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Chapter Text

The night is ominously quiet. Even the chirp of insects and soft breaths of sleeping kits do nothing to ease the eerie stillness that hangs like the half-moon’s light over the grassy expanse. An old vixen sits at the mouth of her den, staring up into the starlight. There’s not a cloud in sight to block her view of SilverPelt. Her brown eyes search the sky, brimming with unspoken questions. 

Nutmeg knew she was getting on in years. Her mud-brown fur was beginning to turn silver around the nose. She considered it a badge of her wisdom, sharpened and honed over the time she’d spent in this life. She’d done her best so far. She’s raised all of her kits to respect every animal as an equal, she’s learned the tongues of many creatures, she’s passed on tales of glory from the Clan Cats near which she’s settled to an entire generation of foxes. She’s proud of her achievements, and there’s more to come in her final stretch.

She thinks on what she heard earlier in the night. The sounds of battle from what was most likely Sunningrocks. She’d heard Tigerclaw’s booming yowl for certain, though she hadn’t been able to make out what he’d said. A yowl that may have been Redtail’s had sounded a retreat not long after the clamor began. 

Nutmeg can’t help but wonder how Bluestar feels about the night’s defeat. Perhaps her dear friend is watching the same stars, asking the same questions. The thought brings a smile to her muzzle and warms her pelt against the coolness of night. She stares up at the sky, wondering what the ancient warriors might be telling her most cherished friend.

Without warning, a streak of light flashes across the sky. A falling star! Nutmeg’s eyes widen and the fur along her spine stands on end as the Starclan Warrior reaches the horizon. From its point of impact, flames burst from the grass, encircling Nutmeg and the den where her kits sleep. She remains rooted in place, unblinking, as the flames lift up against the sky and form the shape of a brilliant orange fox, emitting the light of StarClan itself.

As quickly as it happens, the inferno begins to die out, leaving behind untouched lush green grass and the same cool newleaf night. Nutmeg, blinking slowly, turns to peer into the den at her five-moon-old litter. There, sleeping soundly, are dust-brown Protea, pale-orange Fig, brown-amber Lupine, black-brown Tomato, and snuggled at the center of the pile, red-orange Ruscus. Letting out the breath she’d been holding through the vision, Nutmeg repeats what StarClan had revealed to her.

“Fire alone can save our Clan...?”

...

The river’s surface ripples, reflecting glimmering fragments of sun. Birds chirp to one another in the lush forest across the watery border, their song carrying on the cool new-leaf breeze. The tranquility is almost distracting enough to hide the flashes of scaled creatures darting just beneath the surface. Tantalizingly close, but patience is a virtue.

Ruscus freezes, wide eyes focused on a golden prize. A carp drifts lazily across the topwater, gaping mouth searching for insects along the surface. Brown scales shine gold in the sunhigh light, the size of the thing a threat to any other fish. It doesn’t notice the predator pinned flat against the bank, paw raised, mouth open and prepared to strike. Wait for the right moment.

The carp strays just a little too close for its own safety. In a flash of black paw and a snap of orange-white muzzle, the fish is ripped flopping and struggling from its watery sanctuary. Its captor backs away from the water so it can’t escape, even if it’s dropped. Sharp fangs pierce its succulent, salty flesh a few times before it stops fighting. 

Despite his watering mouth, Ruscus resists the temptation to devour his prey immediately. No, this fresh-kill was too good for that! He’d be taking this home, where it would surely feed at least three elders! Maybe four! He turns away from the river, a spring in his step as he prances back toward camp. He doesn’t get far before he missteps in a hole, losing his footing and falling into some sort of animal den with a pitiful yelp. Grumbling, he blinks a few times against the darkness.

As Ruscus’s eyes adjust to the light change, he realizes he’s back in his family den, surrounded by his littermates. Another dream. His chest aches, a yearning sort of feeling he’s gotten used to waking up with. He sits up, the soft snoring all around implying he’s the first kit awake. Their mother seems to have gone hunting. Ruscus knows what this means! A perfect opportunity to sneak out and meet up with his best friend!

Carefully picking his way through the den, he successfully avoids waking anyone else. A peek at the sky reveals SilverPelt’s stars going to sleep for the day as the firstlight of the sun peeks over the horizon. Good, he’d promised to be there early! Ruscus wastes no time in rushing across the field between his home and the outer borders of Clan territory. His bushy tail streams behind him as he sprints, black paws leaving clawmarks in the dirt.

Carefully avoiding the earthy, pungent scent of ThunderClan, he creeps along the border and splashes into the river, unafraid of the current. Despite being only five moons old, he’s confident in his swimming, and makes it across as easily as any RiverClan apprentice could. The trick is to swim diagonal against the current!

Ruscus pauses to shake his wiry red fur free of the leftover river clinging to it before strolling a few fox-lengths up the bank against the current. With the wind at his back, his friend is sure to smell him first. A cluster of waterreeds poke out of the landscape, covering a section of the bank and jutting into the shallows of the water. Smiling and letting his tail brush back and forth with excitement, Ruscus pokes his sharp muzzle through the reeds. “I’m here!”

“Took you long enough!” The teasing meow of a close friend makes his smile bigger. Ruscus pads the rest of the way through the reed wall, revealing the deep brown pelt of a young tomcat. His snow-colored paws definitely explain his name! He won’t be a paw forever, of course, Ruscus has to remind himself. Another meow snaps him out of his contemplation. “You look tired. More dreams?”

“Yeah,” Ruscus nods, “I was fishing this time. The fish I caught was huge! It could have fed three whole elders! You shoulda seen it, Whitepaw!”

Whitepaw laughs. “Those fishing lessons I’ve been sharing have really paid off, huh?” He shifts to sit next to Ruscus, curling his thin tail around him. “You know, you’re a really good hunter, and you’re almost six moons old too! You’d make an awesome apprentice, I think. Maybe I could ask my, mentor... if...” his voice trails off, as though thinking things through before continuing. He’s silent for several heartbeats, tilting his head as he stares off into the reeds.

Ruscus looks at him, staying quiet for as long as he can take it. He finally blurts, “ask your mentor if what, Whitepaw!? The suspense is killing me!” Truly, his tail is tapping the crushed reeds beneath them with intense excitement.

“Maybe I could ask her if you can join RiverClan as an apprentice. But she might...” His eyes scan Ruscus’s face. The wide-eyed wonder and joy in his eyes at this revelation, the open-mouthed shock and excitement... Whitepaw couldn’t possibly crush that. “If she says no, I-I’ll go to the deputy! Yeah, I’ll ask Oakheart! And, and if he says no, I’m gonna go straight to Crookedstar and PROVE that you deserve to join RiverClan!!” 

Ruscus almost howls with joy. The chest pressure he woke up with practically bursts out of him, spilling forth in a gazillion thank yous and you’re the best, Whitepaw declarations. The two bonk heads in glee no less than two dozen times, giggling to themselves well into the morning and plotting exactly how Ruscus can prove how worthy he is to the leader of RiverClan. They part ways just before sunhigh, with Whitepaw yowling how late he’s gonna be for his training and fretting over how furious Leopardfur will be.

Chapter Text

He’d promised to be here by sunhigh. Just last night, the two friends had steeled their resolve to prove Ruscus’s worth to RiverClan. Whitepaw had sworn up and down that he’d bring everyone who mattered in the Clan to witness Ruscus’s skill. Leader Crookedstar, deputy Oakheart, medic Mudfur, Whitepaw’s mentor Leopardfur, and any warriors who weren’t busy would all be there. Nearly half of RiverClan would show up any minute now! Ruscus peers up at the sky, squinting against the light. The sun is front and center, threatening to blind him if he looks any further upward. Any moment now!

Ruscus sits among the reeds, bouncing with excitement. He can hardly sit still! He’d been practicing his moves since he woke this morning: hunting crouches, fishing tactics, fighting techniques. He is gonna wow RiverClan with all he knows! Grinning with joy, he thinks about Whitepaw and how thankful he is for the tomcat. And to think it all started one fateful morning...

...

Nutmeg had made the mistake of storytelling Ruscus to sleep the night before, and his dreams were filled with cats and Clan life. Despite his mother’s insistence that the Clans were to be left to their own devices, that Ruscus will be able to learn more when he’s older, despite her rule to stay away from Clan territory, Ruscus had run to the Clans’ borders and begun sniffing around. The river slightly southwest of here was in eyeshot of his family den, so he kept it nearby while exploring. He’d sniffed around for a while, sightseeing and making absolutely sure not to steal any prey (as if one could do so on accident). Water wasn’t prey, of course, so he allowed himself to stop for a drink.

When he lifted his head, he noticed another animal across the river, staring at him with fur bushed out to double his size. Ruscus’s eyes widened, sparkling with excitement. A cat! A real-life cat! This was the perfect chance to practice speaking feline! He’d barked in cat-words across the river, tail wagging with joy. “Hello! How are you?”

The young brown tom’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He stared at Ruscus like he’d grown a second head, mouth wide open yet unable to speak. Oh mouse-dung, Ruscus had forgotten that cats can be startled by loud barking. Ruscus cleared his throat and tried again, yipping softly this time. “Good hunting today? Catch anything?”

The tom’s fur began to lie flat as he realized that this feline-speaking fox means him no harm. They’re separated by an entire river, too, and Ruscus watches him slowly come to the conclusion that the young fox couldn’t hurt him even if he wanted to, not without crossing the rapids first. Ruscus smiled, hopefully the cat could tell it was a polite and friendly one.

And then the tom burst out laughing.

...

Ruscus rolls onto his back, batting at a bent reed-head. He smacks it between his forepaws and snaps playfully with his jaws, never actually catching it in his teeth. He thinks of Whitepaw’s startled mews when Ruscus first chomped at him while they were playing. “What, cats don’t pretend to bite each other?” he’d asked. “It’s not like I can sheathe my claws like you do, so I can’t bap you like you bap me!” They both laugh about the misunderstanding to this day.

Ruscus sighs, leaving the plant alone and rolling back into a more natural laying position. His gaze flicks to the reddening sky as the sun approaches the horizon. Where’s Whitepaw? He sighs and smiles as his mind begins to wander again, daydreaming of his snow-pawed friend.

...

“Hey! What’s so funny!?” Ruscus had barked, tilting his head. “This isn’t easy, you know!!” Honestly, he doesn’t have the vocal chords to meow! It’s a miracle he can speak feline as well as he does!

The cat had almost stopped laughing. He roared with mirth when Ruscus finished speaking again, shaking with laughter so hard he toppled onto his side. “S-sorry!!” the tom finally squeaked out between giggles. “I-heh-I’ve never heard a fox--hehehehe... Heard a fox ta--HAHAH!! TALK before!!” He collapsed again, rolling over and kicking his legs in the air as he whooped with joy.

Ruscus furrowed his brow, trying to be angry, but... The cat’s laughter was honestly a little contagious. He opened his mouth to yip something cross, but all that came out was a barely-stifled giggle. He snorted, then laughed almost as loud as the cat. The two chuckled back and forth for a bit until they both calmed down.

“My name’s Whitepaw, I’m a RiverClan apprentice,” the cat announced once they’d both settled down. He smiled across the river at Ruscus. “I’ve never met a fox before. Everyone says they’re dangerous.”

Ruscus wagged his tail when he saw Whitepaw’s smile. “Oh, I don’t want to be dangerous, not to cats! My mama tells me stories about the Clans all the time. I love listening to her! Cats are so cool!”

Whitepaw had puffed out his chest in pride. “We sure are! And RiverClan is the best Clan! We eat delicious fish and everyone else makes fun of us for it ‘cause they’re JEALOUS!! Hey, do you like fish?”

...

Ruscus peeks out of the reeds. Darkness has fallen over the landscape, and the river reflects moonlight back to the sky. He sighs, tail still against the ground.

Whitepaw isn’t coming.

Dejected, Ruscus turns and wades past their reedy spot into the water. He swims diagonally against the current and makes it safely to the other side. He doesn’t want to walk home on the RiverClan side--his heart hurts too much to even think about running into Whitepaw now. He pads slowly down the bank, tail dragging the mud as he heads for home.

Something makes him pause. A tiny movement in the leaf litter catches his eye, and Ruscus instinctually drops into a crouch. He moves slowly toward the fat mouse, hiding in the undergrowth, standing completely still whenever it lifts its little head. If he can catch this, perhaps he could go looking for Whitepaw himself! If he has a gift to give RiverClan, maybe they’ll let him join no matter what!

The mouse startles and rushes away. Snarling, Ruscus lifts his head slightly, ears pricked, trying to determine what could have scared it off. “Mouse-dung,” he hears the bushes across from him whisper. Doing his best to keep from rustling any leaves, he pads through the bushes, searching for the source of the swear. There seems to be nobody here.

Ruscus sighs, stepping out of the bushes away from where the mouse was, and his eyes go wide. He’s standing face-to-face with a young gray tomcat, only a mouse-length between them. The cat’s fur bristles, he appears frozen in place. Ruscus opens his mouth to speak, and the kitten screams bloody murder.

“LIONHEART!! BLUESTAR!!! HELP ME!! FOX!!!"

Chapter Text

Ruscus backs a few steps away, giving the panicking cat some space. He tries to calm the fluffed-up gray cat, speaking softly and gently, an attempt to reassure him. “Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok. I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s ok. I’m not dangerous to cats. See, I’m speaking feline and I haven’t bit you yet right?”

The soft-furred gray cat seems to relax a tiny bit, though he seems ready to run for it at any moment. Ruscus doesn’t blame him. If a coyote were staring him down, but speaking fox and promising it wouldn’t kill him, Ruscus would be wary too. He tries again, continuing to speak to the young gray cat. “My name is Ruscus, I’m not a threat.” He hears rapidly-approaching pawsteps, and begins to speak faster. “I’m a fox but I love listening to stories about the Clans. I’m best friends with--” the breath is knocked out of him mid-sentence, as a large golden shape tackles him to the forest floor.

“Run, Graypaw!” Ruscus hears the large creature holding him down order. It takes every shred of willpower Ruscus has to keep from writhing in its grip. His legs are splayed in a very uncomfortable manner, but he really wants to prove that he’s not a threat at all. Thusly, he stays perfectly still.

“But, Lionheart... It talked to me,” the cat called Graypaw mews, surprised eyes still focused on Ruscus’s face. “It speaks cat.”

Another cat, smaller than the golden one but still bigger than Ruscus, emerges from the bushes at full sprint and skids to a stop as the warrior named Lionheart looks between Graypaw and Ruscus several times, confusion apparent on his face. Ruscus attempts a sheepish smile and wags his tailtip slightly. “I mean no harm to any of you,” he yips quietly.

The new arrival, a blue molly with hints of silver across her nose and a massive scar parting the fur across her shoulders, takes in the scene before her. Lionheart pinning a fox to the ground, the fox making no attempt to struggle, Graypaw slowly showing less fear. She tilts her head as her eyes fall back to Ruscus. “Lionheart, you may release him. I do not think he will hurt anyone.”

Lionheart pauses for a moment, then carefully removes his paws from Ruscus and backs away, giving him a tail-length of space. Ruscus waits until he’s got enough air between them for the cat to consider himself safe, then sits up and shakes the dirt from his pelt. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he says, concerned gaze falling on Graypaw, who is crouched down defensively. Turning his sharp muzzle to the two larger cats, he squeaks, “my name is Ruscus. It’s an honor to meet you all!”

The blue cat blinks a few times. Her eyes narrow in thought as she examines the young fox seated before her. Ruscus feels his pelt prickle with a mix of anxiety and excitement. “Would I be wrong to assume that you are Nutmeg’s son?”

Ruscus nods enthusiastically. “Nutmeg is my mother’s name, yes.”

The old molly smiles down at him. “Nutmeg is a wonderful creature. She has a very sharp mind, and a strong sense of justice. Have you learned to hunt yet, Ruscus?”

“Yeah, I know hunting crouches and fishing tactics and how to pounce!” Ruscus’s tail fluffs out with pride.

The large golden tom steps forward, the thick fur around his neck still slightly bristled. “Bluestar, this is a fox. A danger to the clan. What are you doing?”

Bluestar turns her head to acknowledge him. “Nutmeg and I have been friends since before you were born, Lionheart. She and her kin would do nothing to wrong ThunderClan.” The certainty in her words makes Ruscus wonder how much he really knows about his mother. What secret life does she lead?

His internal questions are interrupted by another meow from the older molly. “I can tell you are curious about Clan life. You may have heard of it from outside sources, but to experience it for yourself is an entirely different matter. Leafbare brings hardships and scarcity, and survival is never guaranteed for anyone. But it is an honorable way to live.”

Wide-eyed and motionless, Ruscus listens to her speak, face alight with wonder.

“It would be different to welcome any outsider into our clan; it would be unheard of to invite a fox to live with us,” muses Bluestar, half to herself. “But perhaps this could be beneficial for us all. Would you like to join ThunderClan, Ruscus?”

Ruscus is stunned. He can’t think of anything to say. He’s been waiting for Whitepaw to bring him an opportunity like this one for a moon now, and here it is, having fallen directly between his paws. He opens his mouth to accept, to exclaim how overjoyed he would be to do so--and finds himself hesitating.

Lionheart’s reluctance is plain in his voice as he meows, “there is no guarantee you will become a full warrior. Bluestar is only offering you an opportunity to train.”

Bluestar nods her agreement. “Training is intense and may prove difficult. Only with incredible determination and loyalty will you be able to become a warrior.”

Ruscus looks between Lionheart, Bluestar, and Graypaw. The ThunderClan apprentice looks almost as incredulous as Ruscus himself feels. He turns his head to look toward the river, thinking of Whitepaw and the rest of his family. What would they think became of him? “...Could I have the rest of the night to tell my family where I’m going? I don’t want to worry them.”

Bluestar nods slowly, “very well.” She turns to her warrior, requesting, “Lionheart, would you be willing to meet Ruscus here at sunhigh?” At his nod of approval, she rests her gaze on Ruscus. “Do not be late.” Turning back to her fellow ThunderClan cats, she flicks her tail. “We must go now. Redtail will be wondering where we have been.”

As Bluestar and Lionheart share an indescribable look, Graypaw stands tall and offers Ruscus a bright smile that reflects in his yellow eyes. Ruscus can’t help but smile back. On Bluestar’s signal, the three cats turn and vanish into the undergrowth. Ruscus is left with a pounding heart and the thrill of the encounter.

Chapter Text

Ruscus’ dreams have, for several moons of his short life, been plagued with the thought of joining RiverClan. Just recently, he’d been longing to fish and train with Whitepaw. Tonight’s dreams are full of forests and mice, fantastical ideas of ThunderClan battle moves, running through the forest and laughing with Graypaw, and Bluestar standing on a tall tree branch and announcing that Ruscus’s new warrior name shall be...

“Ruscus,” a distinctly not-feline yip cuts through the dream like sharp claws. “Ruscus, get up! You said you were leaving at sunhigh!” His favorite sister is prodding him awake, yelping “get up! It’s already sundown!”

His eyes fly open and he leaps to his paws, sprinting out of the den to check the sky. He uses the sibling behind him as a launchpad, tumbles over another sibling who dared block his path, and frantically clambers across the den. Reaching the opening, Ruscus blinks several times to adjust, and perceives the early-morning blue of just-past-sunup. As he huffs, Ruscus can hear the entertained laughter of his siblings from below. 

“Great job, Protea!” Lupine giggles.

“Haha! ‘It’s already sundown!’ Snrk! I never would have thought of that,” yelps Tomato, trembling with the force of his snorts.

Protea is puffed out with pride as Ruscus returns to their sleeping spot, grumpy. He really doesn’t blame her for the prank; judging by Tomato’s mean streak a mile long, he’d dared her to do it. “Real funny,” he snorts as he flops back down to continue resting.

“Why ya leavin’ anyway?” Fig pesters, prodding Ruscus’s side. He huffs out a sigh.

“The leader of one of the Clans invited me to train with them,” he grumbles, “not that any of you would care about that.”

As Fig rolls their eyes, Protea’s ears perk. “Really? Ruscus, that’s wonderful! It’s been your dream to train with the clans since mama started telling you those stories!” Her eyes are wide and shining. She and Ruscus have always been the closest duo of the litter.

“Seems kinda dumb to me,” Tomato yawns. “You’re gonna have to spend the rest of your life meowing and purring. Besides, why would you ever wanna live with some cats? They’re cats. You’re a fox. They’re gonna hate you.”

As Ruscus’s fur bristles at the comment, Protea cuts in, “well I think it’s really cool. Our brother is gonna be a warrior! We should be happy for him!”

“I’d never pass up a chance to celebrate something,” Fig chirps.

“We should really enjoy our time with Ruscus while it lasts,” Lupine comments thoughtfully, “we’re all gonna go our separate ways someday. Ruscus is just getting a headstart.” She raises her brow, and Ruscus notices her eyes flick to Tomato. “That’s better than some of us can say.”

Tomato seems to realize he’s outnumbered. Sighing, he relents, “fine. I guess we should do something fun before sunhigh, then?”

“Oh, oh! We should all go hunting and have a feast,” Fig proposes. “We can make it a fun contest.”

“Yeah, whoever wins takes Ruscus’s place and goes to join CatClan,” jeers Tomato, earning him withering glares from four pairs of eyes.

The beginnings of the day are spent chasing several rabbits, catching very few, exploring places the siblings used to frequent, and laughing about memories shared. Ruscus does his best to enjoy himself with his family, but he can’t help the lingering excitement for sunhigh and all the opportunities it may bring. His paws begin to itch and his eyes continue to drift toward the forest as the sun approaches the peak of its arch.

Protea notices. She always does. Pulling Ruscus aside while their siblings squabble over who cost them that last rabbit, she gives him a reassuring smile and curls her tail over his back. “You should go ahead. You don’t wanna be late, do you?” The siblings share a look only the closest of littermates could understand. “You’re making the right choice. I can feel it. You’re gonna do amazing things for the world.”

With her encouragement, Ruscus leaves his siblings where they bicker, without another word. They’d shared their last goodbyes; they would understand. As he trots past the family den where Nutmeg had been keeping a careful eye out, he shares his final nuzzle with the mother he will always cherish. She gazes down at him, expression burning with pride for her son, and gestures with her eyes toward ThunderClan’s border. There are no words, but her intent is unmistakeable.

...

Ruscus pads along the river, on the ThunderClan side, toward the location he’d first met Graypaw. He finds himself glancing across the river repeatedly, searching for a familiar pelt. He wasn’t sure if he was hopeful or spiteful. He didn’t know what he’d even say if he encountered him. He just found himself longing to see his friend one last time before he left. He kept wishing he’d look across the river, and standing across the water, calling his name, would be Whitepaw. As he reaches the point he’d veered into the bushes, he stares across the river toward the two friends’ favorite bundle of reeds, silently begging to see even a glimpse of brown fur or white feet.

He wasn’t there.

Trying to ignore the sensation of his heart sinking into his paws, Ruscus turns to face ThunderClan territory. He steels his resolve and pads through the bushes into the space where Lionheart had confronted him. It’s nearly sunhigh. He sits, keeping himself ready to stand at any time. He was ready for this. He was ready to join ThunderClan.

He dropped his nose to the ground and sniffed the area. He could still smell Bluestar and Graypaw, but those two were stale. Lionheart’s scent, on the other hand, was on the ground and in the breeze. Ruscus perked up immediately, lifting his head and stiffening his tail.

“Impressive,” Lionheart’s deep meow precedes his body. Stepping out of the bushes to face Ruscus, he continues, “you could tell I was here, couldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Ruscus yips, nodding. “Bluestar and Graypaw aren’t here, but your scent is fresh.”

“Is it just the two of us?” Lionheart raises his brow at Ruscus, challenging him.

Ruscus lifts his nose to test the wind. “No,” he says confidently, “I don’t know them, but they smell like ThunderClan.”

“Very good,” the golden tabby purrs, turning his head toward the tall ferns beside them.

Ruscus follows his gaze to witness a long-furred, sleek white cat emerge from the undergrowth. Longer and taller than Lionheart, but with a less bulky build, this cat looked like they could strike faster than a snake, with the bite power to match. They gaze down at Ruscus, examining him thoroughly.

“This is Whitestorm,” Lionheart introduces. “They are a senior warrior of ThunderClan, and highly respected.”

Ruscus sit as still as possible, holding his breath to avoid whining, as Whitestorm stretches their neck out to sniff him. “Hello, young one,” they purr softly, a smile crossing their muzzle as they move back. “I’ve heard so much about you. So nice to finally meet you.”

Ruscus dips his head, returning the tall jack’s smile. “It’s nice to meet you too, Whitestorm. I’m excited to train with ThunderClan.”

“Then we can speak more once we’ve returned to camp,” Lionheart commands. In unison, he and Whitestorm turn away and bound into the undergrowth. Ruscus instinctually follows suit, leaping through the bushes.

The two warriors are clearly trying to make the journey as difficult as possible for the young fox. Though the forest is unfamiliar and slightly intimidating to Ruscus, his upbringing on the fields beyond has made him lean and fast. He keeps pace with the cats decently well, only falling behind when climbing over a particularly large fallen log. Foxes just aren’t made to climb like cats, but Ruscus finds a jutting branch that gives him the height he needs to clear it.

Finally, the two warriors slow their pace. As Ruscus skids to a halt behind them, panting with his tongue hanging out, Whitestorm hops onto a rock overlooking a small ravine.

“Our camp is nearby,” they purr, eyes falling on Ruscus. “Can you tell where?”

Ruscus gulps down a few more breaths before nodding and dropping his nose to the forest floor. So many smells! There are dozens going in all different directions, and he wanders around for a bit trying to interpret them all. Several scent-trails with varying amounts of freshness lead in all different directions, but they all seem to lead back to one single spot at the very bottom of the ravine.

Ruscus looks up at Whitestorm where they perch, and calls out, “there’s a tiny opening in the gorse here! I can smell lots of cats!”

Lionheart and Whitestorm share an amused glance.

“There will come a time, if you are accepted into the clan, where you will be able to tell each and every cat apart by smell. Any individual scent will conjure a pelt and name in your mind,” Lionheart explains as he makes his way down the rocky slope to Ruscus.

Whitestorm joins them swiftly, bounding down the boulders with practiced ease. “Allow me to lead the way, Ruscus.”

With Whitestorm in front of him and Lionheart bringing up the rear, Ruscus pushes his way through the thin gorse tunnel, heart racing at the excitement of what awaits him within.

Chapter Text

Ruscus pushes his way through the gorse, ignoring the prickles that catch his fur. His heart races as he follows Whitestorm, his thoughts a jumble of a million potential things he could see among this undergrowth. What he walks into is so much more than he could have expected.

Ruscus stepped into a wide clearing. A thick layer of gorse and ferns protect the camp from the rest of the forest, and sunlight dapples the clearing through the leaves forming a canopy overhead. The floor toward the center is packed earth, hardened by generations of paws. The earth turned grassy toward the edges of the camp, and scattered throughout the clearing are dozens of cats. They’re everywhere--lounging alone or laying in groups, sharing prey and purring quietly as they groom each other, their murmurs a soft tangle of voices Ruscus can’t quite pick words out of.

The young fox’s eyes must be so wide they could bulge out of his head; Lionheart laughs as he passes Ruscus, turning his head to look at him. “Just after sunhigh is the perfect time for sharing tongues. The day is hottest now, so it’s a good time to relax and conserve energy.”

“Sharing tongues?” Ruscus repeats, moving his paws to follow the two warriors he knows. The three approach a tall boulder near the edge of the clearing, where Whitestorm stretches and lays down.

“Cats of ThunderClan take time out of every day to wash each other and share the day’s news,” the pale jack explains, “it helps strengthen the bonds between members of the Clan. We call it sharing tongues. It’s an ancient tradition,” they finish with a purr.

The cats of ThunderClan have gradually stopped their murmuring and licking in favor of turning their heads toward Ruscus and his escort party. Ruscus tried to politely avoid their gazes, a fox display of an active lack of aggression. He did catch the fear in a few cats’ eyes, and the rage in those of others. He could hear whispers of “what are Whitestorm and Lionheart doing?” and “what is the meaning of this?” and one outraged “there’s a fox in camp. Why is there a fox in camp??”

“Ignore them,” Whitestorm purred, standing and stepping forward to lick behind Ruscus’s ear. Their rough, sandy tongue is familiar, feeling almost just like a fox’s. He smiles and allows the senior warrior to clean his face and straighten the fluff on his neck. The fear-scent that was starting to waft around the camp seemed to die down slightly at the blatant lack of fear this respected member of the Clan showed toward Ruscus.

As Ruscus lets them wash him, a familiar scent calls his attention toward the large boulder that lay beside the entrance of the clearing, leaned against a smaller rock. Bluestar emerges from the shadows between the two stones and approaches the three, lifting her tail in greeting and smiling at Whitestorm’s acceptance of the young fox. 

“He wished to come after all,” she purrs, addressing her warriors. 

“Lionheart kept saying he wouldn’t,” Whitestorm trills with a teasing glance at the tom.

Bluestar’s tailtip is twitching back and forth rapidly. Ruscus wonders what her body language means, and realizes that Whitepaw was only one cat. It may take some time to learn what cats mean when they do things with their tails. Her voice draws his eyes back to her face, “what do you think of him?”

“He kept up well on the return journey, even though we specifically passed obstacles a cat would cross to avoid a chasing fox,” Whitestorm admits, their purr holding some pride.

“It is agreed, then?” Bluestar looks between Lionheart and Whitestorm. Both warriors glance at Ruscus, Whitestorm with a smile and Lionheart with hesitance, and nod in unison. Bluestar nods in reply. “Then I must announce his arrival to the Clan.”

Ruscus watches with awe as Bluestar bunches her muscles in a tight crouch, then leaps to the tip of the leaning boulder in a single precise bound. Holding her head high, she yowls, “let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Her firm voice brought all the cats forward, sitting in a wide arc around the rock. Lionheart and Whitestorm take seats on either side of Ruscus, shielding him from threat... or perhaps shielding the clan from him. Ruscus peers around at the collection of cats, and feels relief make his fur lie flat as he notices the fluffy gray pelt of Graypaw, sitting between two young mollies, one tortoiseshell, one a soft brown. So many cats have gathered, with so many different pelts, it’s hard to register them all before Bluestar calls everyone’s attention.

“ThunderClan has been strong for longer than I have been leader,” the blue molly atop the high boulder begins. “Which is why it troubles me that we have so few apprentices in training. It has been decided that we will take in an outsider to train with us to become a warrior.”

Surprised mutters and questions break out among the Clan, but Bluestar silences them with a yowl. “I have found a young fox who wishes to become an apprentice of ThunderClan.”

“A fox!!” One voice rings out above the shocked murmurs of the gathered cats. “Are you looking to strengthen our numbers or sentence us all to death!?”

Ruscus cranes his neck to find the culprit. A cream tom with striking black tabby stripes is standing, glaring defiantly at the leader.

Bluestar ignores the tabby and addresses everyone at once. “Whitestorm and Lionheart have met this fox, and and they have both witnessed his skill. He has their blessing and mine to train with the other apprentices.”

Ruscus looks up at the warriors beside him, then back toward the rest of the Clan to notice every eye is on him now. A deafening silence settles over the camp. Ruscus swallows uncomfortably, certain that every cat can hear his pounding heart and smell his anxiety. All at once, a deafening cacophany of yowls come from the gathered cats.

“How do we train a fox?”

“What would the other Clans think of this?”

“Does it even speak our language? Can it understand us?”

One yowl in particular rises above the rest. “This creature’s not one of us! Foxes can’t be warriors!” Ruscus recognizes the hiss of the pale tabby. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going to fall asleep tonight and it’s going to start tearing throats out. Or worse! It’ll lead its fox friends right into camp!”

Lionheart bends down to hiss into Ruscus’s ear. “That’s Longtail, one of our newer warriors. He can smell your fear. We all do. You must prove to the Clan that fear won’t hold you back.”

Ruscus couldn’t move. How could he possibly prove himself to this collection of cats? Each and every one of them watches him, waiting for him to make a move. He couldn’t fight to prove himself; that will only reaffirm the cats’ fear of foxes. No, he would have to take a different approach.

“Foxes can’t speak our tongue, foxes can’t learn our ways, and foxes certainly can’t fight with honor,” the tabby continues. Ruscus can see him in the middle of the sea of pelts, thin tail lashing. “He’d kill any cat he battles, if he doesn’t kill us first!”

“You’re wrong,” Ruscus yips softly, standing and turning to face the heckling cat. “I’m willing to bet I speak feline better than you. I know your code by heart without once stepping foot in this camp. And I’d bet on my life that I fight with more honor than you specifically.”

A hush falls over the camp. Only the cats who had met Ruscus prior seemed to expect him to be able to speak, and even they seem surprised by his boldness.

Longtail hisses in frustration and spits back, “hah! A fox knowing the warrior code. I bet you don’t even know the first law--”

Ruscus cuts him off, lifting his head high and meeting his furious gaze calmly. “Defend your Clan, even with your life. Friendships with cats of other Clans are okay, but your loyalty must forever be to your own Clan, because you may one day meet your friends in battle.”

The tabby snarls, retorting, “Any kit knows that one--” but Ruscus doesn’t let him say more.

“Do not hunt or trespass in another Clan’s territory. Elders, queens, and the sick and injured must be fed before warriors and apprentices, and apprentices must hunt to feed the elders before eating unless they have permission. Prey is killed only to be eaten; thank StarClan for its life. A kit must be six moons old to become an apprentice. Newly appointed warriors must sit silent vigil for one night after receiving their name. A cat must have mentored at least one apprentice to qualify for the position of deputy. The deputy will become leader when the current leader dies, retires, or is exiled.” Ruscus continues to stare stoically at his adversary as the cats around them begin to yowl their surprise and entertainment at this fox not only speaking their language, but reciting their laws of life. “Should I keep going? Or are you just mad that some fox knows the code better than you?”

Ruscus can see spittle fly from Longtail’s furious lips as he yowls, “you mouse-brained, fox-hearted--!”

“I thought warriors fight with honor, not insults,” the young fox’s eyes are narrowed, sharp, issuing a clear challenge.

With a hiss of rage, Longtail leaps over several members of the crowd to land on Ruscus’s back. Claws unsheathed, he rips at the fox’s fur. Thinking fast, Ruscus drops and rolls onto his back, flattening his attacker. He feels a rush of satisfaction as the breath is audibly knocked from Longtail’s lungs. Continuing to roll, Ruscus returns to his paws and snarls, teeth bared.

Longtail tackles him again. The two become a whirlwind of pale and red fur, flashing claws and snarls. The rest of the cats have to leap backward to avoid them as they tumble and somersault around the center of the clearing, locked in a furious struggle. Ruscus feels his pelt sting with sharp clawmarks, and does his best to make sure Longtail feels the same pain. Desperate to end the fight, he lunges forward and clamps his jaws around Longtail’s throat, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to warn him. The cat immediately stops struggling, falling limp in Ruscus’s grip.

The air of the clearing is perfectly still. It seems as though all of ThunderClan are holding their breath, every eye trained on Ruscus where he pins the tom to the packed dirt floor. He feels Longtail’s racing pulse on his tongue, and each beat seems to span moons rather than split-seconds. He releases the cat abruptly, opening his jaws and taking several quick steps back to allow the warrior his space. 

His opponent draws in a sharp breath and scrambles to his paws, glaring fiery hatred at Ruscus. Longtail’s left ear is badly torn, and blood drips down his foreleg from a cut across his shoulder. Ruscus blinks as blood trickles into his right eye from a slash over his brow. Both fox and cat have tufts of fur sticking out and clumps of the other’s pelt between their claws. Hostility still hovering in the air, Ruscus waits for Longtail to make another move.

Bluestar leaps down from the highrock and places her body between the two, silencing the murmurs of the surrounding cats with a fierce caterwaul. “The newcomer has proven his honor in a battle with one of us. StarClan has spoken their approval--this fox has shown that against his predatory instinct, he will not kill an opponent unnecessarily, and his knowledge of our ways exceeds expectation.” Her authoritative yowl echoes around the clearing as she proclaims, “this fox is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

Ruscus rips his gaze from Longtail’s, and shifts to face Bluestar. He nods his acceptance, moving to stand next to her in a dapple of sunlight, filtering through the canopy. The light warms his pelt, soothing his aching muscles and making his red fur glow brilliantly. He lifts his head, proud, and gazes out at the surrounding cats. Their faces are a mix of emotions; some seem worried, some hopeful, some troubled, some excited.

Bluestar turns her muzzle to touch Ruscus’s forehead with her nose. “You look like a brand of flame in this sunlight,” she murmurs, the weight of her words carrying some hidden meaning Ruscus cannot decipher. Turning to address the entirety of the clan, the lean molly cries, “from this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be known as Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat and fierce spirit.” 

She turns to address Whitestorm where they sit nearby. “Whitestorm, it has been many seasons since your own training, and I expect you to pass down all you know to young Firepaw, as his mentor.” Bluestar’s eyes shine as she meets their gaze.

Whitestorm stands, nodding their acceptance, and pads toward Ruscus. Leaning down, they touch their nose to Ruscus’s forehead, and the two share a smile. Ruscus knows his eyes are shining with joy, and Whitestorm’s face is alight with exhiliration.

All at once, the ThunderClan cats erupt with cheers and yowls, calling Ruscus’s new name to the sky.

“Firepaw!”

“Welcome, Firepaw!”

“Congratulations, Firepaw!”

“Firepaw! Firepaw!”

His pelt fluffed up with pride as the Clan began to disperse. He noticed Longtail sneer and turn away, limping toward a hollow log and brushing past the ferns covering the opening. Most of the other cats split off into groups, murmuring in hushed, excited tones. Bluestar returns to the shade of the Highrock. Whitestorm gives his fox apprentice’s forehead a gentle lick before moving to approach a pair of warriors calling them over to eat. 

Ruscus--no, Firepaw--feels his heart soar. He glances around, taking in the sights and smells of his new home. For a moment, he worries that he’s asleep in his family den, about to be rudely woken by Tomato or Protea, but no. He’s actually here, in ThunderClan camp. It’s so much more than he could have dreamed up. It’s so unfathomably real.

Firepaw is a warrior apprentice at last.

Chapter Text

Firepaw stands in the clearing, still glowing with pride despite the cats of the Clan--his Clanmates!!--returning to their business. He can’t help wondering what his mother and siblings would say. Mama Nutmeg would be intensely proud, and Protea would be howling her excitement to StarClan. Tomato would be so jealous of his cool new name. He would try and fail to make fun of it. The young fox stares toward the gorse walls, head tilted, lost in thought.

“Hey, Firepaw!” Graypaw’s friendly mew snaps him out of his daydreaming. He grins at the sound of his new name, excited to get used to responding to it. Firepaw turns to greet his fellow apprentice with a friendly sniff, and Graypaw extends his nose in the same gesture.

“Great fight, Firepaw! You’re really small for a fox, but you sure showed Longtail what for!” Graypaw’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks toward the ferns behind which Longtail vanished. “You notched his ear good, huh? He won’t forget you in a hurry!”

“Thanks, Graypaw!” Firepaw yips back. “He put up quite a fight too!” He lifts his hind paw and ducks his head to wipe the pad carefully over the scratch across his brow. Nibbling some of Longtail’s fur out from between his claws, he asks, “where did Longtail go, anyway?”

“Probably to Spottedleaf’s den,” Graypaw explains. “She’s ThunderClan’s medic. She’s young but really talented, and very pretty.” He gets a starry look in his eyes for a moment, but blinks it away and gestures toward the fern-coated fallen log with his tail. “That’s where you’ll wanna go if you’re sick or injured.”

Firepaw nods his understanding. He slowly comes to realize that he has no idea where anything in ThunderClan is, save for Spottedleaf’s den. “Actually,” he woofs to Graypaw, “would you be willing to show me around camp?”

“Of course!” Graypaw purrs, motioning with his tail for Firepaw to follow. “You already know the Highrock. Bluestar makes all her announcements from there, and her den is underneath it.” Firepaw looks into the dug-out den hidden in the shadow of the boulder, but realizes he can’t see all the way into it.

“All the warriors sleep over here,” he continues, trotting over to a positively massive bush with low, sweeping branches. Firepaw can see a hollow, sheltered space within, dotted with moss nests. “Senior warriors sleep near the middle, where its warmest,” Graypaw keeps explaining, “and most warriors eat nearby. It’s a huge honor to be a younger warrior, and get invited to eat with the seniors.”

“What about cats who aren’t warriors?” Firepaw looks around at the other landmarks dotting the camp.

“Well,” Graypaw pads away from the warriors’ bush and approaches an impenetrable-looking tangle of brambles. “This is the nursery! Kits are cared for in here, and all queens--cats nursing or caring for kits--share the important job of watching after them.” He pauses to lick his paw and draw it over his ear. “When their kits are raised, most queens return to being warriors. Some cats become permanent queens, like Speckletail.”

As Firepaw stares openly at the knot of thorny branches, a pale ginger molly squirms out through a tiny gap in the front. He takes note of the entryway being too high off the ground for the youngest kits to reach, a genius design. A pale grey tabby with distinct black flecks appears from behind the bush, bonks her head against the ginger molly’s shoulder, and vanishes into the nursery, murmuring to the squealing kits within. Firepaw notices how the warriors’ bush stands sentry between the nursery and the camp’s entry tunnel. The kits will always be safest during an attack, it seems.

Graypaw trots toward the opposite end of camp, motioning for Firepaw to follow. He nods at a half-decayed fallen log shielding a patch of soft-looking green grass. “There’s the elders’ den,” he begins, “when warriors get on in age, or can’t perform their duties anymore for any reason, the Clan honors their service and they retire as an elder. It’s an apprentice’s duty to care for--”

He’s interrupted by a low warning yowl from an old gray tom laying near the log. The elder’s tiny ears are pricked, his eyes focused on the camp’s entrance. 

“Smallear smells trouble!” Graypaw meows, instantly alert.

Firepaw sniffs the air, and immediately a cat’s fear-scent assails his nose. He turns to follow the gray elder’s gaze just in time for a young cat to crash through the gorse and into camp. He was thin, more so than most cats. Apart from a tiny white patch on his chest and the tip of his tail, his entire pelt was jet-black.

“That’s Ravenpaw,” Graypaw gasps, “why is he alone? Where’s Tigerclaw and Redtail?”

Ravenpaw staggers across the clearing. He breathes heavily, gasping as though he’d just run at breakneck speed. His coat is ruffled and shiny with blood, and his eyes are wild with fear. Cats from around the clearing are coming forward, murmuring questions and concern.

Bluestar races forward from the shade of the Highrock. “Ravenpaw?” She speaks calmly, but worry clouds her bright blue eyes. “What is it? What has happened?” When Ravenpaw just stands there, shaking with fear and unresponsive, she leaps onto the Highrock and yowls, “speak, Ravenpaw!”

Ravenpaw jumps as though startled out of a vision, and turns to look frantically at the crowd of cats surrounding him. With a worried look at Bluestar, he finally blurts, “Redtail is dead!”

Shocked yowls rise from the ThunderClan cats, and Ravenpaw shifts his weight uncomfortably. “W-we met five Ri-RiverClan warriors beside the stream, not far from S-Sunningrocks,” he yowls shakily, barely able to get some of the words out. “O-Oakheart was there!”

Oakheart! Firepaw knows that name! That’s RiverClan’s deputy! A pang of guilt strikes his heart like sharp fangs as he’s forced to think of Whitepaw. He shakes his head violently to clear his thoughts.

“R-Redtail warned Oakheart to keep his hunting parties out of ThunderClan territory. He said the next RiverClan warrior to be caught in our territory would be killed, but... Oa-Oakheart wouldn’t back down! He said his Clan m-must be fed, no matter what we threatened!” Ravenpaw wheezes for air. A wound on his shoulder continues to spatter the dirt around him with blood, and he tries to keep his weight off that foreleg. “Th-then they attacked us! I-it was a vicious fight. I-I saw Oakheart had Redtail pinned, but Redtail threw him off! And then Redtail-- Redtail...”

Ravenpaw’s eyes roll back in his head as he wobbles for a moment, then his eyelids fall shut and he collapses in a heap. The black-flecked grey tabby queen from before bounds forward and crouches at his side. She licks his cheek, and calls out with relief in her voice, “Spottedleaf!”

Bursting from the ferns covering her den, a lovely calico molly bounds across the clearing with sure steps. She hurries over to Ravenpaw, mewing, “stand back, Brindleface. Let me see.” Using her small pink nose, Spottedleaf rolls the black apprentice over to get a good look at his wound. She begins to wash the dust off, and purrs to calm the nearby queen. “His wounds aren’t fatal,” she mews between licks, “but I’ll need to fetch some cobwebs to stop the bleeding.”

As Spottedleaf sprints back to her den, a long, mournful howl emanates from the opening in the gorse. As all eyes turn toward the source, a massive dark brown and black tabby staggers through the tunnel. In his jaws he carries the scruff of a lifeless body, the only earthly remains of a ThunderClan cat. 

Chapter Text

The dark tabby begins to lurch forward. He drags the battered corpse of his clanmate to the center of the clearing. Firepaw catches a glimpse of half-closed amber eyes among the tortoiseshell body, limp black paws, and fluffy ginger tail as the dark tabby walks past him. 

Beside him, Graypaw drops into a crouch as grief overtakes him. “Redtail...!”

“How did this happen, Tigerclaw?” Bluestar demands from her place atop the Highrock. Firepaw can see the despair in her eyes.

Tigerclaw lowers his head and lets Redtail’s scruff fall from his mouth. He stands tall and looks up at Bluestar, the emotion in his eyes unreadable. “He died honorably in battle with RiverClan, murdered by Oakheart. I couldn’t save him,” Tigerclaw’s meow is deep and powerful as he continues, “but I managed to take Oakheart’s life while he was gloating over his victory.” He dips his head toward Redtail’s body at his paws. “His death was not in vain. I doubt we will see RiverClan hunters in our territory again.”

The gathered cats are silent for a few heartbeats. After a pause, several members of the Clan step forward to lick Redtail’s ruffled fur into place. They purr hushed words to their dead clanmate as they bathe his body.

Firepaw leans close to Graypaw and whispers in his ear, “what are they doing?”

Graypaw’s eyes are clouded with grief. He doesn’t take them off the fallen warrior as he replies, “his spirit is with StarClan now, but ThunderClan will share tongues with Redtail one last time.” As if in a trance, Graypaw moves to do just that, crouching by Redtail and purring as he licks his fur.

Bluestar had stood in silence for some time. She watches as her clanmates pay their respects, then leaps from the Highrock and slowly pads toward Redtail’s body. The other cats retreat as she approaches, letting her share her final moments with her friend.

Several moments of silence pass before Bluestar lifts her head. Her voice is heavy with sadness as she speaks, and everyone else listens in solemn silence. “Redtail was... An incredible warrior. His loyalty lied not only in ThunderClan, but in each and every one of his Clanmates. He was the best deputy I could have asked for,” she meows, her eyes misting with sorrow. “I could always rely on his judgement. He cared so much more for all of us than for himself. He would have made a fine leader.” Her eyes close slowly as she finishes, “I will miss him dearly.” 

As she finishes her speech, Bluestar lowers herself to her belly, paws stretched neatly before her, head bowed and tail straight. Several other cats approach, copying her pose, mourning their deputy together. Firepaw watches, and though he did not know Redtail, he can’t help feeling the pain of the Clan.

Graypaw returns, sitting beside Firepaw, eyes cast down at his paws. “I can’t imagine how Dustpaw feels,” he mumbles.

Firepaw looks at him, head tilted. “Dustpaw?”

“Ravenpaw’s brother, that brown-striped tabby over there.” Graypaw gestures with his tail. “Redtail was mentoring him. I wonder who his new mentor’s gonna be.”

Firepaw glances at the young tom, crouched next to Redtail’s body and staring vacantly at the ground. He looks over the other cats laying nearby, and his eyes stop on Bluestar. “How long will they stay with him?”

“All night,” replied Graypaw. “It’s tradition for the cats closest to someone who dies to sit silent vigil with them before the burial.” His eyes shine with sorrow. “He may not have been as big or powerful as Tigerclaw or Lionheart, but Redtail was a great warrior.”

Firepaw looks over at Tigerclaw. His broad shoulders and powerful muscles allude to him being no pushover. One of his ears is sliced at the top, splitting it into a V-shape, and a deep scar marks the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, he stands and stalks over to Ravenpaw. Spottedleaf is crouched beside the injured apprentice, using her front paws to wrap his wound with cobwebs. Firepaw watches, curiosity in his eyes.

Graypaw seems to notice the look on the fox’s face. “Let’s go see how Ravenpaw’s doing.” He brushes against Firepaw’s side, walking with him to wait a respectful distance away.

“Spottedleaf,” Tigerclaw’s meow holds little concern. “How is he? Can you save him?” When she prioritizes caring for her patient over responding to him, Tigerclaw continues, “I’ve spent too much time training him to lose him in the first battle.”

The medic doesn’t even look up as she meows, “oh yes, it would be a pity if all your hard work went to waste,” Firepaw can nearly hear her rolling her eyes.

“Will he survive?” Tigerclaw’s tone is demanding, insistent.

“Is StarClan watching us?” she snaps back. “Leave him be, Tigerclaw. He needs rest, and the wound needs to close.”

Tigerclaw dips his head respectfully, murmuring, “of course. You know best, Spottedleaf.” As he turns to leave, his eyes fall on Firepaw and Graypaw. He stiffens. “Who is this?” Tigerclaw towers above Firepaw, but the young fox can tell he’s hesitant at the sight of him.

“He’s the new apprentice,” Graypaw mews.

“A fox kit?” the warrior snorts.

“I speak feline,” Firepaw pipes up, determined to prove himself, “and I’m honored to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

Tigerclaw looks at him with sudden interest. “That’s right... I recall. Bluestar mentioned she’d found a fox who spoke cat. She’s really letting you join, then?”

Firepaw sits up straight, trying to impress the warrior. “That’s right,” he yips respectfully.

The dark tabby tom looks Firepaw up and down, blinking thoughtfully. “I will be keeping an eye on your progress.” He turns and stalks away, tailtip twitching.

Firepaw puffs his chest out, tail fluffing up with pride. “Do you think he liked me??”

“I don’t think Tigerclaw likes anyone,” whispers Graypaw. 

Ravenpaw’s ear twitches and one of his eyes opens, peering around cautiously, equally as fearful as before he passed out. “Is he gone?” His mew is hushed, barely audible.

“Tigerclaw? Yeah,” Graypaw purrs, padding forward to sit beside Ravenpaw. “He’s gone.”

“Hi, Ravenpa--” Firepaw almost gets a chance to introduce himself, but is interrupted by Spottedleaf.

“Go away, both of you!” she hisses, flicking her tail impatiently. “How am I supposed to help this cat with so many noses poking into my business?” She forces herself between her patient and the two prying apprentices. Firepaw understands that she’s serious, despite the playful glimmer in her amber eyes.

“Well, uh...” Graypaw steps back respectfully. “Erm... come on, Firepaw. I didn’t finish showing you around.” He turns and trots away, with Firepaw bounding after him to catch up.

The pair approach the half-decayed log Graypaw had pointed out as the elder’s den. Behind the log, lounging amid the lush grass, lay four elderly cats, sharing a plump dead rabbit amongst them.

“Hello, youngsters,” purred the gray tom who’d alerted the camp to trouble earlier. “Camp smells an awful lot like fox today, hmmm?” His playful comment earns chuckles from the other elders.

“Hello, Smallear,” Graypaw mews respectfully, shooting an apologetic glance at Firepaw.

“This gotta be our hot to trot new apprentice. Firepaw, ain’t it?” another tom meows, looking Firepaw over nose to tailtip. His dark-brown tabby fur is missing in patches, and his tail ends abruptly in a stump halfway.

“That’s me,” Firepaw trills softly, dipping his head in respect. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, kit. Name’s Sparrowpelt,” purrs the deep brown tabby. “Welcome to ThunderClan.” Firepaw’s eyes shine, practically glowing with the feeling of acceptance those simple words bring.

“You two eat anything yet?” Smallear chirps, flicking one of his little rounded ears.

Graypaw and Firepaw look at each other. At the thought of food, Firepaw feels his stomach grumble. Three of the elders purr with laughter.

“Well, there’s plenty to go ‘round,” purrs Sparrowpelt. “Ey, Whiteeye! Care if these lil paws share a mouse?”

The pale, almost-white, grey molly laying beside him shakes her head. As she turns a smile toward Firepaw, he notes that one of her eyes is clouded and sightless. The other is a vibrant, lively yellow.

“Howzabout you, Dappletail? No fur off your scruff?”

The fourth elder, a tortoiseshell molly with a full silver muzzle, meows her reply in a voice cracked with her age. “Of course not. They’re apprentices--missing one meal could stunt their growth!” Dappletail nods sagely.

Sparrowpelt picks a fat mouse off the pile and drops it. Using one paw, he bats it toward the apprentices. “You heard ‘er. Eat up!”

“Thank you!” Firepaw and Graypaw speak in unison before tucking in together. It’s a wonderful experience, sharing prey. What helped strengthen bonds between Firepaw and his littermates would go on to strengthen the bonds between him and his new Clanmates. As the apprentices eat, they listen to the elders chat amongst themselves.

“How long do you think it’ll be before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?” Smallear meows before taking a bite of rabbit. He pushes it toward Sparrowpelt.

“What was that, Smallear?” mews Whiteeye.

“Yer hearin’s gettin’ as bad as yer eyesight, darlin’!” snaps Sparrowpelt. “He asked how long ‘till Bluestar appoints her next deputy!”

Whiteeye ignores his snarky response and turns to her fellow elder molly. “Dappletail, d’you remember the day Bluestar herself was appointed deputy?”

Dappletail purred thoughtfully, “oh, of course. It wasn’t long after she lost her kits.” She reaches out to take the rabbit from Sparrowpelt, has a nibble, and passes it to Whiteeye.

As Firepaw sits up, letting Graypaw have the last bite of mouse, he licks the lingering flavor of prey from his muzzle. He looks around briefly, and notices Bluestar leaping onto the highrock. 

The lean blue molly adjusts her stance before yowling. “Let us give our thanks for the life of Redtail. Tonight, he sits with our ancestors among the stars.” She allows the cats below a few moments of silence and remembrance before continuing.

“I must name ThunderClan’s new deputy. I say these words before the body of Redtail, so that his spirit may hear and approve my choice.” She stares for a heartbeat down at the expectant faces of her Clan. Firepaw looks around, and notices Tigerclaw staring up at her. He seems hopeful, or perhaps... eager.

“Lionheart,” she calls out, “will be ThunderClan’s deputy.”

Curious to see Tigerclaw’s reaction, Firepaw’s eyes flick to his face immediately. But the dark tabby’s amber eyes reveal nothing as he stands to congratulate Lionheart with a nudge so strong it almost knocks the golden tabby off his feet. He wonders why Bluestar made the choice she did.

Bluestar speaks again, “Redtail was also mentor to Dustpaw. There must be no delay in the training of our apprentices; thus, I must appoint Dustpaw a new mentor immediately. Darkstripe, I believe you are ready for your first apprentice. Tigerclaw taught you well, and I expect you to pass on your skill to Dustpaw in turn.”

A deep gray tabby with night-black stripes steps forward, eyes shining with pride, and nods his approval. He strides over to Dustpaw, bends his head, and awkwardly touches noses with his new apprentice. Dustpaw nods respectfully, but his eyes are dull with grief for his former mentor.

Bluestar raises her voice one last time. “I will keep vigil with Redtail’s body tonight, before we bury him at sunrise.” She jumps down from the Highrock and returns to her place crouching beside Redtail’s body. Several other cats joined her, Dustpaw and Smallear among them. Firepaw notices Spottedleaf glancing at the darkening evening sky with sorrow in her eyes.

Graypaw stands beside him. “Only those closest to Redtail will share his final night, so...” He looks slightly uncomfortable, and motions with his head. “I’ll show you where we sleep.”

Graypaw leads Firepaw to a thick bush of ferns nestled behind a mossy tree stump. He pushes his way through the ferns, beckoning to Firepaw with his tail. Firepaw follows, sniffling about the fern spores that tickle his nose. Inside, the the ground is lined with soft moss, and the ferns turn the moonlight a pale shade of green. The air is fragrant with greenery, and warmer than the air of the camp.

“Where do I sleep?” Firepaw asks, tilting his head.

“Anywhere,” Graypaw purrs, “just gather some moss into a nest.”

Firepaw rakes together a cozy moss nest with his claws. He circles his makeshift bed a few times, patting the center down with his paws, before curling up within. He’s a ThunderClan apprentice now. Despite the warmth of the den, and the comfortable feeling that he finally belongs, he feels his heart sinking. He’s a ThunderClan apprentice now. Whitepaw is a RiverClan cat. They’re enemies now. ...Whitepaw... 

As he drifts off to sleep, Firepaw hopes his lingering regret won’t chase him through his dreams.