Chapter Text
"Grousetail! Grousetail, are you there?"
Flipstar rounded the corner of the tall rock, peering into the small cave in its hollow area, his paws grazing against the dry grass. Weak coughing reverberated from the cave, and Flipstar pressed his head through the lichen curtain. His deputy and his old friend, the dark gray tabby Grousetail, was curled up in the shade, his flank heaving with difficulty to simply breathe. Flipstar padded in, against Aspenwhisker's original advice, and sat near his friend—definitely in a range that would have given him greencough if infection was instantaneous.
"Flipstar," Grousetail murmured, his voice hoarse and throat obviously scratched, before he erupted in a tornado of wheezes again. He looked scrawny, much slighter than Flipstar's figure. His pelt was thin and barely clung onto his ribs, and his bones jutted out of his fur. Flipstar inched closer and curled his tail around his friend, softly nosing his fur. Grousetail rose his head from his paws, and he looked so small, so frail at that moment, as if he were a sick elder. He seemed delirious as he meowed, "Still careless now that you're leader. Before you know it, those nine lives will be gone, torn apart by the claws of 'mor—" his rant was cut off by a wheeze, and he hacked up a bit before he glanced back at Flipstar, his eyes now clear and glistening with sharp wit. "Ah, yes, what was I saying? What are you doing here? Aspenwhisker told you to stay away."
"Do you think Morningpaw is ready to be a warrior?" Flipstar inquired, finally voicing his reason for the visit. Grousetail's interest was piqued, his pale blue eyes cleared of most lethargy as Flipstar went on. "The Clan doesn't have many warriors right now, I'm afraid. I've spoken to Juniperlight, and she thinks Palepaw should be a warrior too. Morningpaw is good at fighting, and she's got your intelligence. Her presence is appreciated, and I think she's got the heart of a warrior. What do you think?"
Grousetail seemed to ponder the question for a moment, his eyes visualizing the torrent of questions within his mind. Then he nodded, his eyes clamped shut, and he gave a sigh. "Yes, I hear what you're saying. Morningpaw is a good apprentice. She's headstrong, but she's went through the split and losing her best friend. She deserves to be a warrior."
The tom seemed to falter, and the momentary intrigue in his eyes dispatched. He laid his chin on his paws and curled his tail around himself. Flipstar cleared his throat and meowed, "Do you have any names in mind? I'm thinking Morningtail or Morningwing."
"I feel Morningclaw is more fitting." Grousetail offered, giving a shallow purr. "She uses claws over teeth commonly. It's something I've tried to help, but her fighting prowess lingers within her continuously. She'll be a good warrior, but she needs to practice her hunting skills more. I trust you with setting up her assessment."
"Thank you, Grousetail," Flipstar gave his deputy a grateful look. He ran his tongue through his friend's fur, and the two sat in the soft serenity of the moment, sharing tongues. When they had finished, Grousetail gave a respectful bow to Flipstar as the dark ginger tabby tom exited the cave. Just as he left, Aspenwhisker's sleek silver tabby pelt padded into view. Stalks of catmint and borage hung from his maw. Behind him trailed a bored-looking Ripplepaw, who was carrying various smaller herbs. His tail twitched impatiently, but he helped carry the herbs into the medicine den anyway. The hum of quiet conversation faded from behind him as Flipstar approached a sunbathing Morningpaw.
"Morningpaw," Flipstar called the molly, and immediately the tortoiseshell jerked upward and leapt to her paws. Her muscles tense and stiff, she gave a nod to her leader. Flipstar was impressed by how respectful the apprentice was, and touched her shoulder with the tip of his tail. "Your mentor and I have been discussing your skill, and we think you're ready to become a warrior. Prepare for your assessment later."
Morningpaw's eyes twinkled hearing Flipstar's words. She bowed gratefully, but the subtle tremble in her legs out of barely containable excitement. Flipstar touched his nose to hers and strode back to his den, where Bonehollow and Juniperlight, the only able warriors at the time, were chatting quietly in front of the warriors' den. He craned his head to glance at the apprentices' den again. Morningpaw, pelt prickling, was excitedly pacing about in front of its entrance, while Curlpaw and Rainpaw watched her, puzzled. Palepaw was sitting at the edge of the camp, trying her best not to burst with anticipation. Kitepaw was still on patrol. Troutpaw—his own apprentice—was curled up comfortably near the rocks, his tabby pelt absorbing much fresh sunlight. Cricketpaw was nowhere to be seen.
Flipstar entered the shadowy crevice that was his den, with a small little rivulet from a splinter in the wall treading from the stone to a pool in the marshy grass. His nest lay just next to the stream, and he almost collapsed into it. He promised himself he would wake up later, and if he didn't Juniperlight would be there to screech in his ears. As he began to slip into a daze, the world around him beginning to dissolve in a flurry of color, he wondered how long this peace would last within this Clan—his Clan.
Flipfang's eyes narrowed at the blanket of snow accumulated within the vast moors. Snowfall was violent, and soon enough his pelt was rife with flecks of soft fleet. Every touch of snow to his fur sent a chill through his body, like a bolt of lightning, but he still needed to go on. The only sources of warmth in this snowstorm was Grousetail, at his right side with their flanks brushing, and Morningpaw, at his left side, carrying a scrawny mouse, touching its gray body to her chest to hide it from getting coated with snow.
"Flipfang!" A shrill wail split the stagnant air, but Flipfang could barely hear the call of his own name over the roar of the weather. When his ears picked up on the shriek again, now more vivid, he craned his neck to look at the source of the yell. It was Juniperlight, snow up to her haunches, frantically scrabbling in the blanket of white. She appeared to be looking for something, and grief welled in her green-yellow eyes.
"What's going on?" Flipfang demanded, shouldering through the flood of snow on the moorland and through the cluster of cats within his group. The tall molly whirled around to look at her leader, her eyes wide with horror.
"Rockpaw is gone!" She screeched, lashing her tail in frustration and defeat. "He was behind me earlier, but Ripplepaw noticed he was gone when it was too late. Help me find him!"
"We don't have time, Flipfang!" Grousetail reminded them. Juniperlight glared sharply at the smoky gray tom, her amber eyes narrowed to slits at him in seething anger. The gray tom hobbled forward through the thick sheet of snow, his voice suddenly blanketed by the wind as he mewed, "We don't have time to save an apprentice when the entire Clan is at risk of freezing to death in this storm!"
"Grousetail's right," Bonehollow gruffly responded, padding forward to touch flanks with the other tom. Flipfang wondered if Bonehollow could even feel the same piercing sheen of cold that terrorized the rest of his cats, with his thick, unruly fur that made him look more like a cloud with paws. Flipfang could see Bonehollow's breath billow out in a web of smoke, softly touching Grousetail's flicking ear. "We have more apprentices, anyway. For all we know, he slipped away to run away to the Nofurs."
"You're all feather-brained!" Juniperlight hissed, the fur along her tail raised like pine needles. "Rockpaw would never run away. It was his life's dream to be a warrior!"
"His brother is in ConstellationClan," Flipfang meowed hesitantly, sharing a glance with Grousetail. Shrugging, he whispered, the snowstorm howling violently, "He could have slipped away to find him. Rustpaw was everything to Rockpaw, after their parents left MilkClan. For all we know, he could have changed his mind."
Juniperlight pounced through the snow and landed in front of Flipfang, pushing her muzzle into his. "You know nothing of your own cats. You'll never be our true leader!"
And suddenly, the wind whirled angrily and the sky roared. The snow gave out from underneath his paws, and Flipfang was hauled into a void, the darkness dotted with little eyes like stars, watching him blankly as he fell, fell, fell farther away from the bleak scene of the snowstorm, yowling his anguish into the nothingness.
"No! No!"
He blinked sleep out of his eyes and stood up. He crouched and arched his back in a stretch, flexing her claws into the grass. He ambled out of his den, his pelt still heavy with sluggishness, so he shook it and disappeared into a whirl of fur. Once he finished, he continued out and gazed up at the sky. The darkness of dawn had subsided and given way to the broken light of nearing sunhigh. Flipstar looked back to the apprentices' den. Morningpaw was sparring playfully with Palepaw along the rocks, while Rainpaw, Curlpaw and Kitepaw were sharing prey near the pile of moss-lathered stones. Cricketpaw was still gone, alongside Ripplepaw and Troutpaw now. He caught a grumbling Bonehollow in his periphery, and he turned to face the heavyset ragged tom.
"Where's Cricketpaw gone now?" Bonehollow rasped, though Flipstar wasn't sure whether he was asking the question to him or to himself. The tom shifted, yet the action was lost under his thick fur making him look more like a holly bush than a cat. "I told him we'd go to patrol the BirdClan border. That was last night! He's been gone since dawn!"
Almost on cue, Cricketpaw sprung out of the bushes, shape edged with soft light, and landed swiftly on his paws with some twigs and leaves still embedded in his smooth fur. He craned his neck to look at the litter along his pelt, and he shook his fur.
"Cricketpaw! What were you doing out?" Bonehollow snarled, trotting over to his apprentice. Flipstar could tell in his body language that the tom was tired, every drag of his paws scraping against the ground as if they were stone. Cricketpaw glanced up at his mentor, a rebellious glint in his amber eyes, and he pushed past Bonehollow's fur. He gave a snarl and, before Cricketpaw could fully exit the situation, he whirled his paw at the tabby and batted his tail. Cricketpaw spun around and Bonehollow growled, "You know very well that you're not permitted to go out without an adult."
Cricketpaw raised his chin and stared at his mentor challengingly. "I know. I was just making dirt."
"Making dirt from newleaf until leaf-fall?" Bonehollow gave a hoarse laugh, before he raised his paw and cuffed his apprentice's ears. Cricketpaw's eyes flew shut and he hissed lightly. The fuzzy-pelted tom had heard it, however, as he roared, "You should be lucky I'm not dragging you to the Dark Forest and back! You'll never be a functional help to this Clan if you don't get disciplined anytime soon!"
Cricketpaw's eyes were wide at the sharpness of the warrior's words, and Flipstar's tail twitched seeing the genuine hurt in his eyes. It's what you get for being disobedient, he justified it to himself. As Bonehollow continued to chew his apprentice out, Flipstar whipped around and began to pad toward the apprentices' den.
Morningpaw had Palepaw pinned to the fallen birch trunk nestled in the corner of the camp, right next to the woven brambles that protected the apprentices' den entrance. The ginger-and-cream apprentice was pummeling Morningpaw's belly with her hind legs, and each blow culminated into one massive kick as she struck Morningpaw's hind legs out from under her. Morningpaw was sent flying into the air and landed on her back on the stone with a thump, and Palepaw scrabbled to her paws and leapt onto Morningpaw to restrain her. The two wrestled playfully for a bit until Morningpaw managed to nudge Palepaw all the way back to the fallen trunk and lock her under her strong paws against the bark. Palepaw aimed a blow at Morningpaw's muzzle, and as Morningpaw's face shot to the left Palepaw wriggled from under her and leapt on her back, earning a yelp from the other apprentice.
"They're fine apprentices, aren't they?" Flipstar glanced over his shoulder and saw Juniperlight's towering figure, eyes wispy with pride, gazing at the scuffle. She turned her sharp amber gaze on him. "I've talked with Grousetail. We've agreed on a time for the assessment—at sundown."
Flipstar dipped his head to the cinnamon tabby molly, a spark of surprise lingering in the back of his mind that she had personally spoken to Grousetail. He turned back to the pair of sparring apprentices—Palepaw was licking her chest, smoothing her ruffled fur, while Morningpaw was trotting around her in a circle while chattering like a chaffinch. He was somewhat caught off-guard by Morningpaw's attitude around the other apprentices. She had always been the quietest during training and the most respectful. She's like a less snappy version of Grousetail.
Amused, Flipstar padded forward and brushed his tail on the ground to alert the two apprentices. Immediately, Morningpaw scrambled to sit rigidly and curled her tail around her paws, and Palepaw placed her paw on the ground and puffed out her chest. Stammering, the former meowed, "Oh, good day, Flipstar!"
"Were you two playfighting?" Flipstar's whiskers twitched.
Palepaw's eyes widened and she shared a panicked glance with Morningpaw. Palepaw stuttered out, "Us! Playfighting! You've got it wrong, Flipstar. We... ahm... we're training. For our assessment. Yup. Not playing like a litter of kits!" But the glint of relief in Morningpaw's gaze hearing Palepaw's excuse gave away their lie. Well, there's no harm in taking the bait, he mused.
"I see." He meowed. "Well, for your assessment you'll be hunting anyway. Prepare yourselves. At sundown your mentors and I will meet you at the Burnt Oak, and then your assessment will start."
Palepaw's eyes shimmered with joy, being the token hunter of the Clan, while Morningpaw seemed slightly more downcast. She seemed ever so ready to show off her expertise in battle. Palepaw shoved the tortoiseshell, and she sat up straighter, alerted by her friend's nudge. Craning her head in a bow, the ginger point purred, "Yes! Thank you, Flipstar!" Then she drew her tail over the ridge of Morningpaw's spine, and meowed to her, "Come on, let's go practice your hunting. I'll help you."
"You don't need to help me! This'll be easy," the fiesty, competitive light in Morningpaw's eyes sparked once more, and as they trotted off to the camp entrance the remnants of their banter followed them out. Flipstar flicked an ear at the entrance and padded back to the clearing. Cricketpaw was hauling a large bundle of moss heavy with water toward the medicine cat's den below the Highrock, Bonehollow surveying him sharply from beside the warriors' den's entrance, while Curlpaw was kneading the ground impatiently as if she wanted to help him. Seeing Cricketpaw's tabby pelt reminded him that his apprentice Troutpaw and Ripplepaw were still missing, and he sidled up to Aspenwhisker, sitting outside the medicine den watching Cricketpaw with concern.
"Aspenwhisker?" The scruffy dark gray ton turned to look at him, startled by his leader's sudden appearance. As his fur flattened, Flipstar asked, "By any chance, has Ripplepaw said anything to you? He and Troutpaw have been gone for a while. I was looking to practice some battle training with Troutpaw."
Aspenwhisker shook his head. "No. But I did see them sneaking out of camp earlier in the day. Try asking Cricketpaw—they might have gone out to see him."
Cricketpaw! Of course! Flipstar could ask their friend. Touching his nose to Aspenwhisker's ear in gratitude for the clue, he hurried away and approached the sturdy Bonehollow, still in his same rigid sitting position as earlier. His amber eyes were locked so stiffly on his apprentice that he barely registered Flipstar sliding up to him. As he craned his head at once to groom his clotted fur, he caught sight of his leader and jerked violently with a squeal, before smoothing his ruffled fur and staring intensely at him. "Do you need anything?"
"I need to talk with Cricketpaw."
"Talk with Cricketpaw!" Bonehollow barked, as if he couldn't believe that the leader had just said those words. Lashing his tail, he growled, "Why, he's so up his own rump that he would think that he's StarClan's chosen just because the leader asked to speak privately with him, no matter what you say. And he's still doing his punishment! If you really need to, talk to him after his task. Though you'll be making him more insufferable." Then Bonehollow turned back to watch his apprentice. Flipstar's pelt buzzed with annoyance, and he hoped Bonehollow couldn't sense it. Who died and made you leader? He sunk his claw into the cracks between the stone and scraped it impatiently.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting and stressing over Troutpaw and Ripplepaw, Cricketpaw's sleek figure appeared from the medicine cats' den. His fur was ruffled and he spat out a mouthful of fur. It seemed like he also plucked ticks off of the dark gray tom alongside his bedding task. Immediately, Flipstar padded up to him, ignoring Bonehollow's grunt of displeasure, and Cricketpaw stared at him with hostile eyes as he approached. As Flipstar opened his jaws to speak, Cricketpaw swiftly cut him off and snarled, "Are you here to give me more tasks? I know. I don't care. Tell me to walk alone to ConstellationClan camp and kill their leader. Sure." Bitterness edged his mew.
"I'm not here to do any of that." Flipstar said sharply, and Cricketpaw flicked an ear lazily in disbelief. "I need to know where Troutpaw and Ripplepaw went. I'm supposed to train Troutpaw, and Aspenwhisker is looking for Ripplepaw."
Cricketpaw's anger faltered for a moment, and Flipstar hoped he would tell him. But the thought that his hostility had been thawed dissipated as he hissed, "I'm not telling you that! You're just acting for Bonehollow. He's probably hoping that I led them into some fox trap so he gets an opportunity to punish me." His ears drooped, and Flipstar felt awkward hearing the apprentice's suspicions about his mentor. I'm not sure if I picked the correct mentor for him. But he needed to be stern if he wanted to hear anything from him.
"Cricketpaw, tell me now," Flipstar commanded. The cinnamon tabby seemed unfazed—possibly due to his mentor's constantly guarded voice—but Flipstar held his ground. "This is an order from your leader. I promise you, I'm not conspiring with Bonehollow. I just want to know where they are."
Cricketpaw hesitated, scratching the back of his ear with his leg, but reluctantly he murmured, "Last I saw, they were taking off for the training hollow. Said they wanted to practice some battle moves together. They could be anywhere now, though."
Flipstar touched his nose to Cricketpaw's shoulder, but he noticed that the tom's slim muscles were tense. Pulling back, he murmured, "Thanks," and pelted to the camp entrance. It was already past sunhigh, maybe two hours before sundown, and he needed to find Troutpaw and Ripplepaw fast if he wanted to train Troutpaw before Morningpaw and Palepaw's assessments.
Blustering clumsily out of the entrance, flattening some nettles that stung his pads, he hurried forward into the forest. He passed the slim birch trees, growing high into the air, but as he looked up at the sky he tripped over a root. His paw pulsed in waves of pain, but he continued through the cluster of trees until he reached the familiar training hollow. The small clearing of dirt and stone was devoid of any cats. Flipstar padded forward and sniffed at the ground, trying to determine how long the two toms had been gone through their scent. Nosing through the rocks, he paused when he picked up a wisp of Troutpaw and Ripplepaw's scents interlaced. They had last been here a far while back.
Grunting, Flipstar followed their trail scent. He stalked through the grass, following the thread of their scent. As he continued on, their scents grew stronger and more vivid. He picked up the pace, dimly aware of the sun making its way down the sky. Palepaw and Morningpaw are going to be so upset if I call it off. I need to find them now! Padding forward, he practically raced through the trees, ignoring the trees that flew past his periphery. Suddenly he paused, inspecting the landscape even more—the trees were growing few and far between, and the grass was beginning to thicken. With a jolt, he realized that Troutpaw and Ripplepaw's scent trail was leading right toward the ConstellationClan border. He stopped just as the tallgrass clotted into a field.
Ahead of him, the quiet patter of pawsteps on earth flitted between his ears. The tallgrass began to quiver. Unsheathing his claws and sinking them into the earth, hissing furiously, a figure burst out of the undergrowth and barrelled into him, smothering him with fur. Flipstar screeched and clawed viciously at the tom, earning a squeal. With just one blow, the cat tumbled off and landed on the grass on his back with an oofff!—and Flipstar finally recognized his attacker.
It was Ripplepaw!
His mouth was agape as the tom struggled to his paws, Flipstar's nasty wound drawing blood. He moaned in pain and a sturdy, tall brown tom burst from the field. Troutpaw! He crouched beside Ripplepaw and gave his friend a few licks, seemingly still unaware that Flipstar was there. "Ripplepaw! What happened? I didn't think that ConstellationClan patrol would hurt you!" Then he turned and his gaze locked on Flipstar's paws. Following his body, up his legs to his chest and finally to his face, he stared at his leader incredulously and reacted with a yowl once he had realized that his leader was, indeed, standing there in the flesh and he wasn't imagining things.
"Ah, F–Flipstar!" He stammered, standing up and bowing stiffly. His pelt was ruffled and one of his claws were torn. Turning to Ripplepaw, Flipstar noted that the stout gray tabby, aside from his bleeding wound, had his fur tangled in some places, and along his flank were leaf litter. Both of them had obviously gotten into a scuffle with ConstellationClan.
"What happened to you two?" Flipstar demanded, his voice edgy with frustration. In no way was he pleased to discover that two of his apprentices had intentionally aggravated a rival Clan—his former Clanmates, too! They had chosen to stray from Havenstar's group. He wasn't happy to think that Havenstar could believe that SableClan was crawling back to them right after he had just established their Clan as independent. "Did you pick a fight with a ConstellationClan patrol?"
"No!" Troutpaw's reply was shocked, as if he were perplexed that Flipstar would even accuse them of such a thing. Huddling closer to his friend, still lying on the ground, he meowed, "I–I mean, we didn't do it intentionally. We didn't notice we'd crossed the border." His voice grew small. "We're sorry."
Flipstar blinked at him. He could detect the genuine regret in his tone. By the way Ripplepaw purred in agreement, he guessed that the other apprentice was similarly sorry. Glancing at the both of them, he said, "I believe you. The ConstellationClan border hasn't been marked as much—both Havenstar and I agreed that we would leave one another in peace. But you must still remember to stay near the territory that you know to be ours." His voice softened. "I see they treated you fairly?"
"Yes, Flipstar, very fairly," Ripplepaw croaked, craning his neck to give a few licks to his wound that had dried. Flipstar felt a pang of alarm remembering that he had accidentally given the tabby a wound that was deep enough to bleed. Turning his back on the apprentices, he meowed, "We've got to get back to camp. It's almost sundown."
Both of them nodded gingerly and Flipstar stood up and began to lead them out of the fields into the forest. The birches cast slim shadows like stripes along the forest floor, contrast to the pale grass. Anxiety pooled in his gut watching the sun's slow descent, and he picked up the pace, pelting through the forest. He could hear the clumsy steps of the two apprentices behind him, Ripplepaw's grunts of effort barely distinguishable within the blood pumping through his veins.