundings, he saw a familiar black-and-white pelt in the jaws of a young ginger warrior.

Ah. Patchpelt felt a small flash of affection. Cloudpaw’s uncle, Fireheart, always was a pure soul, wasn’t he? His arrival a few moons ago certainly stirred up some commotion within ThunderClan, and initially Patchpelt was hesitant to trust him. His mistrust had been proven foolish; time and time again, Fireheart proved himself as loyal and kind as a clanborn cat – or, more so, Patchpelt thought with a pang.

Fireheart wasn’t going to bring him back from the dead. But at least this way Patchpelt’s family could grieve for him, if they even wanted to.

Fireheart and – uh, well – Patchpelt disappeared from view, leaving Patchpelt’s spirit looking around in confusion. Was he supposed to be in StarClan? Patchpelt’s fur prickled with nerves; was he not allowed into StarClan?

A purr sounded behind him. Patchpelt spun, briefly marveling at his youthful agility, and spotted a small brown she-cat watching him with a soft smile. Her pelt was translucent and shimmered with stars. As she moved towards him, the ginger patch on her chest blended with the flicking fire behind her.

“There’s no need to worry,” the starry she-cat meowed. Patchpelt stood frozen; her voice held him in a trance, just as it had done in life. “You’re a pure-hearted cat, Patchpelt. Any cat with sense could tell that you belong in StarClan.”

Patchpelt wasn’t sure if he’d spoken aloud, or if the she-cat had simply guessed what he was thinking. Frankly, he didn’t care. “R- Robinwing,” he stammered. A rush of emotions made him feel unstable, and he could see these complicated feelings reflected in Robinwing’s soft amber gaze. Unspoken words hung in the air, as thick as the surrounding smoke.

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head and trying to clear his mind. “What are you doing here?” Patchpelt asked after a moment. “Are- Are you taking me to StarClan?”

Robinwing dipped her head. “Soon,” she replied. “There’s something I need you to see first.” She stepped forward, brushing past Patchpelt softly. Patchpelt twitched in shock at the touch. Robinwing kept a straight face, continuing on past. “Come with me.”

Calmly, Robinwing slipped through the fire, phasing through it effortlessly. Patchpelt, holding his breath, followed her.

The two spirits made their way across ThunderClan territory. Patchpelt could really see the damage the fire was doing to his home; it stretched from here to Sunningrocks, it seemed. He considered mentioning it to Robinwing, but ultimately decided against it. It was hard enough to keep himself from staring at his ex-mate, hard enough to keep himself rooted in the present instead of spiraling back into a world of her soft smile, her earthy scent, her gentle touch.

~ ~ ~

Patchpelt remembered the first time he saw her like he remembered his own name. He’d been a brand new apprentice then, a naive and excitable one, at that. ThunderClan was absolutely bustling with cats, and Patchkit struggled to stay out from underneath cats’ paws. His mother, Swiftbreeze, groomed his troublesome sister, Leopardkit, in an attempt to make her look presentable. Patchkit, on the other paw, was obedient enough to do that himself.

Pinestar called everyone to attention. Patchkit struggled to contain his excitement as he was called forward.

“Patchkit, I already see your father's courage shining in your eyes,” Pinestar had said. Patchkit beamed; his father, Adderfang, was the boldest and fiercest cat in ThunderClan, and probably in any of the clans. He was assertive, confident, and he loved his kits more than anything. Patchpelt probably could’ve benefited from being more like him. 

Pinestar went on, “From now on you'll be called Patchpaw, and I give you Fuzzypelt as your mentor. Listen to him carefully because, though he is young, he is clever enough to teach you how to use your courage wisely.”

A young warrior with messy black fur strode forward, looking both surprised and flattered. Patchpaw remembered hearing ThunderClan cheering Fuzzypelt’s name, only a couple of moons ago. They touched noses before slipping back into the crowd. Patchpaw watched his sister as she was called forward, and he was glad to see that she was equally as excited.

“Leopardkit!” Pinestar called. Leopardkit snapped to attention, trying to look serious. The calm facade was ruined by her twitching tail. Pinestar huffed a quiet laugh before saying, “From this day forward, you shall be known as Leopardpaw. You will train her, Robinwing.”

Pinestar said something else after that, but Patchpaw hadn’t been paying any attention. His sister’s mentor emerged from the crowd, optimism shining clear in her gaze. She looked to be around the same age as Fuzzypelt, though she was a good bit shorter. There was a certain way she walked, with a little skip in her step, that drew little Patchpaw’s eye. Patchpaw felt a rush that swirled in his heart and stomach. He tilted his head as Robinwing touched noses with Leopardpaw, all the while trying to make sense of his fluttering heart and flushed cheeks.

Patchpaw came to realize that what he was feeling was known as a “crush.” Whenever he was training with his sister and both their mentors, Patchpaw couldn’t keep his eyes off of Robinwing. He was often in awe of her talent; she could leap so high, like a majestic soaring bird! And the way she always landed so elegantly on her paws… Patchpaw was absolutely obsessed.

His liking to Robinwing was noticed by other cats, even if they didn’t recognize it as a crush. More than once, Fuzzypelt had to swat him in the head with his tail.

“Oi there, apprentice,” Fuzzypelt huffed, scrunching up his nose. Patchpaw blinked out of his most recent fantasy as images of him and Robinwing snuggling cheesily under the moonlight faded away. Nervously, Patchpaw met Fuzzypelt’s gaze. He felt a flood of embarrassment when he saw Leopardpaw giggling at him, and that embarrassment only grew when he saw Robinwing sitting behind her.

Fuzzypelt bapped him on the forehead with sheathed claws. “Hey, Patchpaw, you in there, bud?”

Leopardpaw snickered. “Someone’s got bees in their brain!” she teased.

Fuzzypelt and Robinwing exchanged an amused look, causing Patchpaw to blush more furiously. “I do not!” he retorted, his fur fluffing up.

Fuzzypelt turned back to his apprentice, still chuckling to himself. “Why don’t we cut training short today, huh? You’ve both done well today, and I’m thinkin’ Patchpaw could use some extra sleep.” Patchpaw huffed, sticking out his lower lip.

“Sounds good!” Leopardpaw chirped. She skipped back towards camp, hopping high in the air. Patchpaw saw Robinwing and Fuzzypelt shake their heads affectionately before the two warriors walked side by side after her.

That’s when Patchpaw noticed that their tails were twined.

He stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Robinwing and Fuzzypelt- They weren’t together together, were they? Patchpaw often saw them sharing prey at dusk and bantering playfully with each other, but… they were both mentors right now. Usually mentors were good friends. That was it between them, wasn’t it?

The two mentors paused, turning their heads to face Patchpaw. Fuzzypelt asked, “Seriously, Patchpaw, are you alright? You’ve been acting really strange lately. Should I send you to see Featherwhisker?”

Patchpaw wasn’t looking at his mentor. Instead his eyes locked with the dusky brown she-cat at his side. Their eyes met, and Patchpaw saw a bit of his own confusion reflected on Robinwing’s face. Patchpelt figured it was then that Robinwing realized she had a bit of an admirer.

In the days that followed, Patchpaw’s theory about Fuzzypelt and Robinwing was confirmed. They had a litter of two kits during Patchpaw’s apprenticeship, and it soon became clear to the clan that they loved each other wholeheartedly. Even now, moons and moons later, Patchpelt recalled the stabbing jealousy with ease.

What did he expect? Patchpaw knew well enough that it was weird — creepy, even — for warriors to have crushes on apprentices. If his feelings were reciprocated, that would be a problem. But Patchpaw had been holding out hope that maybe, once they were both warriors… Maybe things would change.

They did, but it wasn’t really for the better.

~ ~ ~

It felt weird to cross into RiverClan territory, despite being spirits. Patchpelt hesitated at the swirling waves of the border. Behind him, the fire continued to hiss and seeth, but the river kept it from going any further. Patchpelt could see his clanmates taking shelter on the other side, and he could see Fireheart hauling his body onto the opposing shore.

Robinwing walked up beside Patchpelt. Wordlessly, she bounded into the sky, floating above and across the river with ease. Cautiously, Patchpelt did the same. As the ThunderClan cats came closer, Patchpelt’s chest tightened. Goldenflower, Longtail, and Swiftpaw were seen among the crowd.

Robinwing continued to float above the scene, but as soon as he was able to, Patchpelt drifted down to the ground. He couldn’t feel the grass brushing against his paws anymore, but he didn’t mind. Even pretending that he was standing here felt grounding, literally and figuratively.

There were a few RiverClan cats nearby, probably keeping close watch on the group of ThunderClan cats. Leopardfur approached Fireheart, asking in a low voice if Patchpelt had died. Fireheart nodded solemnly, and Patchpelt saw a few cats gasp silently. Nearby, Halftail’s ragged body was laying next to One-eye. Patchpelt watched sadly as the old she-cat groomed her mate’s scorched pelt, wishing he could’ve saved his denmate when he still had the chance.

“Patchpelt?” The timid voice echoed in Patchpelt’s head. A small, fluffy white apprentice pushed his way out of the crowd with a grunt. His blue eyes went wide when he saw Patchpelt’s body, and his lower lip quivered. On shaky legs, Cloudpaw staggered forward. He pressed his muzzle to Patchpelt’s black-and-white fur, letting out a quiet sob. His heart aching for the young tom, Patchpelt stepped forward and tried to rest his tail on Cloudpaw’s shoulders. It fazed right through. Patchpelt stepped back, tears of his own welling up as he was unable to comfort Cloudpaw.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Goldenflower stepped forward. Her tabby fur was tangled with branches and leaves, unkempt after escaping the fire, but even then she looked beautiful. She pressed herself softly to Cloudpaw’s side. Patchpelt could imagine that, just like Robinwing, Goldenflower’s feelings of sorrow were complicated.

Robinwing cleared her throat. Patchpelt turned and saw her gesturing to two cats watching in silence. A lean warrior with silver tabby fur sat with a black-and-white apprentice. The apprentice narrowed his amber eyes at Cloudpaw, and Patchpelt suspected a bit of jealousy. The warrior seemed similarly upset, his long tail twitching at his side.

Patchpelt’s throat tightened. He wasn’t sure how to react; he wasn’t sure how his sons were reacting, to the death of a father who was never really there for them in the first place.

~ ~ ~

After Patchpelt earned his warrior name, he tried to accept the fact that Robinwing would never love him back. He tried to keep himself busy, and for the most part, it was working. His parents, Swiftbreeze and Adderfang, had another litter of kits, making Patchpelt a big brother. His sister, Leopardfoot, became mates with ThunderClan’s leader, Pinestar. She talked often about her love for him, and her excitement to one day start a family of her own.

Robinwing’s first litter of kits both passed away. Chestnutkit succumbed to a particularly bad case of greencough, while Cherrypaw had a bad run-in with a fox. Patchpelt was present at both vigils, offering comfort to his former mentor. Cherrypaw’s vigil especially was hard for Fuzzypelt and Robinwing; Robinwing was already pregnant with her next litter, and Cherrypaw chattered with endless excitement about potential names. Losing her… Well, Patchpelt worried that her parents would never recover.

In the moons that followed, both Robinwing and Leopardfoot had their kits. Patchpelt did what he could to be there for his sister when her kits came into the world prematurely, but not even the medicine cats could turn the tides of fate. Nightkit and Mistkit, Patchpelt recalled, were extremely weak. They both faded away late in the night, like little flames slowly dying out. Leopardfoot was almost consumed by her sorrow, and she hadn’t had a mate to comfort her; Pinestar left and became a kittypet only days before his daughters died.

Patchpelt wasn’t sure how to process that. He always saw Pinestar as a beacon of light, a shining symbol of ThunderClan’s strength. He couldn’t even imagine how Leopardfoot was feeling about it. It was a level of betrayal incomparable to anything else.

Adderfang was the next loss in Patchpelt’s life. His death hit him the hardest; though Patchpelt felt for Fuzzypelt and Leopardfoot, losing his father felt like a personal slash to the chest. He sat huddled with his siblings and his mother all through the night, his stare fixed blankly on the ragged body before him. Adderfang fought like a true warrior, but in the end, hunger and weakness won the battle.

Patchpelt had never felt so alone. He loved his father so, so much. He was always there for him, offering him care and advice. And Patchpelt had looked up to his ourageous spirit since the moment he opened his eyes. Without Adderfang, Patchpelt was drifting away, untethered from the safety and security that bound him to his clan.

Comfort during that time came from an unexpected place.

Patchpelt couldn’t remember exactly when the shift happened. It had to be around the time Frostfur and Brindleface finally earned their warrior names. Patchpelt still wasn’t fully attentive to what was going on around him, the loss of his father still aching in his chest, but even he noticed Fuzzypelt and Robinwing acting strange.

This shift was brought to the forefront one day. Patchpelt was eating prey on his own, not focused on his prey, but on the memories he had of his lost family. As he was about to take another bite, a familiar scent drew near.

“Mind if I eat with you?” Patchpelt’s head snapped up. Robinwing was standing before him, a mouse resting at her paws. She looked distressed.

Patchpelt stared dumbly at her for a moment. That single question brought his old feelings straight to the forefront. His heart beat fast.

She wants to eat with me, was all he could think. Patchpelt was used to padding after Robinwing with no reciprocation, but this time was different. This time, the she-cat of his dreams had decided to approach him first.

Patchpelt cleared his throat, suddenly remembering that he was supposed to answer. “Oh, y- yeah, yeah, of course!” He scooted over, giving her a patch of shade. Robinwing nodded gratefully and sat down. Patchpelt couldn’t help but notice that Fuzzypelt was nowhere to be found. Actually, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Robinwing and Fuzzypelt hanging around each other for a while.

In an awkward attempt to start up some conversation and to — more importantly — find out what was going on, Patchpelt cleared his throat. “How are things with you, Robinwing? Are you doing well?”

Robinwing paused in her eating, staring blankly at her partially eaten mouse. Finally, she let out a sigh. “Oh, I’m alright,” she said, her voice heavy. “What about yourself? I know you and Leopardfoot just lost Adderfang.” She sighed when she mentioned her former apprentice. “I feel bad for Leopardfoot. As if she hadn’t been through enough, losing her mate and kits.”

“I know,” Patchpelt said. He felt sorrow stirring in his gut at the mention of his sister; if only there was something more he could do for her. “I think she’s doing better now. At least, I hope.” He gave himself a light shake. “And I’m fine as well. It’s tough, but not the end of the world.”

Robinwing smiled, and Patchpelt’s heart fluttered. “That’s good to hear,” she meowed. She turned her gaze back to her mouse. Patchpelt watched her curiously. There was definitely something off with her today.

After another moment of silence, Robinwing spoke again. “Mind if I talk to you something… a bit odd?”

Patchpelt’s curiousity only grew. He nodded. “Of course! Whatever you need, I’m here to listen.”

Robinwing kept her eyes on her prey, nodding almost subconsciously to herself. “I was looking for… I don’t know, a bit of advice, maybe?” She shook her head. “The truth is, Fuzzypelt and I broke up.”

Patchpelt was so shocked that he twitched. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open. Since his apprentice days, Robinwing and Fuzzypelt had been practically inseparable, never seen in camp apart. Patchpelt never imagined a scenario where they would separate. 

As the shock wore off, he felt a twinge of hope. Maybe I have a chance with Robinwing after all.

Quickly he squandered it. Now wasn’t the time to pursue Robinwing’s affections. She just cut things off with her mate, for StarClan’s sake! What she needed was comfort, not Patchpelt’s stupid, selfish crushing.

“I- I’m so sorry, Robinwing,” Patchpelt said at last. “I always thought you two were so close. Did something happen? Is everything alright?”

Robinwing’s sadness quickly turned to a bitter anger. She scrunched her nose and raised her head slightly, her tail tip twitching irritably. “He’s just been acting so- so mouse-brained lately!” Her entire tail swished as she raised her voice. “I don’t understand who made dirt in his nest, but for some reason, Fuzzypelt can’t seem to agree with me on anything. ‘Hey, Fuzzypelt, let’s go hunting.’ ‘Oh, sorry, can’t, hafta help Thistleclaw with something.’” She deepened her voice as she imitated the scruffy black tom. “‘Hey, Fuzzypelt, want to share this squirrel?’ ‘What? Oh, uh, sorry, I’m going on border patrol.’ ‘Listen, Fuzzypelt, can we talk, please?’ ‘Sorry, Robinwing, can’t stop an’ chat! Gotta go build those dens!’” Robinwing frowned, hunching her shoulders crossly.

Patchpelt blinked. “So- He’s been too busy to make time for you?”

Robinwing huffed. “Too meat-headed, more like! I think it’s this whole deputy debacle, that’s what got him acting so arrogant.”

Patchpelt nodded along. Rumors had been circulating in camp that the clan’s deputy, Tawnyspots, was terribly ill, and that Sunstar would appoint his replacement soon. Many cats were gunning for the position, namely Thistleclaw, Bluefur, and now Fuzzypelt, it seemed. “Did you manage to catch him, and tell him about it?”

“I did,” Robinwing said. “I told him that I was feeling ignored, and he turned around and hollered to some warrior while we were talking! I was really angry after that. I told him that maybe this wasn’t going to work after all.” She sighed. “I feel bad. Sometimes I wonder if I was being too harsh, but… I don’t know.” Robinwing shook her head.

Slowly, Patchpelt reached out and rested his forepaw on hers. Robinwing looked up at him, and Patchpelt’s heart skipped a beat. Steadying himself, Patchpelt said, “I think you did the right thing, Robinwing. You deserve someone who will look out for you, someone who will take your concerns seriously.”

Like me, Patchpelt added silently. He held his tongue.

Robinwing sighed softly in relief. “I’m glad you think so. At first I was worried I was being selfish. I want to do what’s best for my kits, and I felt like maybe staying with Fuzzypelt would help do that… But I think I see what you’re saying.” She rose to her paws, gathering the leftover bones of her fresh-kill. “Thank you, Patchpelt. Genuinely.” Taking the bones in her teeth, Robinwing began to pad away.

Patchpelt tensed. “Wait!”

Robinwing stopped immediately. Slowly, she turned and tilted her head. The intrigue that glimmered in her yellow eyes, and the way her lips parted just a bit… It sent leaps of nervousness through Patchpelt. He swallowed, uncertain of what exactly he was doing. Robinwing was just getting over her other mate, it would be rude of Patchpelt to…

Mentally, Patchpelt shrugged off his fears. You don’t have to force her to do anything, he reminded himself. Just tell her how you feel. Just plant the seed. Things don’t have to go any further if that’s not what she wants.

Patchpelt took a deep breath. “I just- I wanted to tell you- I, umm, I know you just ended things with Fuzzypelt. And I don’t mean to- Well, I’m not trying to- Agh, what I’m trying to say is- I- I- I think you’re wonderful. And I want you to be happy. So if you ever wanted- Uh, if you feel the same-” 

He stopped, trying to calm his racing heart. Robinwing was still watching him with those captivating eyes of hers, which only made Patchpelt’s nerves worse. He couldn’t really believe that he was doing this right now; after all the time, all these moons of pining, he actually had a shot.

Robinwing glanced to the side. It seemed she caught someone’s eye, though Patchpelt was too rigid with anxiety to turn and look. Slowly, a smile spread across Robinwing’s face. She turned back to Patchpelt, set down the mouse bones, and took a few steps closer. Patchpelt stayed completely frozen.

“Are you trying to confess to me?” Robinwing asked, flashing a teasing grin.

Patchpelt tried to speak, but the only sound that came from his mouth was a squeak. Robinwing was so close to him now. Patchpelt was looking down at the small she-cat, and their muzzles were almost touching. Slowly and shakily, Patchpelt nodded.

Robinwing laughed. The sound was more wonderful than anything in the whole forest. “That’s very sweet of you.” Her voice was quieter now. “I’m not quite ready for that yet, but… I’ll keep you in mind.” There was a twinkle in her eye, so brief, but Patchpelt caught it. As she turned and walked away, she brushed her tail softly against his shoulder. Patchpelt stood there, dumbfounded.

I did it, he realized, a grin spreading across his face. Not only did he confess to the she-cat he’d loved basically his whole life, but he’d opened up chances for them to actually come together. Patchpelt’s heart soared, and he gave a little hop of joy.

Nothing was agreed upon yet. But, oh StarClan, Patchpelt had never been this close. He’d never been this happy.

As he skipped away, Patchpelt saw who Robinwing had been looking at. In the moment, it meant nothing; Patchpelt was too elated to consider the implications. But now, in hindsight, Patchpelt wished he’d gotten out of the clouds and thought more about it.

It’d been Fuzzypelt, his unkempt pelt more bristly than usual, and his eyes blistering with jealousy.

~ ~ ~

Oh brave, brash little Longtail. Patchpelt couldn’t help but remember the worst times when he saw his eldest son. He remembered when he was just a tiny kit, snuggled up at his mother’s belly. He remembered Longkit batting at stray moss as Patchpelt watched silently from afar.

~ ~ ~

Longkit was the only kit in his litter. He’d been born in the later moons of leaf-bare, which caused some of the other queens to fret. Bluestar, however, seemed confident that he’d be fine.

“He’s got all of ThunderClan to keep him safe and fed,” Bluestar had told Patchpelt when he asked how Longkit was doing. “There’s no need for worry.” Patchpelt found that odd, considering that Bluestar lost her own kits in leaf-bare to a fox.

Patchpelt thanked her as she walked back to her den. He turned his attention to the nursery. It was difficult to see, but as cats walked through the curtain of moss, Patchpelt saw brief flashes of Robinwing’s brown fur. In the curve of her belly, a silver-and-striped bundle had surely nested close to his mother. Patchpelt hadn’t seen him yet, but he’d heard that the kit was lovely and strong.

Patchpelt wanted to see him, he really did. Longkit was his son, after all. But he got the feeling that he wasn’t welcome to. That feeling was only affirmed when Fuzzypelt slipped inside, and Patchpelt could hear Robinwing’s welcoming meow.

~ ~ ~

“Patchpelt, can we talk?”

Patchpelt paused. He set the rabbit he was carrying down at his paws. It was freshly caught — specially caught — by him just this morning. He knew it was Robinwing’s favourite, and when she asked for it, Patchpelt was happy to oblige. After all, Robinwing needed her strength; her belly was only just swollen with kits.

She was curled in her nest, just across the nursery from where Patchpelt stood. Robinwing was the only pregnant queen right now; most she-cats were waiting until newleaf. Patchpelt wasn’t sure why Robinwing wanted to have kits with him so quickly — they’d only been together for a couple of moons — but, honestly, Patchpelt didn’t care. He was going to be a father.

“Of course, dear!” he purred. Patchpelt pushed the rabbit towards her. Slowly, Robinwing took a bite.

Patchpelt waited patiently for her to eat. Robinwing looked more stressed than usual, which worried Patchpelt as a result. If there was anything he could do to help her, or his unborn kits, Patchpelt would. He wanted to be there for his wonderful mate and their soon-to-be family, if he could.

Robinwing paused without finishing her prey. When she looked up, her lip quivered. Patchpelt thought she might be on the verge of tears. He stood still, his worry only worsening.

“I think it’s time I was honest with you.”

Patchpelt’s heart flipped. “Honest?” he asked. “About- About what?”

Robinwing’s claws unsheathed and sunk into the soft moss nest. She couldn’t meet Patchpelt’s confused, anxious gaze. Her jaws kept opening and closing, trying to speak, but with no words coming out.

“Patchpelt,” she said at last. “I… I lied. I don’t- I don’t love you.”

~ ~ ~

She never loved him.

That’s what Patchpelt remembered when he saw his oldest son.

Maybe that’s what Robinwing was remembering too. She hovered at his side, completely silent as she watched ThunderClan grieve.

It was a ploy, a trick, a lie, as Robinwing had plainly put. She saw how jealous Fuzzypelt was when she started flirting with his former apprentice. It was never love. Robinwing just needed a way to get back at her ex, and Patchpelt was perfect for that. He was a foolish, love-blind little warrior.

Should he be mad? Patchpelt thought so. After they separated, Robinwing went right back to Fuzzypelt. They had more kits together, they fought side by side, and they died side by side, too. Patchpelt was left lonely on the outskirts.

But he wasn’t mad. He couldn’t be. He felt like part of this was somehow his fault. Was he not good enough for Robinwing? Clearly, he hadn’t been good enough to change her mind.

Longtail and Swiftpaw rose to their paws, catching Patchpelt’s attention. Longtail gave Swiftpaw a gentle nudge, and the two of them slipped away from the crowd.

Patchpelt tilted his head. Where were they going? Sorrow seeped through him; they didn’t care, did they? They were leaving their father’s vigil, and Patchpelt couldn’t blame them.

Robinwing nudged him gently with her nose. “Go,” she said. “Follow them.”

Patchpelt twitched an ear. “Are you sure?”

Robinwing nodded. “Certain.” She paused. “You need to hear what they have to say.”

Nervously, Patchpelt nodded back. Robinwing stayed rooted to her spot as Patchpelt followed after his sons. He came to a brief halt as he passed by his fallen body, his eyes landing on Goldenflower. Her tail was wrapped halfway around Cloudpaw’s haunches, and there was a heavy sorrow in her gaze.

~ ~ ~

It had to be about a season, maybe a little more when Goldenflower started taking an interest in him. Longkit was steadily approaching his apprenticeship, and Patchpelt only saw the little tom in passing. Sometimes, Patchpelt made an effort to go visit Longkit in the nursery, but before he could fully commit, he decided against it. He wasn’t Robinwing’s mate anymore; did he even deserve to be Longkit’s father?

More than once, Patchpelt saw Longkit watching him with cold green eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder what Robinwing had told Longkit about him, and if any of it was good.

Patchpelt struggled to keep his mind off of Robinwing and the breakup. He should feel betrayed, he should feel angry, but all he could muster up was self-pity. He should never have been so foolish to think she would want him too. He should never have asked in the first place.

Patrols were good. It was easier for Patchpelt to ignore the pain when he had something to do. He heard Redtail — his younger brother and the clan’s deputy — calling cats over for patrols. Eager for a distraction, Patchpelt padded over. He saw Goldenflower murmuring something to Redtail, but he hardly took note of it; his mind was too heavy with thoughts to really care.

“Patchpelt and Goldenflower,” Redtail meowed. Patchpelt looked up from his paws. The deputy went on, “You two will hunt beyond the Sandy Hollow. It’s the warmest day we’ve had in moons; I’m sure plenty of prey will be out searching for food.”

Goldenflower nodded, padding to take her place next to Patchpelt. “Sounds good!” she chirped, as cheerful as a chickadee. Patchpelt wondered why the golden tabby was so happy this morning.

The two cats set off. Goldenflower still had a skip in her step. Patchpelt walked more slowly; his paws felt weighed down, as did his heart. It was impossible not to think of Robinwing and Fuzzypelt, happier than ever by each others’ side. And Longkit… Was Longkit happy too? Without Patchpelt? Patchpelt shook his head; he didn’t want that answer.

Goldenflower paused, turning to face Patchpelt with a curious look on her face. “Hey, Patchpelt, what’s got you so down? It’s a beautiful day; why don’t we have a little fun?”

Patchpelt blinked, then shrugged. “I thought Redtail wanted us to hunt,” he said flatly, unwilling to let go of his dreary mood.

“Psh.” Goldenflower rolled her eyes playfully. “And we will! Come on; it feels like we haven’t spoken in forever.” Her voice got a little more serious. “I was looking forward to spending time with you again.”

Patchpelt glanced down at his paws. Goldenflower was a bit younger than him, but things worked out just so that they were both apprentices together for a short while. Despite being smaller than him at the time, Goldenflower always used to beat him in mock fights. Patchpelt purred to himself at the memory. It was true; they hadn’t spent time together in forever. Maybe this was a good way to distract himself from… everything.

So, Patchpelt gave in. “Alright, if you insist,” he purred.

Goldenflower brightened up. “Great!” She dropped into a crouch. “Ready set go!” She zoomed through the forest, kicking up leaves in her wake.

“Hey!” Patchpelt hurried after her. “No fair! Where are you going? How am I gonna win if I don’t know where we’re racing to?”

Goldenflower only laughed, picking up speed. Patchpelt was already panting and exhausted; he wasn’t a runner at the best of times. He saw a golden tail slip through the bushes up ahead and, gritting his teeth, he powered forward.

Patchpelt plowed ungracefully through the undergrowth. He thundered to a stop, his chest heaving and his teeth aching from the run. Shakily, he looked around the clearing he’d stumbled into, but Goldenflower was nowhere to be seen.

Nervously, Patchpelt picked his way forward. Had he lost Goldenflower somehow? Did she keep running ahead? After searching for a few moments, he called out to her. “Goldenflower?”

There was an explosion from the nearby bushes, and Patchpelt yowled in surprise as someone bowled him over. The impact sent both him and his attacker tumbling down a nearby hill. Finally, they skidded to a halt. Patchpelt blinked away his dizziness and regained his focus to see Goldenflower pinning him to the ground. Her paws were planted firmly on his shoulders, and she was laughing.

Patchpelt snorted; he’d fallen victim to a classic prank. “Ha ha, very funny,” he mumbled sarcastically.

Goldenflower clearly thought it was hilarious. “You should’ve seen your face!” She beamed. “I got you good, didn’t I?”

Patchpelt huffed. “Yeah, yeah, you got me,” he admitted.

Goldenflower laughed again, raising her paw to her muzzle and squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened then again, their eyes met.

She stopped laughing, and her smile faltered a little. Neither cat looked away. Patchpelt found himself captivated by her amber eyes; they seemed… prettier, than he remembered. He felt a familiar tingling in his chest, something he only used to feel when Robinwing was around.

The moment passed quickly. Goldenflower cleared her throat and, a bit awkwardly, stepped back to let Patchpelt up. Patchpelt turned and stood, and he saw Goldenflower watching him with a small smile.

Trying to ignore the blush in his cheeks, Patchpelt meowed, “We- We should probably do some hunting now.”

Goldenflower dipped her head, suddenly shy. “Right. Of course.” With one more half-look back at Patchpelt, Goldenflower slipped away into the forest. Patchpelt stood watching her, dumbfounded.

Something about this was all too familiar.

Patchpelt met up with Goldenflower again after catching a pair of squirrels. Her hunt was successful as well, evidenced by the mice and crow in her jaws. There was still a bit of a strange air between them, and Patchpelt had a feeling that Goldenflower could sense it too.

So Patchpelt was only a little bit surprised when Goldenflower set her catches down and looked him straight in the eyes. “Patchpelt,” she said, her tone serious again. “Before we go back, can I talk to you about something?”

Nervously, Patchpelt nodded. He set his fresh-kill with Goldenflower’s as she began to speak.

“You might be wondering why it’s just the two of us on this patrol,” Goldenflower said. A hint of playfulness returned to her face as she smiled. “Well, I might’ve made a special request.”

“To patrol… just the two of us?” Patchpelt asked. When Goldenflower nodded, his heart leapt. “Well- StarClan, that’s really sweet of you, Goldenflower, but why?”

Goldenflower shuffled one of her forepaws in the grass. “Ah, I was just getting to that. I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been feeling down lately. I thought you could use a friend… or maybe, something more?” She tilted her head, meeting Patchpelt’s gaze again.

Patchpelt blinked. “You mean you- you like like me?”

Goldenflower purred. “You could say that, yes. Truthfully, I’ve ‘like like’d you for a long time.” She purred harder, and Patchpelt’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Goldenflower- I didn’t- I had no idea-” Patchpelt stammered, unsure of how to react.

“If it’s too overwhelming right now, I totally understand,” Goldenflower added quickly. “I know things just ended between you and Robinwing, and I don’t want to push you. But — whenever you’re ready — I’m here for you.”

Patchpelt opened his mouth, then closed it again, speechless. He’d never really seen Goldenflower as anything more than a good childhood friend — a faithful ally in times of need. But this opportunity, this possibility, that maybe they could take things further than that, well, it- it was-

Before he really knew what he was doing, Patchpelt leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Goldenflower in a hug. Goldenflower let out a squeak of surprise, but she returned the hug all the same. When Patchpelt stepped back, Goldenflower’s eyes were shining with amusement and affection.

“So, can I take that as… a tentative yes?” Goldenflower asked.

Patchpelt ducked his head, a huge grin spreading across his face before he could stop it. “A tentative yes,” he agreed. He stood, his pelt brushing against Goldenflower’s, and for the first time in moons, he actually felt happy again.

~ ~ ~

Why didn’t he do better? He should’ve done better.

~ ~ ~

When Goldenflower had her kits, Patchpelt didn’t know what to do.

The last time this happened, Patchpelt and Robinwing were not together. Patchpelt felt like he was doing something wrong by going to visit his son. It was easier for everyone if he just stayed out of the way.

But this time was different. Goldenflower was his mate. He loved her with all of his heart. And he wanted to see their kits.

Patchpelt hadn’t been there when Goldenflower was kitting. In fact, he hadn’t hardly visited the nursery since Goldenflower told him she was pregnant.

He should go. Patchpelt knew that. He should go and check on Goldenflower, offer to bring her some fresh kill, tell her how beautiful their kits were, and then stay with her for a while. That’s what Adderfang did for Swiftbreeze, as Patchpelt saw when Willowpelt, Spottedleaf, and Redtail were born.

But what if Patchpelt was doing something wrong? What if Goldenflower didn’t want him intruding on her space? What if- What if she changed her mind and moved on, just as Robinwing did?

Patchpelt drew in a shuddering breath. There was no reason this should be so hard.

Summoning his courage, Patchpelt made his way towards the nursery. Redtail slipped through the mossy curtain, greeting Patchpelt as he went past.

“Hey, Patchpelt!” Redtail purred. “Coming to see your kits, are you?” Patchpelt nodded, and Redtail smiled. “So was I. Wanted to see the next generation of ThunderClan warriors. Not to mention that they’re my kin!” He gave Patchpelt a gentle, friendly nudge. “They’re beautiful, Patchpelt. You should be very proud.”

“I-” Patchpelt cleared his throat. “Thank you, Redtail.” Redtail smiled and nodded. He padded away to the leader’s den, likely to report new kits to Bluestar, leaving Patchpelt standing alone.

Slowly, Patchpelt slipped inside the nursery. Frostfur was there, her belly swollen with unborn kits. She smiled and nodded respectfully as Patchpelt walked past.

Goldenflower was curled up in her nest on the far side of the nursery. She looked up, and Patchpelt could see how exhausted she was. However, she brightened when she saw her mate. “Patchpelt!” she purred quietly. “I’m so glad to see you, my darling.” She leaned down to nuzzle two tiny bundles of fur that squirmed next to her. Despite his nerves, Patchpelt’s heart swelled with joy. “Come meet your new sons.”

Patchpelt edged carefully forward, trying not to startle the tiny little things. One of them had black and white fur, almost identical to Patchpelt. The other had a golden-brown tabby pelt. Patchpelt thought he looked a bit like Adderfang, though he had Goldenflower’s long fur.

Goldenflower rasped her tongue over the tabby kit’s body. “I was thinking of naming this one Lynxkit,” she meowed. “He seems like a fierce wild cat already.” As if he could understand her, Lynxkit let out a loud mew. Goldenflower purred, and Patchpelt smiled.

Briefly, Patchpelt touched his nose to the other kit. “What about this one?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Goldenflower replied. “I was thinking maybe Magpiekit, or Crowkit, or perhaps simply Birdkit… My mind is telling me that a bird name would suit him.” She laughed softly to herself. “Oh, I don’t know. Do you have any ideas, Patchpelt?”

Patchpelt blinked, stunned. Goldenflower named the other kit; did that not mean she was the one choosing the names? Robinwing hadn’t discussed with him at all what their son should be called. Nerves swirled in Patchpelt’s belly as he racked his brain for answers; what if he picked something wrong? What if Goldenflower didn’t like it? What if she left him like-

Goldenflower was watching him expectantly. Patchpelt cleared his throat. “He- He reminds me of my mother,” he stammered at last. That was partly true; though the kit was still too young to really say, Patchpelt thought he recognized the litheness he’d once seen in his mother. Or maybe he was grasping at nothing, still grieving Swiftbreeze’s loss; she’d succumbed to greencough not too long ago.

Goldenflower blinked. “Oh. Swiftbreeze, right?” Patchpelt’s heart raced; was that a good “oh” or a bad “oh”? Goldenflower stroked the kit with her tail, thinking. “We can name him Swiftkit after her, if you’d like. A swift is a type of bird, after all.” She purred.

Patchpelt nodded slowly. “Uh- Y- Yes. Well, only if you want.”

Goldenflower frowned. “They’re your kits too, Patchpelt. I want you to be happy with their names.”

Patchpelt stepped back and shifted his weight; he didn’t want Goldenflower making exceptions for him. “So long as you like the name, it’s fine.” He took a tiny step back.

“Well… I think Swiftkit is a wonderful name,” Goldenflower said. She nuzzled her kits again. “Lynxkit and Swiftkit… they’re going to be wonderful warriors some day.” She looked up and saw Patchpelt slowly leaving the nursery. “Patchpelt? Where are you going?”

Patchpelt paused. He wasn’t entirely sure. Anxiety made his throat feel tight. All he knew is that he had to leave. He couldn’t risk upsetting Goldenflower, not now, not when he’d gotten so accidentally close.

“Bluestar needs me,” he lied.

Goldenflower blinked. “Bluestar? What for?”

Patchpelt pretended not to hear her. Goldenflower repeated his name, but Patchpelt didn’t turn back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frostfur regarding him with a confused expression. He tried to focus on the mossy curtain before him, his heart continuing to race.

~ ~ ~

“Should I be more upset?”

Swiftpaw’s voice was small, shaky. The black-and-white apprentice was staring up at his tall, lean mentor with wide eyes. Longtail padded alongside him, equally solemn. Patchpelt hardly dared to breathe; he knew he was a spirit, he knew they wouldn’t be able to hear him, but he was afraid of somehow disturbing them all the same.

After a pause, Longtail shook his head. “I don’t know, kid.” His voice was a little raspier than usual, likely from inhaling smoke. Patchpelt wanted to think it was from grief.

Swiftpaw turned his eyes back to the ground. Soon, the two cats came to a halt. They were far enough away from ThunderClan to have some privacy, but not so far that RiverClan would get suspicious. Patchpelt smiled proudly to himself; his sons were so smart, such wonderful cats. He owed it all to their mothers.

“He was never really there for us, was he?” Swiftpaw spoke again, his ears drooping.

Longtail, again, paused before answering. “I… I don’t know,” he repeated. The impulsive, loud young tom was acting much more thoughtful than usual. “I think he had his own issues, Swiftpaw. It wasn’t our fault.”

Swiftpaw narrowed his eyes. He unsheathed his claws and dragged them through the dirt. His fur began to bristle, and he trembled a little. “But he cared about Cloudpaw!” he shouted, anger bubbling in his voice. “I bet he loved Cloudpaw more than either of us! Cloudpaw, a stupid, stupid kittypet!”

Patchpelt cringed; his love for Cloudpaw had been his own way to maybe fix some of his past mistakes, to start over and make a difference in a young cat’s life. He hoped he hadn’t caused more problems than he solved.

Longtail stayed silent. Patchpelt’s heart sunk as Longtail sunk his claws into the earth, turned his head to the ground, and shut his eyes. His fur was spiking too, just as Swiftpaw’s was. Longtail was no fan of kittypets either, Patchpelt recalled. And seeing his absent father connect with one so easily would only make that worse.

I’m sorry, Patchpelt thought, his throat tightening. I wish I could’ve been the father you both needed.

The two toms were silent for a long, heartbreaking moment. The stillness in the air was broken when Swiftpaw let out a quiet sob. “I miss Lynxkit,” he whimpered.

Patchpelt watched with a heavy heart and Longtail padded to Swiftpaw’s side. He was thankful that, if he could not look out for them himself, at least they had each other. “I know, kid,” Longtail said softly.

“I know.”

~ ~ ~

ShadowClan’s first attack on ThunderClan had happened without anyone expecting it. Bluestar, Tigerclaw, Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw were all out of camp, visiting the Moonstone. Everyone in camp had felt a deep sense of peace, like the calm before a storm.

The ambush was so sudden, that it took Patchpelt a while to register what was happening. And when it was all over, he knew he should’ve reacted faster.

Lionheart, the clan’s deputy, had been lost in the fight. Patchpelt recalled Redtail’s death with a heavy heart; ThunderClan deputies were cursed, it seemed.

Rosetail was struck down while defending Frostfur’s kits. That death hit the clan hard; she was a beloved elder, and she was still relatively young, about Patchpelt’s age. He remembered training by her side as an apprentice, and he crouched alongside the elders as they grieved together.

Patchpelt was still crouched over Rosetail’s body when Goldenflower let out a wail. He looked up, and his heart stopped.

Lying limp at Goldenflower’s paws was a small brown tabby kit. Blood was seeping from a wound on his throat. Longtail raced over, frantically asking what happened.

“He- He was trying to protect the other kits,” Goldenflower whimpered. Frostfur and her kits were crouched nearby, their eyes wide with shock. Goldenflower’s eyes were glistening with tears. “I tried to stop him, but-” She stopped, too choked to go on, instead pressing her nose to Lynxkit’s fur. Longtail rested his tail comfortingly across her shoulders, while Swiftkit stared down in horror.

Patchpelt couldn’t move. He stayed rooted next to Rosetail and the elders, his jaw hanging open slightly. Lynxkit and Swiftkit were almost six moons old; Lynxkit would never have the chance to train as an apprentice, to earn his warrior name, to grow old in the elders’ den. Patchpelt tried to blink away tears to no avail.

Suddenly, Longtail turned his head. His gaze locked with Patchpelt’s. Longtail’s torn expression quickly morphed into one of anger. His glare burned into Patchpelt, an unspoken question in his green eyes. Why aren’t you comforting her? he was asking. Why aren’t you comforting Goldenflower? Why aren’t you grieving for your son?

Patchpelt broke away, burying his muzzle in Rosetail’s gray fur. Honestly, he didn’t have a good answer.

~ ~ ~

“I want to retire.”

Bluestar blinked. “I… I have to say I’m surprised, Patchpelt.”

Patchpelt shrugged halfheartedly. Since Lynxkit’s death, he hadn’t been quite himself. Goldenflower approached him about a half a moon after the attack. “I don’t think this is going to work after all,” she’d said. That’s when things- That’s when it officially ended.

Patchpelt shut his eyes, forcing the painful memories back. “How come, Bluestar?” he asked.

“Well… you are still quite young,” Bluestar admitted.

“I was close in age to Rosetail,” Patchpelt said, pain in his voice; even talking about that horrible attack made his heart ache.

Bluestar regarded him for a few moments more. Finally, she dipped her head. “The clan will respect your decision.”

Patchpelt nodded. “Thank you, Bluestar.”

Bluestar made her way out of her den, Patchpelt close behind. He expected that she was going to announce his retirement to the clan.

Patchpelt dragged his paws as he walked. What Bluestar said was true; he was a bit young to retire. But he felt that this was the best decision, both for himself and for the clan. Cats were meant to retire when they could no longer serve the clan. This was usually due to old age, or to a debilitating injury.

For Patchpelt, he’d been struggling since losing Goldenflower. Struggling with hunting, struggling with patrolling… StarClan, even struggling to speak with other cats. He felt exhausted by his failure, by the way he drove Goldenflower away despite trying so hard not to.

He simply could not do it any more.

~ ~ ~

“Sometimes, I think he was trying.”

Swiftpaw looked up at his mentor and half-brother. Patchpelt sat and watched with bated breath.

Longtail continued, “Once, when I was an apprentice, I was injured during a fight. Patchpelt came to visit me in the medicine den.”

Swiftpaw blinked. He sniffled and brushed his nose with his forepaw. “Did he?” Longtail nodded, and Patchpelt gave a small smile; he remembered that day vividly. Of course, that meant he also knew how it went, and it wasn’t well.

“I was angry,” Longtail admitted. “I told him to leave me alone. I told him… Well, I said that he hadn’t been there for me my whole life, so there was no point in starting now.”

Swiftpaw’s eyes widened. He didn’t reply this time, so Longtail added, “I spent most of my life being angry at him. So I guess I should be happy that he’s gone, that he finally got what he deserved, but I just sort of feel… cold.”

Swiftpaw nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured. He shuffled his paws. “I wish things were different. I wish… maybe we had a chance to talk to him again.”

Patchpelt’s heart throbbed. Me too, little one, he thought.

“You will,” Longtail reassured him. “One day, when we go to StarClan, we’ll see him there. We’ll tell him what we feel.”

Swiftpaw tilted his head. “What exactly do we feel?” he asked.

Longtail turned his head to glance back at the ThunderClan cats. Patchpelt followed his gaze to where his clanmates continued to grieve his loss.

“Hurt,” Longtail said at last. “Angry, upset, betrayed. Missing a father that was right there, but not quite there.” He wrapped his arm around Swiftpaw, pulling the younger tom closer. “But also glad to see him again.”

Swiftpaw rested his head on Longtail’s, tears brimming in his eyes again. Patchpelt stepped forward. Slowly, he settled in beside Swiftpaw on the other side. He couldn’t lean on him without falling right through, so Patchpelt just sat beside him. There was no way of knowing if Swiftpaw would be able to feel his father’s comfort, but Patchpelt hoped the gesture somehow got through.

After a good while of sitting in silence, Swiftpaw rose to his paws. Longtail moved his arm off of him. “I think I’m ready to go back now,” Swiftpaw said. His tears had mostly dried, leaving a bit of red under his eyes. He held himself up high, however, clearly trying to mask his pain. “I don’t want mom to worry.”

Longtail smiled and nodded. Patchpelt stayed where he was as his sons made their way back to the clan. He felt a mix of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to unravel, but he at least a part of him felt at peace. At peace with his family, at peace with his choices, at peace with his life. 

Patchpelt had made a lot of mistakes, there was no denying that. But he hoped… maybe Longtail, and Swiftpaw, and Goldenflower… maybe they would forgive him.

Patchpelt glanced down at his paws. He saw them becoming dimmer and dimmer, the grass below them growing more visible. His time among the living was done; now, he was going to StarClan. Patchpelt closed his eyes as the world around him faded away, and the many welcoming voices of clanmates passed grew louder and louder.

~ ~ ~

He hadn’t wanted it to happen so soon. Patchpelt expected many moons to pass before he saw his son again.

Patchpelt was with Leopardfoot one day in StarClan. The spirits, Patchpelt and Leopardfoot included, had been watching Tigerclaw closely. The ThunderClan and ShadowClan cats had been particularly horrified when he became ShadowClan’s leader.

“I can’t believe what’s he’s done,” Leopardfoot said. Her voice was tight with pain. Patchpelt wrapped his tail around her in comfort. Leopardfoot let out a quiet sob. “My- My son…”

Redtail appeared behind them. Patchpelt’s younger brother had been one of Tigerstar’s first victims. His face was grim when he said, “Swiftpaw and Brightpaw are heading for Snakerocks right now.”

Patchpelt’s fur bristled. “Isn’t there anything we can do? Can’t we- Can’t we send Bluestar a sign, or- or something?”

He felt a paw on his shoulder. Swiftbreeze stood beside him, sadness in her eyes. 

“Sometimes, even StarClan is powerless,” she said gently. 

Patchpelt clenched his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, they held the beginnings of tears. Swiftbreeze pressed more tightly against him.

The thundering of paws caught the cats’ attention. Robinwing and Lionheart were racing towards them. Lionheart looked frantic. Just from the look on the golden tom’s face, Patchpelt could tell something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Redtail stepped towards them, his ears pinned back. “Any news?” he asked. His voice was high with anxiety; Patchpelt had a feeling that he too knew that the worst had happened.

“They- They’ve been attacked,” Robinwing stammered.

Meows of distress ripples through the gathered cats. Patchpelt’s heart sank. “Are they…” He trailed off.

Robinwing lowered her head. “I’m so sorry Patchpelt… but Swiftpaw isn’t going to make it.” Patchpelt took a step back. He could feel Swiftbreeze at his side, but it all felt so… distant.

“What about Brightpaw?” Redtail asked.

Lionheart spoke this time. “She’s- She’s holding on.” His fur prickled with worry for his daughter. “Swiftpaw fought like all of LionClan. It was only through his bravery that she survived.”

Redtail lowered his head. “Then we must hope that help arrives soon.” He raised himself up again, turning to Patchpelt. “I don’t doubt that Swiftpaw’s spirit will be in distress. He needs someone he trusts to take him to StarClan.”

Patchpelt nodded; he wasn’t sure if Swiftpaw really trusted him, but… “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

~ ~ ~

Patchpelt’s heart only sank further when he saw the scene before him. Tigerstar’s dogs had done their work well; fur was strewn across the rocks. Blood was splashed along the ground and up the trees, dotting leaves and stones alike. And when Patchpelt saw Swiftpaw’s mutilated body, he felt a fresh stab of pain in his heart. Tufts of dark fur were caught between his claws, and his jaws were still parted in a snarl. Patchpelt couldn’t help but remember little Lynxkit, giving his life to save the other kits.

Swiftpaw’s spirit didn’t linger near his body. Patchpelt saw him a few fox lengths away, crouched over a bloody heap. It took Patchpelt a few moments to realize it was Brightpaw; the small she-cat was nearly unrecognizable.

“Brightpaw?” Swiftpaw asked. He reached to nudge Brightpaw with his forepaw, reeling in horror when it phased right through. “Oh, no- Oh no no, Brightpaw- Oh, I made a mistake-” He spun, his panic rising. “I never should’ve- Oh, Brightpaw, I’m so sorry!”

“Swiftpaw!” Patchpelt called out.

Swiftpaw froze, his translucent paws hovering slightly above the ground. He turned to where Patchpelt was floating, and a mix of relief, confusion, and resentment flashed across his face; it was a look that Patchpelt was used to getting.

Swiftpaw tilted his head. He took a cautious step towards him. “Da- Patchpelt?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

Patchpelt stepped closer to his son. He felt a little awkward; he wasn’t sure if he should give Swiftpaw a hug, or a comforting pat, or something like that. He wasn’t sure if that was Swiftpaw wanted right now. “I’ve come to take you to StarClan.”

Swiftpaw stared at him for another moment. He glanced back at Brightpaw. “I don’t want to leave her,” he said.

Patchpelt took another step closer to his son. He could insist that she would be alright, that they had to go, but… “Let’s stay with her, until help arrives.”

“Help?” Swiftpaw asked. Patchpelt nodded, and Swiftpaw glanced back at Brightpaw. “Do you really think ThunderClan will come for us?”

Patchpelt rested his tail on Swiftpaw’s back. “Let’s just wait and see,” he said gently.

As if on cue, Patchpelt heard voices in the distance. Swiftpaw’s ears pricked; he must’ve heard them too.

“Come on, Fernpaw said they went this way! We have to hurry before-” Cloudtail pushed his way through the bushes. His face fell and he gasped when he saw the aftermath before him. Patchpelt’s heart ached for the young tom.

“What is it? What’s-” Fireheart appeared behind him. He also went speechless. “Oh, StarClan, no…”

Cloudtail raced forward, crouching at Brightpaw’s side. “Brightpaw? Brightpaw, can you hear me?” Brightpaw let out a quiet, nearly inaudible groan, but it was enough for Cloudtail to light up with hope. “She’s alive!” Cinderpelt appeared beside him, sniffing over Brightpaw frantically. 

Patchpelt tensed, half-glancing at Swiftpaw; he knew Swiftpaw was jealous of Cloudtail, and Bluestar’s blatant favoritism towards the former kittypet probably didn’t help. But Swiftpaw didn’t look angry. He only looked relieved that Brightpaw was still breathing.

“Is Swiftpaw there too?” Patchpelt’s heart tightened when he heard another voice, and Swiftpaw stiffened beside him. Longtail made his way through the bush, freezing in his tracks.

Fireheart turned to him, despair clear on his face. “Longtail- I- I’m so sorry-” 

Longtail ignored him. He pushed past the ginger warrior, coming to a halt at Swiftpaw’s body. Longtail made a strangled sound before collapsing, pressing his nose to his apprentice’s cold pelt. Patchpelt saw Swiftpaw rise and pad over to him. He stayed where he was, allowing Swiftpaw to have this moment with his brother. Fireheart, too, looked like he wanted to comfort Longtail, but he hung back.

Longtail didn’t speak, but Patchpelt could imagine the thousands of apologies, the tidal wave of guilt running through his mind. When Longtail spoke, it was so soft, and Patchpelt strained to hear him.

“You were more than good enough to be a warrior,” Longtail whispered.

Swiftpaw didn’t answer — not that Longtail would’ve been able to hear him. He just stayed where he was, watching Longtail grieve.

They didn’t stay in the clearing for long. Cloudtail and Cinderpelt wanted to get Brightpaw back to camp as quickly as possible, and give her the best chance to recover. Fireheart gave Longtail a gentle nudge. Slowly, the silver tabby heaved himself to his paws. His grief was still evident in his eyes. Together, Fireheart and Longtail hoisted Swiftpaw’s body onto their shoulders, carrying him back to camp. Patchpelt feel a fresh wave of grief wash over him when he imagined Goldenflower having to see her son like this; he sent a silent prayer that the other ThunderClan cats would take care of her and Longtail during this dark time.

Swiftpaw’s spirit was still staring at the spot in the first where the patrol had disappeared. Patchpelt quietly cleared his throat, getting Swiftpaw’s attention. He didn’t want to interrupt his son, but they had to go back soon.

“You ready?” Patchpelt asked gently.

Swiftpaw turned back to him, and blinked away his tears. “A little,” he replied. The two cats stood face-to-face for a long moment. Patchpelt, not for the first time, wished he could’ve been a better father.

He fixed things, a little bit. If he couldn’t be there for his sons in life, then he’d be there for them in StarClan. He would care for Swiftpaw. He would watch over Longtail for as long as he needed to. And when it was Longtail’s time to join their ancestors, Patchpelt would tell him how much he really loved him.

Patchpelt turned to leave, when Swiftpaw interrupted him. “Patchpelt?” Patchpelt paused, turning to look at him. Swiftpaw cleared his throat. “I- I mean- dad,” he said. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Patchpelt smiled. He walked back towards Swiftpaw, resting his tail on his back. There was a bittersweet happiness in Swiftpaw’s gaze that was surely reflected back at him. “You’re welcome,” Patchpelt purred. Together, they stepped into the sky, heading for the land of their waiting ancestors.

“Son.”