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Chapter Text

Thunderclan

Leader: Bluestar - blue-grey she-cat with silver fur growing around her muzzle. (She/Her)

Mates: Rosetail, Thrushpelt

Kits: Stonestep, Mistyfoot, Mosstail, Starlingclaw, Ambershine, Raccoonheart

Parent: Moonflower

Deputy: Redtail - small tortoiseshell ftm tom with a distinctive ginger tail. (He/Him)

Kits: Sandpaw

Parents: Sparrowpelt, White-eye 

Siblings: Spottedthorn, Willowpelt

Medicine Cat: Featherwhisker - a soft grey cat with sky blue eyes. (They/Them)

Apprentice: Spottedthorn (Spottedleaf) - a beautiful dark tortoiseshell she-cat with a distinctive dappled coat. (She/Her)

Parents: Sparrowpelt, White-eye 

Siblings: Willowpelt, Redtail

Warriors (Toms and she-cats not in the nursery or elders den.)

Lionheart - a magnificent golden tabby tom with thick fur like a lion's main. (He/Him)

Apprentice: Greypaw 

Tigerstorm (Tigerclaw) - a big dark brown tabby tom with unusually long front claws. (He/Him)

Mates: Starlingclaw, Whitecloud

Kits: Greypaw, Duskstripe, Ravenpaw 

Apprentice: Firepaw

Whitecloud (Whitestorm) - big white tom. (He/Him)

Mates: Starlingclaw, Tigerstorm 

Kits: Greypaw, Duskstripe, Ravenpaw

Parent: Snowfur

Starlingclaw (Scourge/Tiny) - a small, jet black tom with a singular white paw and icy blue eyes. (He/Him)

Mates: Tigerstorm, Whitecloud 

Kits: Greypaw, Duskstripe, Ravenpaw

Parents: Jake, Quince

Adopted Parents: Bluestar, Thrushpelt, Rosetail

Siblings: Ambershine, Raccoonheart

Adopted Siblings: Mosstail, Stonestep, Mistyfoot 

Duskstripe (Darkstripe) - sleek black and grey tabby. (He/They)

Parents: Tigerstorm, Whitecloud, Starlingclaw

Siblings: Ravenpaw, Greypaw 

Willowpelt - a pale white she-cat with soft blue eyes and red speckles near the tip of her tail. (She/Her)

Mate: Lionheart

Siblings: Redtail, Spottedthorn 

Longtail - pale tabby tom with dark black stripes. (He/Him)

Parents: Willowpelt, Lionheart

Sibling: Runningwind

Apprentice: Smudgepaw

Ambershine (Ruby) - a pale grey she-cat with amber eyes. (She/Her)

Parents: Jake, Quince

Adopted Parents: Bluestar, Thrushpelt, Rosetail

Siblings: Raccoonheart, Starlingclaw

Adopted Siblings: Mosstail, Mistyfoot, Stonestep

Raccoonheart (Socks) - a white and black splotched tom with green eyes. (He/Him)

Parents: Jake, Quince

Adopted Parents: Rosetail, Thrushpelt, Bluestar

Siblings: Starlingclaw, Ambershine

Adopted Siblings: Mistyfoot, Mosstail, Stonestep

Runningwind - swift tabby tom (He/They)

Parents: Willowpelt, Lionheart

Sibling: Longtail 

Apprentice: Dustpaw

Mistyfoot - a blue-grey she-cat (She/Her)

Parents: Bluestar, Thrushpelt, Rosetail

Siblings: Stonestep, Mosstail, Starlingclaw, Ambershine, Raccoonheart

Apprentice: Ravenpaw

Stonestep (Stonefur) - a dark grey tom with small brown spots. (He/Him)

Parents: Bluestar, Rosetail, Thrushpelt

Siblings: Mistyfoot, Mosstail, Starlingclaw, Ambershine, Raccoonheart 

Mosstail (Mosskit) - a soft blue she-cat with a tail similar to Rosetail's. (She/Her)

Parents: Bluestar, Thrushpelt, Rosetail

Siblings: Stonestep, Mistyfoot, Starlingclaw, Ambershine, Raccoonheart

Mousefur - small dusky brown she-cat (She/They)

Parents: Unknown

Siblings: Unknown

Apprentices

Dustpaw - a dark brown tabby tom (He/Him)

Parents: Unknown

Greypaw - long-haired solid grey tom (He/Him)

Parents: Tigerstorm, Whitecloud, Starlingclaw

Siblings: Duskstripe, Ravenpaw

Ravenpaw - small, skinny, jet black cat with a small white dash on his chest and a white-tipped tail. (He/They/Them)

Parents: Whitecloud, Tigerstorm, Starlingclaw

Siblings: Greypaw, Duskstripe

Sandpaw - pale ginger she-cat (She/Her)

Parent: Redtail

Firepaw - a bright ginger tom with bright green eyes. (He/Him)

Parents: Jake, Nutmeg

Siblings: Princess, Tommy, Filou, Luna

Smudgepaw (Smudge) - a black and white smudged tom with deep blue eyes (He/Him)

Queens and Caretakers (she-cats with kits or toms who raise kits)

Frostfur - beautiful white she-cat with water blue eyes

Mate: Goldenflower 

Brindleface - a pretty tabby she-cat 

Goldenflower - a soft golden she-cat with amber eyes

Sibling: Lionheart

Mate: Frostfur

Speckletail - a pale tabby she-cat 

Thrushpelt - a sandy brown tom with forest green eyes. (He/Him)

Mates: Bluestar, Rosetail

Kits: Mistyfoot, Ambershine, Stonestep, Starlingclaw, Raccoonheart, Mosstail

Elders (former warriors and caretakers, now retired.)

Sparrowpelt (Halftail) - big dark brown tabby with half of his tail ripped off. (He/Him)

Mate: White-eye 

Kits: Goldenflower, Lionheart

White-eye (One-eye) - pale grey she-cat, half blind and hard of hearing (She/Them)

Mate: Sparrowpelt

Kits: Lionheart, Goldenflower 

Dappletail - once pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat (She/Her)

Kits: Brindleface, Frostfur

Patchpelt - small black and white tom with amber eyes (He/Him)

Mate: Smallear 

Kits: Speckletail

Smallear - grey tom with very small ears. 

Mate: Patchpelt

Kits: Speckletail

Rosetail - a dark brown she-cat with a ginger tail (She/Her)

Mates: Bluestar, Thrushpelt

Kits: Mosstail, Ambershine, Stonestep, Mistyfoot, Raccoonheart, Starlingclaw

Shadowclan

Leader: Raggedstar - a russet furred tom with deep amber eyes. (He/Him)

Mate: Unknown

Kit: Brokentail

Deputy: Russetfur - a deep orange cat with yellow eyes. (They/Them)

Medicine Cat: 

Yellowfang - an old dark grey she-cat with a broad, flattened face. (She/Her)

Runningpaw (Runningnose) -a small grey and white cat. (They/Them)

Warriors

Stumpytail

Bouldertoe (Boulder)

Snowfoot (Blackfoot)

Brokentail

Scarface (Clawface)

Nightpelt

Apprenti-kits

Badgerpaw

Littlekit

Wetkit

Brownkit

Daisykit

Queens and Caretakers

Dawncloud

Brightflower

Riverclan

Leader: Stormstar (Crookedstar) - a huge pale cream tom with a forever misaligned lower jaw. (He/Him)

Deputy: Oakheart - a dark drown tom. (He/Him)

Chapter Text

A half-moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond. There was a stirring in the shadows, and from all around lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glinted in the moonlight. Wary eyes flashed like amber. And then, as if on a silent signal, the creatures leaped at each other, and suddenly the rocks were alive with wrestling, screeching cats. At the center of the frenzy of fur and claws, a massive dark tabby pinned a cream tom to the ground and drew up his head triumphantly. “Stormstar!” the tabby growled. “How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to ThunderClan!”

“After tonight, Tigerstorm, this will be just another RiverClan hunting ground!” the cream tom spat back. A warning yowl came from the shore, shrill and anxious. “Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!”

Tigerstorm turned to see sleek wet bodies sliding out of the water below the rocks. The drenched RiverClan warriors bounded silently up the shore and hurled themselves into battle without even stopping to shake the water from their fur. The dark tabby glared down at Stormstar. “You may swim like otters, but you and your warriors do not belong in this forest!” He drew back his lips and showed his teeth as the cat struggled beneath him. The desperate scream of a ThunderClan she-cat rose above the clamor. A wiry RiverClan tom had pinned the brown warrior flat on her belly. Now he lunged toward her neck with jaws still dripping from his swim across the river. Tigerstorm heard the cry and let go of Stormstar. With a mighty leap, he knocked the enemy warrior away from the she-cat. “Quick, Mousefur, get back to camp!” he ordered, before turning on the RiverClan tom who had threatened her. Mousefur scrambled to her paws, wincing from a deep gash on her shoulder, and raced away. Behind her, Tigerstorm spat with rage as the RiverClan tom sliced open his nose. Blood blinded him for an instant, but he lunged forward regardless and sank his teeth into the hind leg of his enemy. The RiverClan cat squealed and struggled free.

“Tigerstorm!” The yowl came from a warrior with a tail as red as fox fur. “This is useless! There are too many RiverClan warriors!”

“I agree, Redtail! But we cannot let this remain unpunished!” Tigerstorm yowled back, leaping to Redtail’s side. “This is our territory!” Blood was welling around his broad black muzzle, and he shook his head impatiently, scattering scarlet drops onto the rocks.

“It will not, Tigerstorm.” Redtail urged. “But Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against these impossible odds. We will have another chance to avenge this defeat.” He met Tigerstorm’s amber-eyed gaze steadily, then reared away and sprang onto a boulder at the edge of the trees.

“Retreat, ThunderClan! Retreat!” he yowled. At once his warriors squirmed and struggled away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, they backed toward Redtail. For a heartbeat, the RiverClan cats looked confused. Was this battle so easily won? Then Stormstar yowled a jubilant cry. As soon as they heard him, the RiverClan warriors raised their voices and joined their leader in caterwauling their victory. Redtail looked down at his warriors. With a flick of his tail, he gave the signal and the ThunderClan cats dived down the far side of the Sunningrocks, then disappeared into the trees. Tigerstorm followed last. He hesitated at the edge of the forest and glanced back at the bloodstained battlefield. His face was grim, his eyes furious slits. Then he leaped after his Clan into the silent forest.

In a deserted clearing, an old gray she-cat sat alone, staring up at the clear night sky. All around her in the shadows she could hear the breathing and stirrings of sleeping cats. A small tortoiseshell she-cat emerged from a dark corner, her pawsteps quick and soundless. The gray cat dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she meowed.

“Her wounds are deep, Bluestar,” answered the tortoiseshell, settling herself on the night-cool grass.

“But she is young and strong; she will heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

“They will all recover, too.”

Bluestar sighed. “We are lucky not to have lost any of our warriors this time. You are a gifted medicine cat, Spottedthorn.” She tilted her head again and studied the stars. “I am deeply troubled by tonight’s defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader,” she murmured. “These are difficult times for our Clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.”

“But the year is only just beginning,” Spottedthorn pointed out calmly. “There will be more kits when greenleaf comes.”

The gray cat twitched her broad shoulders. “Perhaps. But training our young to become warriors takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

“Are you asking StarClan for answers?” meowed Spottedthorn gently, following Bluestar’s gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

“It is at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to help us. Has StarClan spoken to you?” Bluestar asked.

“Not for some moons, Bluestar.” Suddenly a shooting star blazed over the treetops. Spottedleaf’s tail twitched and the fur along her spine bristled. Bluestar’s ears pricked but she remained silent as Spottedthorn continued to gaze upward. After a few moments, Spottedthorn lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. “It was a message from StarClan,” she murmured. A distant look came into her eyes. “From the fire, there will be newgrowth that will guide the clan."

“Fire?” Bluestar echoed. “But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it guide us?”

Spottedthorn shook her head. “I do not know,” she admitted. “But this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me.”

The ThunderClan leader fixed her clear blue eyes on the medicine cat. “I trust you, Spottedthorn,” she meowed. “If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will guide the clan." Featherwhisker gently nosed into the den, murmuring to Spottedthorn.

"Starlingclaw is refusing to leave the medicine den until everyone is okay. Spottedthorn, please help an old cat out and distract him?" They asked, earning an amused purr from their apprentice.

Chapter Text

It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near. The young tomcat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smells of the forest reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a small furry creature. Suddenly a flash of gold raced past him. Rusty stopped still, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. Rusty knew it was a mouse—he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his ear fur. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied. Slowly he lowered his body into position, crouching for the attack. He was downwind of the mouse. He knew it was not aware of him. With one final check on his prey’s position, Rusty pushed back hard on his haunches and sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose. The mouse dived for cover, heading toward a hole in the ground. But Rusty was already on top of it. He scooped it into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn-sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-covered ground. The mouse landed dazed, but alive. It tried to run, but Rusty snatched it up again. He tossed the mouse once more, this time a little farther away. The mouse managed to scramble a few paces before Rusty caught up with it. Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Rusty looked around, and as he did so, the mouse was able to pull away from his claws. When Rusty turned back he saw it dart into the darkness among the tangled roots of a tree. Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that had cost him his kill. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar. Rusty blinked open his eyes.

The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been dreaming. Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usually pinched. Rusty rolled onto his back, savoring the dream for a few more moments. He could still smell mouse. It was the third time since full moon that he’d had the dream, and every time the mouse had escaped his grasp. He licked his lips. From his bed he could smell the bland odor of his food. His owners always refilled his dish before they went to bed. The dusty smell chased away the warm scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his stomach, so Rusty stretched the sleep out of his limbs and padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. The food felt dry and tasteless on his tongue. Rusty reluctantly swallowed one more mouthful. Then he turned away from the food dish and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the smell of the garden would bring back the feelings from his dream. Outside, the moon was bright. It was raining lightly. Rusty stalked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws. He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent cloyed the damp air around him, and he curled his lip to drive the smell out of his nostrils. Afterward, Rusty settled down on top of one of the posts in the fence that marked the limits of his garden. It was a favorite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighboring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of the garden fence.

The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fence the woods were full of shadows. Rusty stretched his head forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm and dry under his thick coat, but he could feel the weight of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur. He heard his owners giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee. But this time Rusty ignored his owners’ voices and turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smell of the woods had grown fresher after the rain. Suddenly the fur on his spine prickled. Was something moving out there? Was something watching him? Rusty stared ahead, but it was impossible to see or smell anything in the dark, tree-scented air. He lifted his chin boldly, stood up, and stretched, one paw gripping each corner of the fencepost as he straightened his legs and arched his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward into the whispering shadows. Tensing his muscles, he crouched for a moment. Then he leaped lightly down into the rough grass on the other side of the garden fence. As he landed, the bell on his collar rang out through the still night air.

“Where are you going, Rusty?” meowed a familiar voice behind him. Rusty looked up. A young black-and-white cat was balancing ungracefully on the fence.

“Hello, Smudge,” Rusty replied.

“You’re not going to go into the woods, are you?” Smudge’s amber eyes were huge.

“Just for a look,” Rusty promised, shifting uncomfortably.

“You wouldn’t get me in there. It’s unnecessary.” Smudge wrinkled his black nose with distaste. “Henry said he went into the woods once.” The cat lifted his head and gestured with his nose over the rows of fences toward the garden where Henry lived.

“That fat old tabby never went into the woods!” Rusty scoffed. “He’s hardly been beyond his own garden since his trip to the vet. All he wants to do is eat and sleep.”

“No, really. He caught a robin there!” Smudge insisted.

“Well, if he did, then it was before the vet. Now he complains about birds because they disturb his dozing.”

“Well, anyway,” Smudge went on, ignoring the scorn in Rusty’s mew, “Henry told me there are all sorts of weird creature out there. I actually saw a massive mossmonster trying to hop the fence a few days ago."

“I’m only going for a look around,” Rusty meowed. “I won’t stay long.”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you! If you get mossified, don't come running to me!” purred Smudge. The black-and-white cat turned and plunged off the fence back down into his own garden. Rusty sat down in the coarse grass beyond the garden fence. He gave his shoulder a nervous lick and wondered how much of Smudge’s words was true. Suddenly the movement of a tiny creature caught his eye. He watched it scuttle under some brambles. Instinct made him drop into a low crouch. With one slow paw after another he drew his body forward through the undergrowth. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, he moved toward the animal. He could see it clearly now, sitting up among the barbed branches, nibbling on a large seed held between its paws. It was a mouse.

Rusty rocked his haunches from side to side, preparing to leap. He held his breath in case his bell rang again. Excitement coursed through him, making his heart pound. This was even better than his dreams! Then a sudden noise of cracking twigs and crunching leaves made him jump. His bell jangled treacherously, and the mouse darted away into the thickest tangle of the bramble bush.

Rusty stood very still and looked around. He could see the white tip of a red bushy tail trailing through a clump of tall ferns up ahead. He smelled a strong, strange scent, definitely a meat-eater, but neither cat nor dog. Distracted, Rusty forgot about the mouse and watched the red tail curiously. He wanted a better look.

All of Rusty’s senses strained ahead as he prowled forward. Then he detected another noise. It came from behind, but sounded muted and distant. He swiveled his ears backward to hear it better. Pawsteps? he wondered, but he kept his eyes fixed on the strange red fur up ahead, and continued to creep onward. It was only when the faint rustling behind him became a loud and fast-approaching leaf-crackle that Rusty realized he was in danger. The creature hit him like an explosion and Rusty was thrown sideways into a clump of nettles. Twisting and yowling, he tried to throw off the attacker that had fastened itself to his back. It was gripping him with incredibly sharp claws. Rusty could feel spiked teeth pricking at his neck. He writhed and squirmed from whisker to tail, but he couldn’t free himself. For a second he felt helpless; then he froze. Thinking fast, he flipped over onto his back. He knew instinctively how dangerous it was to expose his soft belly, but it was his only chance. He was lucky—the ploy seemed to work. He heard a “hhuuffff” beneath him as the breath was knocked out of his attacker. Thrashing fiercely, Rusty managed to wriggle free. Without looking back he sprinted toward his home. Behind him, a rush of pawsteps told Rusty his attacker was giving chase. Even though the pain from his scratches stung beneath his fur, Rusty decided he would rather turn and fight than let himself be jumped on again. He skidded to a stop, spun around, and faced his pursuer. It was another kitten, with a thick coat of shaggy gray fur, strong legs, and a broad face. In a heartbeat, Rusty smelled that it was a tom, and sensed the power in the sturdy shoulders underneath the soft coat. Then the kitten crashed into Rusty at full pelt. Taken by surprise by Rusty’s turnabout, it fell back into a dazed heap.

The impact knocked the breath out of Rusty, and he staggered. He quickly found his footing and arched his back, puffing out his orange fur, ready to spring onto the other kitten. But his attacker simply sat up and began to lick a forepaw, all signs of aggression gone. Rusty felt strangely disappointed. Every part of him was tense, ready for battle.

“Hi there, kittypet!” meowed the gray tom cheerily. “You put up quite a fight for a tame kitty!”

Rusty remained on tiptoe for a second, wondering whether to attack anyway. Then he remembered the strength he had felt in this kitten’s paws when he had pinned him to the ground. He dropped onto his pads, loosened his muscles, and let his spine unbend. “And I’ll fight you again if I have to,” he growled.

“I’m Greypaw, by the way,” the gray kitten went on, ignoring Rusty’s threat. “I’m training to be a ThunderClan warrior.”

Rusty remained silent. He didn’t understand what this Graywhatsit was meowing about, but he sensed the threat had passed. He hid his confusion by leaning down to lick his ruffled chest.

“What’s a kittypet like you doing out in the woods? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” asked Greypaw.

“If you’re the most dangerous thing the woods has to offer, then I think I can handle it,” Rusty bluffed.

Greypaw looked up at him for a moment, narrowing his big yellow eyes. “Oh, I’m far from the most dangerous. If I were even half a warrior, I’d have given an intruder like you some real wounds to think about.” Rusty felt a thrill of fear at these ominous words. What did this cat mean by “intruder”?

“Anyway,” meowed Greypaw, using his sharp teeth to tug a clump of grass from between his claws, “I didn’t think it was worth hurting you. You’re obviously not from one of the other Clans.”

“Other Clans?” Rusty echoed, confused.

Greypaw let out an impatient hiss. “You must have heard of the four warrior Clans that hunt around here! I belong to ThunderClan. The other Clans are always trying to steal prey from our territory, especially ShadowClan. They’re so fierce they would have ripped you to shreds, no questions asked.” Greypaw paused to spit angrily and continued: “They come to take prey that is rightfully ours. It’s the job of the ThunderClan warriors to keep them out of our territory. When I’ve finished my training, I’ll be so dangerous, I’ll have the other Clans shaking in their flea-bitten skins. They won’t dare come near us then!” Rusty narrowed his eyes. This must be one of the..things.. that his heart had warned him about! Living rough in the woods, hunting and fighting each other for every last scrap of food. Yet Rusty didn’t feel scared. In fact, it was hard not to admire this confident kitten. “So you’re not a warrior yet?” he asked.

“Why? Did you think I was?” Greypaw purred proudly; then he shook his wide, furry head. “I won’t be a real warrior for ages. I have to go through the training first. Kits have to be six moons old before they even begin training. Tonight is my first night out as an apprentice.”

“Why don’t you find yourself an owner with a nice cozy house instead? Your life would be much easier,” Rusty meowed. “There are plenty of housefolk who’d take in a kitten like you. All you have to do is sit where they can see you and look hungry for a couple of days—”

“And they’d feed me pellets that look like rabbit droppings and soft slop!” Greypaw interrupted. “No way! I can’t think of anything worse than being a kittypet! They’re nothing but Twoleg toys! Eating stuff that doesn’t look like food, making dirt in a box of gravel, sticking their noses outside only when the Twolegs allow them? That’s no life! Out here it’s wild, and it’s free. We come and go as we please.” He finished his speech with a proud spit, then meowed mischievously, “Until you’ve tasted a fresh-killed mouse, you haven’t lived. Have you ever tasted mouse?”

“No,” Rusty admitted, a little defensively. “Not yet.”

“I guess you’ll never understand.” Greypaw sighed. “You weren’t born wild. It makes a big difference. You need to be born with warrior blood in your veins, or the feel of the wind in your whiskers. Kitties born into Twoleg nests could never feel the same way.” Rusty remembered the way he had felt in his dream. “That’s not true!” he mewed indignantly. Greypaw did not reply. He suddenly stiffened midlick, one paw still raised, and sniffed the air. “I smell cats from my Clan,” he hissed. “You should go. They won’t be pleased to find you hunting in our territory!” Rusty looked around, wondering how Greypaw knew any cat was approaching. He couldn’t smell anything different on the leaf-scented breeze. But his fur stood on end at the note of urgency in Greypaw’s voice.

“Quick!” hissed Greypaw again. “Run!” Rusty prepared to spring into the bushes, not knowing which way was safe to jump. He was too late. A voice meowed behind him, firm and menacing. “What’s going on here?”

Rusty turned to see a large gray she-cat strolling majestically out from the undergrowth. She was magnificent. White hairs streaked her muzzle, and an ugly scar parted the fur across her shoulders, but her smooth gray coat shone like silver in the moonlight.

“Bluestar!” Beside Rusty, Greypaw crouched down and narrowed his eyes. He crouched even lower when a second cat—a handsome, golden tabby—followed the gray cat into the clearing.

“You shouldn’t be so near Twolegplace, Greypaw!” growled the golden tabby angrily, narrowing his green eyes.

“I know, Lionheart, I’m sorry.” Graypaw looked down at his paws. Rusty copied Greypaw and crouched low to the forest floor, his ears twitching nervously. These cats had an air of strength he had never seen in any of his garden friends. Maybe what his heart had warned him about was true.

“Who is this?” asked the she-cat. Rusty flinched as she turned her gaze on him. Her piercing blue eyes made him feel even more vulnerable.

“He’s no threat,” mewed Greypaw quickly. “He’s not another Clan warrior, just a Twoleg pet from beyond our territories.” Just a Twoleg pet! The words inflamed Rusty, but he held his tongue. The warning look in Bluestar’s stare told him that she had observed the anger in his eyes, and he looked away.

“This is Bluestar; she’s leader of my Clan!” Greypaw hissed to Rusty under his breath. “And Lionheart. He’s my mentor, which means he’s training me to be a warrior.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Greypaw,” meowed Lionheart coolly. A third cat stepped from the shadows, much smaller than the other two. He was jet black, a singular white paw and icy blue eyes being the only visible thing in the darkness.

"Now, just what is this? Ah, a housecat.. yes. Greypaw, mind telling me why there's an injured housecat here?" The tom icily meowed.

"He was hunting! I stopped him." Greypaw responded.

"Hm. And let me ask you this, am I a warrior, Greypaw?" He questioned the grey tom.

"What, of course you are!" Greypaw looked rightfully confused, and Rusty himself had absolutely no clue what was going on.

"But I have no warrior blood. You forget that I was not wildborn, Greypaw. Where you are born does not decide who you are. I expect an apology to both me and the housecat."

"...I-i did forget, Starlingclaw, uh I'm sorry, kittypet, I apologize, Starlingclaw." Starlingclaw narrowed his eyes slightly, looking the apprentice over for a moment before nodding.

"I expect something like this to never happen again." Starlingclaw meowed. Bluestar was still staring at Rusty. “You fight well for a Twoleg pet,” she meowed. Rusty and Greypaw exchanged confused glances. How could she know?

“We have been watching you both,” Bluestar went on, as if she had read their thoughts. “We wondered how you would deal with an intruder, Greypaw. You attacked him bravely.” Greypaw looked pleased at Bluestar’s praise.

“Sit up now, both of you!” Bluestar looked at Rusty. “You too, kittypet.” He sat up immediately and held Bluestar’s gaze evenly as she addressed him.

“You reacted well to the attack, kittypet. Greypaw is stronger than you, but you used your wits to defend yourself. And you turned to face him when he chased you. I’ve not seen a kittypet do that before.” Rusty managed to nod his thanks, taken aback by such unexpected praise. Her next words surprised him even more.

“I have been wondering how you would perform out here, beyond the Twolegplace. We patrol this border frequently, so I have often seen you sitting on your boundary, staring out into the forest. And now, at last, you have dared to place your paws here.” Bluestar stared at Rusty thoughtfully. “You do seem to have a natural hunting ability. Sharp eyes. You would have caught that mouse if you had not hesitated so long.”

“R-really?” Rusty stammered.

Lionheart spoke now. His deep meow was respectful but insistent. “Bluestar, this is a kittypet. He should not be hunting in ThunderClan territory. Send him home to his Twolegs!”

Rusty prickled at Lionheart’s dismissive words. “Send me home?” he mewed impatiently. Bluestar’s words had made him glow with pride. She had noticed him; she had been impressed by him. “But I’ve only come here to hunt for a mouse or two. I’m sure there’s enough to go around.”

Bluestar had turned her head to acknowledge Lionheart’s words. Now her gaze snapped back to Rusty. Her blue eyes were blazing with anger. “There’s never enough to go around,” she spat. “If you didn’t live such a soft, overfed life, you would know that!”

Rusty was confused by Bluestar’s sudden rage, but one glance at the horrified look on Greypaw’s face was enough to tell him he had spoken too freely. Lionheart stepped to his leader’s side, Starlingclaw glaring at him indcredulously, the three warriors loomed over him now. Rusty looked into Bluestar’s threatening stare and his pride dissolved. These were not cozy fireside cats he was dealing with—they were mean, hungry cats who were probably going to finish what Greypaw had started.

Chapter Text

“Well?” hissed Bluestar, her face only a mouse-length from his now. Lionheart remained silent as he towered over Rusty. Starlingclaw had his icy blue eyes closed, almost invisible against the undergrowth. He flattened his ears and crouched under the golden warrior’s cold stare. His fur prickled uncomfortably. “I-i am no threat to your Clan,” he mewed, looking down at his trembling paws.

“You threaten our Clan when you take our food,” Bluestar hissed. “You have plenty of food in your Twoleg nest already. You come here only to hunt for sport. But we hunt to survive.”

The truth of the leader's words pierced Rusty like a blackthorn, and suddenly he understood her anger. He, mostly, stopped trembling, sat up, and straightened his ears. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I-I hadn't thought of it that way before. I'm sorry,” he meowed solemnly. “I won't ever hunt here again.”

Bluestar let her hackles fall and signaled to Lionheart to step back. “You are an unusual kittypet, Rusty,” she meowed. Greypaw’s sigh of relief made Rusty’s ears twitch. He heard the approval in Bluestar’s voice and noticed as she swapped a meaningful glance with Lionheart. The look made him curious. What flashed between the two warriors? Quietly he asked, “Is survival here really so hard?”

“Our territory covers only part of the forest,” answered Starlingclaw. “We compete with other Clans for what we have. And this year, late newleaf means prey is scarce.”

“Is your Clan very big?” Rusty meowed, his eyes wide.

“Big enough,” replied Starlingclaw “Our territory can support us, but there is no prey left over.”

“Are you all warriors, then?” Rusty mewed. The toms guarded answers were just making him more and more curious. Lionheart answered him. “Some are warriors. Some are too young or too old or too busy caring for kits to hunt.”

“And you all live and share prey together?” Rusty murmured in awe, thinking a little guiltily of his own easy, selfish life. Bluestar looked again at Lionheart. The golden tabby stared back at her steadily. At last she returned her gaze to Rusty and meowed, “Perhaps you should find out these things for yourself. Would you like to join ThunderClan?” Rusty was so surprised, he couldn’t speak. Bluestar went on: “If you did, you would train with Greypaw to become a Clan warrior.”

“But kittypets can’t be warriors!” Greypaw blurted out. “They don’t have warrior blood!” He instantly earned a glare from Starlingclaw and immediately shut his mouth.

A sad look clouded Bluestar’s eyes. “Warrior blood,” she echoed with a sigh. “Too much of that has been spilled lately.” Bluestar fell silent and Lionheart meowed, “Bluestar is only offering you training, young kit. There is no guarantee you would become a full warrior. It might prove too difficult for you. After all, you are used to a comfortable life.” He took was met with Starlingclaw's gaze, the golden tom flicking an ear towards the smaller tom. Starlingclaw snorted, but said nothing. Rusty was stung by Lionheart’s words. He swung his head around to face the golden tabby. “Why offer me the chance, then?”

But it was Bluestar who answered. “You are right to question our motives, young one. The fact is, ThunderClan needs more warriors.”

“Understand that Bluestar does not make this offer lightly,” warned Lionheart. “If you wish to train with us, we will have to take you into our Clan. You must either live with us and respect our ways, or return to your Twolegplace and never come back."

"You cannot live with a paw in each world.” Starlingclaw finished, the way he said it sounding like he knew what it was like. A cool breeze stirred the undergrowth, ruffling Rusty’s fur. He shivered, not with the cold, but with excitement at the incredible possibilities opening up in front of him.

“Are you wondering if it’s worth giving up your comfortable kittypet life?” asked Bluestar gently. “But do you realize the price you will pay for your warmth and food?”

Rusty looked at her, puzzled. Surely his encounter with these cats had proved to him just how easy and luxurious his life was.

“I can tell that you are still a tom,” Bluestar added, “despite the Twoleg stench that clings to your fur.”

“What do you mean—still a tom?”

“You haven’t yet been taken by the Twolegs to see the Healer,” meowed Bluestar gravely. “You would be very different then. Not quite so keen to fight a Clan cat, I suspect!”

Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Henry, who had become fat and lazy since his visit to the vet. Was that what Bluestar meant by the Healer?

“The Clan may not be able to offer you such easy food or warmth,” continued Bluestar. “In the season of leaf-bare, nights in the forest can be cruel. The Clan will demand great loyalty and hard work. You will be expected to protect the Clan with your life if necessary. And there are many mouths to feed. But the rewards are great. You will remain a tom. You will be trained in the ways of the wild. You will learn what it is to be a real cat. The strength and the fellowship of the Clan will always be with you, even when you hunt alone.”

Rusty’s head reeled. Bluestar seemed to be offering him the life he had lived so many times, and so tantalizingly, in his dreams, but could he live like that for real?

Lionheart interrupted his thoughts. “Come, Bluestar, let’s not waste any more time here. We must be ready to join the other patrol at moonhigh. Tigerstorm will wonder what has become of us.” He stood up, smiling, but flicked his tail expectantly.

“Wait,” Rusty meowed. “Can I think about your offer?”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment and nodded. “Starlingclaw will be here tomorrow at sunhigh,” she told him. “Give him your answer then.” Bluestar murmured a low signal, and in a single movement the four cats turned and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Rusty blinked. He stared—excited, uncertain—up past the ferns that encircled him, through the canopy of leaves, to the stars that glittered in the clear sky. The scent of the Clan cats still hung heavy in the evening air. And as Rusty turned and headed for home, he felt a strange sensation inside him, tugging him back into the depths of the forest. His fur prickled deliciously in the light wind, and the rustling leaves seemed to whisper his name into the shadows.

Chapter Text

That morning, as Rusty slept off his night’s wanderings, the mouse dream came again, even more vivid than before. Free of his collar, beneath the moon, he stalked the timid creature. But this time he was aware of being watched. Shining from the shadows of the forest he saw dozens of yellow eyes. The Clan cats had entered his dream world. Rusty woke, blinking in the bright sunshine that was streaming across the kitchen floor. His fur felt heavy and thick with warmth. His food bowl had been topped up, and his water bowl rinsed out and filled with bitter-tasting Twoleg water. Rusty preferred drinking from puddles outside, but when it was hot, or he was very thirsty, he had to admit it was easier to lap up the water indoors. Could he really abandon this comfortable life?

He ate, then pushed his way out of the cat flap into the garden. The day promised to be warm, and the garden was heavy with the smell of early blossoms.

“Hello, Rusty!” mewed a voice from the fence. It was Smudge. “You should have been awake an hour ago. The baby sparrows were out stretching their wings.”

“Did you catch any?” Rusty asked.

Smudge yawned and licked his nose. “Eh, just scared them a little. Anyway, why weren’t you out earlier? Yesterday you were complaining about Henry sleeping his time away, and today you’re not much better yourself.”

Rusty sat down on the cool earth beside the fence and curled his tail neatly over his front paws. “I was in the woods last night,” he reminded his friend. At once he felt the blood stir in his veins and his fur stiffen.

Smudge looked down at him, his eyes wide. “Oh, yeah! Completely forgot about that. How'd it go? See any mossmonsters?"

Rusty paused, not sure how to tell his old friend what had happened. “I met some wild cats,” he began.

“What." Smudge was clearly shocked. “Did you get into a fight?”

“Sort of.” Rusty could feel the energy surging through his body again as he recalled the strength and power of the Clan cats.

“Were you hurt? What happened?” Smudge prompted him, leaping down and nosing his firey pelt for injuries.

“There were four of them. Bigger and stronger than any of us, except for one-”

“Did you fight them?!” Smudge interrupted, his tail twitching with worry

“No!” Rusty mewed hastily. “Just the youngest one; the other three came later.”

“How come they didn’t shred you to pieces?”

“They just warned me to leave their territory. But then…” Rusty hesitated.

“Then what!” mewed Smudge, just getting more and more concerned.

“They asked me to join their Clan.”

Smudge’s whiskers quivered disbelievingly. "Excuse me?"

“They did!” Rusty insisted.

“Why would they do that?” Smudge questioned.

“I don’t know,” Rusty admitted. “I think they need extra paws in their Clan.”

“Sounds a bit odd to me,” Smudge mewed doubtfully. “I wouldn’t trust them if I were you.”

Rusty looked at Smudge. His black-and-white friend had never shown any interest in venturing into the woods. He was perfectly content living with his housefolk. He would never understand the restless longing that Rusty’s dreams stirred in him night after night.

“But I do trust them,” Rusty purred softly. “And I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to join them.”

Smudge immediately bristled up. Rusty nudged him affectionately with his head. “Don’t worry. My housefolk will get another cat. You’ll get on with him fine. You get along with everyone!”

“I don't care about that!” Smudge hissed.

Rusty twitched his tail impatiently. “..if I stay around here till they take me to the Healer, you won't be able to care...”

Smudge looked puzzled. “The Healer?” he echoed.

“The vet,” Rusty explained. “To be altered, like Henry was.”

Smudge shook his head, looking like he was about to cry.

Rusty felt his heart fill with sadness at the thought of leaving his friend. “I’m sorry, Smudge. I’ll miss you, but I have to go.”

Smudge didn’t reply, but stepped forward and gently touched Rusty’s nose with his own. “...I-i can see I can’t stop you, but at least let’s spend one more morning together?"

Rusty found himself enjoying the morning even more than usual, visiting his old haunts with Smudge, sharing words with the cats he had grown up with. Every one of his senses felt supercharged, as if he were poised before a huge jump. As sunhigh approached, Rusty grew more and more impatient to see if Starlingclaw would really be waiting for him. The idle buzz of meows from his old friends seemed to fade into the background as all his senses strained toward the woods.

Rusty jumped down from his garden fence for the last time and crept into the woods. He had said his good-byes to Smudge. Now all his thoughts were focused on the forest and the cats who lived in it.

As he approached the spot where he had met with the Clan cats the night before, he sat down and tasted the air. Tall trees shielded the ground from the midday sunshine, making it comfortably cool. Here and there a patch of sunlight shone through a gap in the leaves and lit up the forest floor. Rusty could smell the same cat-scent as last night, but he had no idea whether it was old or new. He lifted his head and sniffed uncertainly.

“You have a lot to learn,” meowed a voice. “Even the tiniest Clan kit knows when another cat is nearby.”

Rusty saw a pair of icy blue eyes glinting from beneath a bramble bush. Now he recognized the scent: it was Starlingclaw.

“Can you tell if I am alone?” asked the black tom, stepping into the light.

Hastily, Rusty sniffed again. The scents of Bluestar and Greypaw were still there, but not as strong as the previous night. Hesitantly, he mewed, “Bluestar and Greypaw aren’t with you this time.”

“That’s right,” meowed Starlingclaw. “But someone else is.”

Rusty stiffened as a second Clan cat strode into the clearing.

“This is Whitecloud,” purred Starlingclaw. “One of ThunderClan’s senior warriors.”

Rusty looked at the tom and felt his spine tingle with cold fear. Was this a trap? Long-bodied and muscular, Whitecloud stood in front of Rusty and gazed down at him. His white coat was thick and unmarked and his eyes were the yellow of sunbaked sand. Rusty flattened his ears warily, and tensed his muscles in preparation for a fight.

“Relax, before your fear-scent brings unwanted attention,” growled Starlingclaw. “We are here only to take you to our camp.”

Rusty sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, as Whitecloud stretched his nose forward and gave him a curious sniff.

“Hello, young one,” murmured the white cat. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Rusty dipped his head in greeting.

“Come, we can speak more once we are in the camp,” ordered Starlingclaw, and, without pausing, he and Whitecloud leaped away into the undergrowth. Rusty jumped to his paws and followed as quickly as he could. Something felt off, like they were being watched.

The two warriors made no allowances for Rusty as they sped through the forest, and before long he was struggling to keep up. Their pace barely slowed as they led him over fallen trees that they cleared in a single leap, but which Rusty had to scramble over paw by paw. They passed through sharply fragrant pine trees, where they had to jump across deep gullies churned up by a Twoleg tree-eater. From the safety of his garden fence, Rusty had often heard it roaring and snarling in the distance. One gully was too wide to jump, half-filled with slimy, foul-smelling water. The Clan cats waded through without hesitating. Rusty had never put a paw in water before. But he was determined not to show any signs of weakness, so he narrowed his eyes and followed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable wetness that soaked his belly fur. At last Starlingclaw and Whitecloud paused. Rusty skidded to a halt behind them and stood panting while the two warriors stepped onto a rock that rested on the edge of a small ravine.

“We are very close to our camp now,” meowed Starlingclaw. Rusty strained to see any signs of life—moving leaves, a glimpse of fur among the bushes below, but his eyes saw nothing except the same undergrowth that covered the rest of the forest floor.

“Use your nose. You must be able to scent it,” hissed Whitecloud impatiently. Rusty closed his eyes and sniffed. Whitecloud was right. The scents here were very different from the cat-scent he was used to. The air smelled stronger, speaking of many, many different cats. He nodded thoughtfully and announced, “I can smell cats.”

Starlingclaw and Whitecloud exchanged amused looks.

“There will come a time, if you are accepted into the Clan, when you will know each cat-scent by name,” Starlingclaw meowed. “Follow me!” He led the way nimbly down the boulders to the bottom of the ravine, and pushed his way through a thick patch of gorse. Rusty followed, and Whitecloud took up the rear. As his sides scraped against the prickly gorse, Rusty looked down and noticed that the grass beneath his paws was flattened into a broad, strong-smelling track. This must be the main entrance into the camp, he thought. Beyond the gorse, a clearing opened up. The ground at the center was bare, hard earth, shaped by many generations of pawsteps. This camp had been here a long time. The clearing was dappled by sunshine, and the air felt warm and still.

Rusty looked around, his eyes wide. There were cats everywhere, sitting alone or in groups, sharing food or purring quietly as they groomed one another.

“Just after sunhigh, when the day is hottest, is a time for sharing tongues,” Starlingclaw explained.

“Sharing tongues?” Rusty echoed.

“Clan cats always spend time grooming each other and sharing the news of the day,” Whitecloud told him. “We call it sharing tongues. It is a custom that binds the members of the Clan together.”

The cats had obviously smelled Rusty’s foreign scent, for heads began to turn and stare curiously in his direction. Suddenly shy of meeting any cat’s gaze directly, Rusty looked around the clearing. It was edged with thick grass, dotted with treestumps and a fallen tree. A thick curtain of ferns and gorse shielded the camp from the rest of the woods.

“Over there,” meowed Starlingclaw, flicking his tail toward an impenetrable-looking tangle of brambles, “is the nursery, where the kits are cared for.”

Rusty swiveled his ears toward the bushes. He couldn’t see through the knot of prickly branches, but he could hear the mewling of several kittens from somewhere inside. As he watched, a ginger she-cat squirmed out through a small gap in the front. That must be one of the queens, Rusty thought. A tabby queen with distinctive black markings appeared around the bramble bush. The two she-cats exchanged a friendly lick between the ears before the tabby slipped inside the nursery, murmuring to the squealing kits.

“The care of our kits is shared by all of the queens and caretakers,” meowed Starlingclaw. “All cats serve the Clan. Loyalty to the Clan is the first law in our warrior code, a lesson you must learn quickly if you wish to stay with us.”

“Here comes Bluestar,” meowed Whitecloud, sniffing the air. Rusty sniffed the air too, and was pleased that he was able to recognize the scent of the gray she-cat a moment before she appeared from the shadow of a large boulder that lay beside them at the head of the clearing.

“He came,” Bluestar purred, addressing the warriors.

Starlingclaw replied, “Whitecloud was convinced he would not.”

Rusty noticed the tip of Bluestar’s tail twitch impatiently. “Well, what do you think of him?” she asked.

“He kept up well on the return journey, despite his puny size,” Whitecloud admitted. “He certainly seems strong for a kittypet.”

“So it is agreed?” Bluestar looked at Starlingclaw and Whitecloud. Both cats nodded.

“Then I shall announce his arrival to the Clan.” Bluestar leaped up onto the boulder and yowled, “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Her clear call brought all the cats trotting toward her, emerging like liquid shadows from the edges of the clearing. Rusty stayed where he was, flanked by Starlingclaw and Whitecloud. The other cats settled themselves below the Highrock and looked expectantly up at their leader.

Rusty felt a rush of relief as he recognized Greypaw’s thick gray fur among the cats. Beside him sat a young tortoiseshell queen, her black-tipped tail tucked neatly over small white paws. A large dark gray tabby crouched behind them, the black stripes on his fur looking like shadows on a moonlit forest floor.

When the cats were still, Bluestar spoke. “ThunderClan needs more warriors,” she began. “Never before have we had so few apprentices in training. It has been decided that ThunderClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior….”

Rusty heard indignant mutterings erupt among the Clan cats, but Bluestar silenced them with a firm yowl. “I have found a cat who is willing to become an apprentice of ThunderClan.”

“Lucky to become an apprentice,” caterwauled a loud voice above the ripple of shock that spread through the cats. Rusty craned his neck and saw a pale tabby cat standing up and glaring defiantly at the leader.

Bluestar ignored the tabby and addressed all of her Clan. “Starlingclaw and Whitecloud have met this young cat, and they agree with me that we should train him with the other apprentices.”

Rusty looked up at Starlingclaw, then back at the Clan, to find all eyes were on him now. His fur prickled and he swallowed nervously. There was silence for a moment. Rusty was sure they must all be able to hear his heart pulsing and smell his fear-scent. Now a deafening crescendo of caterwauling rose from the crowd.

“Where does he come from?”

“Which Clan does he belong to?”

“What a strange scent he carries! That’s not the scent of any Clan I know!”

Then one yowl in particular sounded out above the rest. “Look at his collar! He’s a kittypet!” It was the pale tabby again. “Once a kittypet, always a kittypet. This Clan needs wildborn warriors to defend it, not another soft mouth to feed.”

Whitecloud bent down and hissed into Rusty’s ear, “That tabby is Longtail. He smells your fear. They all do. You must prove to him and the other cats that your fear won’t hold you back.”

But Rusty couldn’t move. How could he ever prove to these fierce cats that he wasn’t just a kittypet? The tabby continued to jeer at him. “Your collar is a mark of the Twolegs, and that noisy jingling will make you a poor hunter at best. At worst, it will bring the Twolegs into our territory, looking for the poor lost kittypet who fills the woods with his pitiful tinkling.”

All the cats howled in agreement.

Longtail went on, well aware that he had the support of his audience. “The noise of your treacherous bell will alert our enemies, even if your Twoleg stench doesn’t!”

Whitecloud hissed into Rusty’s ear once more: “Do you back down from a challenge?”

Rusty still did not move. But this time he was trying to pinpoint Longtail’s position. There he was, just behind a dusky brown queen. Rusty flattened his ears, narrowed his eyes and, hissing, leaped through the startled cats to fling himself onto his tormentor. Longtail was completely unprepared for Rusty’s attack. He staggered sideways, losing his footing on the hard-baked earth. Filled with rage and desperate to prove himself, Rusty dug his claws deep into the tabby cat’s fur and sank in his teeth. No subtle rituals of swiping and boxing preceded this fight. The two cats were locked in a screaming, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the clearing at the heart of the camp. The other cats had to spring out of the way to avoid the screeching whirlwind of fur. As Rusty scratched and struggled, he was suddenly aware that he felt no fear, only exhilaration. Through the roaring of the blood in his ears, he could hear the cats around them wailing with excitement. Then Rusty felt his collar tighten around his neck. Longtail had gripped it between his teeth and was tugging, and tugging hard. Rusty felt a terrible pressure at his throat. Unable to breathe, he started to panic. He writhed and twisted, but each movement only made the pressure worse. Retching and gulping for air, he summoned up all his strength and tried to pull away from Longtail’s grip. And suddenly, with a loud snap, he was free. Longtail tumbled away from him. Rusty scrambled to his paws and looked around. Longtail was crouching three tail-lengths away. And, dangling from Longtail’s mouth, Rusty saw his collar, mangled and broken. And there was Smudge, pinning Longtail to the dusty ground with a heavy paw.

At once, Bluestar leaped down from the Highrock and silenced the noisy crowd with a thunderous caterwaul. Rusty and Longtail remained fixed to the spot, gasping for breath. Clumps of fur hung from their ruffled coats. Rusty could feel a cut stinging above his eye. Longtail’s left ear was badly torn, and blood dripped down his lean shoulders onto the dusty ground. They stared at each other, their hostility not yet spent. Bluestar stepped forward and took the collar from Longtail. Smudge respectfully got off of the pale tabby tom, allowing Longtail to get up. She placed it on the ground in front of her and meowed, “The newcomer has lost his Twoleg collar in a battle for his honor. StarClan has spoken its approval—this cat has been released from the hold of his Twoleg owners, and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

Smudge smiled, nodding for Rusty to look at Bluestar. Rusty looked at Bluestar and solemnly nodded his acceptance. He stood up and stepped forward into a shaft of sunshine, welcoming the warmth on his sore muscles. The pool of light blazed bright on his orange pelt, making his fur glow. Rusty lifted his head proudly and looked at the cats that surrounded him. This time no cat argued or jeered. He had shown himself to be a worthy opponent in battle. Bluestar approached Rusty and placed the shredded collar on the ground in front of him. She touched his ear gently with her nose. “You look like a brand of fire in this sunlight,” she murmured. Her eyes flashed briefly, as if her words had more meaning for her than Rusty knew. “You have fought well.” Then she turned to the Clan and announced, “From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat.” She stepped back and, with the other cats, waited silently for his next move. Without hesitating, Rusty turned and kicked dust and grass over his collar as though burying his dirt.

Longtail growled and limped out of the clearing toward a fern-shaded corner, Starlingclaw quick on the toms tail, looking thoroughly pissed. The cats split into groups, murmuring to each other excitedly. Smudge nudged his pelt. "You really thought I wasn't coming with you? No shot."

“Hey, Firepaw!”

Rusty heard Greypaw’s friendly voice behind him. Firepaw! A thrill of pride surged through him at the sound of his new name. He turned to greet the gray apprentice with a welcoming sniff.

“Great fight, Firepaw!” mewed Greypaw. “Especially for a kittypet! Longtail is a warrior, although he only finished his training two moons ago. That scar you left on his ear won’t let him forget you in a hurry. You’ve spoiled his good looks, that’s for sure. Who's that?"

“Thanks, Graypaw,” Firepaw replied. “He put up quite a fight, though! This is Smudge, my best friend." He licked his front paw and began to wipe clean the deep scratch that stung above his eye. As he washed he heard his new name again, echoing among the meows of the cats.

“Firepaw!”

“Hey, Firepaw!”

“Welcome, young Firepaw!”

Firepaw closed his eyes for a moment and let the voices wash over him.

“Good name, too!” Greypaw mewed approvingly, jolting him awake.

Firepaw looked around. “Where did Longtail creep off to?”

“I think he was heading toward Spottedthorn and Featherwhisker's den.” Greypaw tipped his head toward the fern-enclosed corner Longtail had disappeared into. “They're our medicine cats. Not bad-looking either. Spottedthorn's younger and a lot prettier than most—”

A low yowl next to the two cats stopped Greypaw midspeech. They both turned, and Firepaw recognized the powerful gray tabby cat who had sat behind Graypaw earlier. “Duskstripe, hey!" Greypaw mewed happily.The sleek tom looked at Firepaw for a moment. “Well done for your first fight. Your friend is quite the bruiser, a good team." Duskstripe commented, nodding to Smudge respectfully. He padded away, heading towards the medicine den.

“Duskstripe's my older brother. He's pretty cool, but super serious all the time." Firepaw was about to agree with his new friend when he was interrupted by a warning yowl from an old gray cat sitting at the edge of the clearing.

“Smallear smells trouble!” Greypaw meowed, immediately alert.

Firepaw barely had time to look around before a young cat crashed through the bushes and into the camp. He was skinny and—apart from the white tip of his long, thin tail and the small patch on his chest—jet black from head to toe.

Greypaw gasped. “That’s Ravenpaw! Why is he alone? Where’s Mistyfoot and Redtail?”

Firepaw looked at Ravenpaw staggering across the floor of the clearing. He was panting heavily. His coat was ruffled and dusty, and his eyes were wild with fear.

“Who are Ravenpaw and Mistyfoot?” Firepaw whispered to Greypaw, as several other cats raced past him to greet the new arrival.

“Ravenpaw’s an apprentice. Mistyfoot's his mentor,” Greypaw explained quickly. “Ravenpaw went out with Mistyfoot and Redtail at sunrise on a mission against RiverClan, the lucky furball!”

“Redtail?” Firepaw echoed, thoroughly confused by all these names.

“Bluestar’s deputy,” hissed Graypaw. “But why on earth has Ravenpaw come back alone?” he added to himself. He lifted his head to listen as Bluestar stepped forward.

“Ravenpaw?” The she-cat spoke calmly, but a look of worry clouded her blue eyes. The other cats drew back, curling their lips with anxiety.

“What has happened?” Bluestar jumped down from the Highrock and quickly padded over to the trembling cat.

“Speak, Ravenpaw!”

Ravenpaw was still struggling for breath, and his sides heaved fitfully while the dust around him turned red with blood, but he managed to whisper something louder than silence. "..w-we l-lost..S-sun.. Sunningrocks.."

Chapter Text

Shocked yowls rose from the Clan cats and echoed through the forest. Ravenpaw staggered slightly. His right foreleg glistened, wet with blood that flowed from the deep gash on his shoulder. “We m-met five RiverClan warriors beside the stream, not far from the Sunningrocks,” he went on shakily. “Oakheart was among them.”

“Oakheart!” Graypaw gasped beside Firepaw. “He is the deputy of RiverClan. He’s one of the greatest warriors in the forest...he fights hard." Graypaw was silenced by a fierce glance from the old gray tom who had first sensed Ravenpaw’s return. Firepaw turned his attention back to Ravenpaw.

“Redtail warned Oakheart to keep his hunting parties out of ThunderClan territory. He said the next RiverClan warrior to be caught in ThunderClan territory would be killed, but Oak…Oakheart would not back down. He said his Cl-Clan had to be fed, whatever we threatened.” Ravenpaw paused to wheeze for breath. His wound was still bleeding heavily, and he stood awkwardly to keep the weight off his shoulder.

“That’s when the RiverClan cats attacked. It was hard to see what was happening. The fighting was vicious. I saw Oakheart had Redtail pinned to the ground, but then Redtail…” Suddenly Ravenpaw’s eyes rolled in his head and he lurched sideways. Within a few seconds, the tom had collapsed on the ground below.

A ginger queen bounded toward him and crouched at his side. She licked his cheek briefly and called out, “Spottedthorn!”

Out of the fern-shaded corner trotted the pretty tortoiseshell Firepaw had noticed sitting beside Greypaw earlier. She hurried over to Ravenpaw and mewed for the queen to stand back. Then she used her small pink nose to roll the apprentice over so that she could take a good look at the wound. She glanced up and meowed, “It’s all right, Goldenflower, his wounds aren’t fatal. But I’ll need to fetch some cobwebs to stop the bleeding.”

As Spottedthorn sprinted back to her den, the hushed silence in the clearing was broken by a mournful howl. All eyes turned to the direction it had come from.

A massive dark brown tabby staggered through the gorse tunnel. Between his sharp teeth the warrior held not prey, but the lifeless body of another cat. He dragged the tattered creature into the center of the clearing. Firepaw craned his neck and glimpsed a flash of a russet red tail hanging limply in the dust.

Shock rippled through the Clan like a chill breeze. Beside Firepaw, Greypaw dropped into a crouch as grief swept over him. “Mosstail!”

“How did this happen, Tigerstorm!?” demanded Bluestar from her position on the Highrock. Tigerstorm said nothing, immediately rushing to the medicine cat den. Bluestar hissed in frustration and followed him. Murmurs rose from the clan. 

"Is she okay?"

"What happened?"

Five bloodied cats slowly entered camp. One was a bright red tom, who was limping heavily and leaning on a stone grey tom with brown spots on his pelt. The blue she-cat who looked almost exactly like Bluestar followed behind them, a nasty scratch along her chest and many spatters of blood dotted her fur. Next to the she-cat was a wiry brown tom, his left ear chopped off and bleeding. He was covered in scratches. The final cat was a smaller cat with dusty brown fur. His paws left bloody marks in the dirt as he walked but he didn't seem to have as many injuries as the others. The stone pelted tom quickly led the red tom to the medicine den, the rest of the group following behind them. 

Firepaw turned to Greypaw, who looked terribly sad. "What's happening?"

"W-we lost Sunningrocks..and Mosstail is dead..s-she's my aunt.." Greypaw whispered, staring down at the ground with unshed tears in his eyes. Smudge, ever the caring one, gently leaned against the grey tom. Greypaw pressed into Smudge's side, silently crying as Smudge gently groomed the top of his head. Firepaw was incredibly tense. His first day and someone had died..what did that mean for him?

As the night fell, the trio stayed mostly in the same spot. The medicine cats had been working tirelessly, having warriors gather cobwebs and moss every so often. Bluestar hadn't left the den even once. A few of the cats from the battle party had left, like the apprentice and the wiry brown tom, but the others had stayed. Longtail had been waiting outside until the brown warrior left, immediately covering him in worried licks. Duskstripe had been the one mostly delivering supplies.

Starlingclaw padded up to the trio, nosing Greypaw gently. "It'll be okay, son. Your brother and aunt will be just fine.. Spottedthorn and Featherwhisker are the best medicine cats in the whole world." Greypaw sniffled, leaning into his father's pelt. "You three should get some sleep. It's been a long night." Smudge nodded, nudging the sleeping Firepaw towards the apprentice den.

Chapter Text

The next morning was quiet. Firepaw had been awake since sunup, Greypaw's wails haunting his dreams. Nobody had said anything about Smudge, the strong tom sitting at his side, gently grooming his sleep-ridden pelt. Greypaw was pacing outside the medicine den, hoping for any good news. Tigerstorm, Whitecloud, and Starlingclaw were huddled, Tigerstorm in the center of them, a look of pure grief on his face. The other two toms seemed to be comforting him, but it really didn't look like it was working much. A sandy she-cat, only slightly larger than Firepaw, padded over, a tired look on her face.

"Greypaw didn't finish the tour, so that's my job now, kittypets." She grumbled, spitting slightly as she said it. Smudge nodded, standing up with a stretch. Firepaw was slightly offput by the anger, but said nothing. The she-cat padded over to the massive rock. "This is the Highrock. Bluestar or my father make announcements from up there, like ceremonies and stuff.." Firepaw raised an eyebrow.

"Who's your dad?" He asked.

"None of your business, housey." She hissed, immediately becoming defensive. Firepaw raised his paws, a sorry on his face. She scrunched her face up. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, saying sorry?" He responded, dropping back down on all fours.

"That's a weird way to apologize, housey." Smudge snorted, but once again, said nothing.

"You don't have, like, universal gestures?" Firepaw asked, now extremely interested.

"No? Nothing like that, at least." The she-cat muttered the second sentence. 

"Huh, that's interesting. I assume then that you use tail signals?" Smudge spoke up, tilting his head.

"Yeah, duh. It's more discreet during battle." She replied. "Any-ways." She flicked her tail. "Below the Highrock is Bluestar's den. They say an ancient river carved it out, the water moved by Starclan's paws." She said, like it had been repeated a million times before.

"What's Starclan? I thought there were only four clans in the forest." Firepaw asked. The she-cat stared at him like he was an idiot, and by her standards he probably was.

"Starclan are our ancestors, the stars in Silverpelt?" Firepaw just blinked. She sighed dramatically, like she was talking to a kit. "Silverpelt is the band of stars that are in the sky every night. Each star is a dead warrior, living with our ancestors." Smudge made an 'ah' sound, his typical 'that makes sense' noise. "You housies are weird." She mewed, looking at Smudge with one of the most judgemental looks Firepaw thought he'd ever seen. And Henry had some real judgement. The she-cat rolled her eyes, padding over to a fallen oak tree, a den carved out of the wood itself. "This is the elders den. You know what retirement is?" Firepaw nodded. "Okay, so these are our retired warriors, queens, and caretakers."

"Sandpaw, you showing the new housies around?" An older she-cat asked from inside the den. "Yes? Why?" Sandpaw replied. "Well, best have them come in and meet us." The she-cat said. Sandpaw sighed, not even bothering to say something before literally shoving Firepaw into the den. Smudge snorted, padding in after Sandpaw.

“Hello, youngsters,” one of the elders greeted Sandpaw

“Hello, Smallear,” mewed Sandpaw.

“This must be our new apprentice. Firepaw, isn’t it?” meowed a second tom. His patchy fur was dark brown, and there was only a stump where his tail should have been.

“That’s right,” Firepaw replied.

“I’m Sparrowtail,” purred the brown tom. “Welcome to the Clan.”

“Have you two eaten?” meowed Smallear.

Firepaw and Smudge both shook their heads.

“Well, there’s enough here. You and Dusty are turning into fine hunters, Sandy. Would you mind if these youngsters shared a mouse, White-eye?"

The pale gray queen who lay beside him shook her head. Firepaw noticed one of her eyes was clouded and sightless.

“What about you, Dappletail?”

The other elder, a tortoiseshell she-cat with a gray muzzle, meowed in a voice cracked with age, “Of course not. Rose?" The last elder in the den, a dark brown she-cat with a tail just like Mosstails turned her head. She looked sad, almost grieving. "They can do what they wish, Dapple. It doesn't matter much to me."

“Thank you,” mewed Smudge respectfully. He stepped forward and took a large mouse from the pile of prey, then dropped it at Firepaw’s feet. "You nervous?"

“No,” Firepaw admitted. He suddenly felt excited by the warm smells that were rising from this piece of fresh-kill. His whole body quivered at the thought of sharing his first real food as a Clan member. Smudge smiled, nodding for him to take the first bite. Firepaw crouched down and took a large bite from the mouse. It was juicy and tender, and sang with the flavors of the forest.

“What do you think?” asked Smudge.

“Fantastic!” mumbled Firepaw, his mouth still full.

“Move over then,” mewed Smudge, stepping forward and bending his head to take a bite.

As the two apprentices shared the mouse, they listened to the elders talk among themselves.

"Rosey, Mosstail is gon' be fine. She's got Spots and Featherwhisker on her case, you got no need to worry." Dappletail mewed. 'Rosey' simply sighed. "I know.. but that's my daughter in there. I'm just..she looked so dead already when Stormie brought her in.." Dappletail stopped her by putting a paw over her mouth. "You listen to me, Rosetail. Your daughter is the strongest little she-cat I've ever known. If anyone is gonna survive this, it's her. Now, you properly introduce youself to these new kits or so help me Starclan." Rosetail snorted, pushing the paw off her muzzle. "Fine, you old stink." Dappletail pretended to gasp insultedly, dramatically pulling back.

"I'm Rosetail, and you are?" Firepaw and Smudge both looked up.

"I'm Firepaw, and this is my best friend Smudge. We, ah, came here last night." Firepaw responded, licking his lips. "If I may ask, Rosetail, you said Mosstail was your daughter? I thought Bluestar was her mother." Smudge asked, wording himself carefully.

"Oh? We're both her mother." Smudge immediately looked flabbergasted as all hell. "..two..moms? How does that work? I've never heard of that before?" Rosetail snorted.

"You've never seen two she-cats be mates?"

"No?"

"Huh, well, it's quite common here. I guess that's just another difference between Twolegplace and the forest then." Rosetail tilted her head in thought.

"Can you tell us more about the cats here?" Firepaw asked. There were so many names he didn't know yet, so many cats he had yet to talk to.

"Of course. Hmm, where should I start.."

"What about you and your family?" Smudge asked.

"Oh, yes. Well I had a brother and a sister, Sweetpaw and...Thorn... Then there are my mates, Bluestar and Thrushpelt. I don't know if you've met him yet. He's the oldest caretaker, and the only caretaker. Then my kits, Mistyfoot, Stonestep, Mosstail, Ambershine, Raccoonheart and Starlingclaw."

"Starlingclaw is your kit?" Firepaw asked. He had always loved stories.

"My adopted kit. Him and his siblings, Ambershine and Raccoonheart, used to be housecats too, you know. I still fondly remember the day he caught his first prey."

"Woah.." Firepaw mewed.

"Then, of course his mates, Whitecloud and Tigerstorm. Together they had Duskstripe and Ravenpaw, and they adopted Greypaw. I know that Duskstripe is looking at somecat, but I'm not sure who it is yet. That's my family."

"You have quite the large family, Rosetail." Smudge said.

"Sparrow, dear.. is Redtail okay?" White-eye mewed from her nest. 

"Yes dear, but he's stepping down to become a caretaker. His leg isn't as strong anymore." Sparrowtail mewed back, gently resting his halftail over her back and he settled next to her.

"Really? That means we'll have a new deputy then." Dappletail commented. "Wonder who it'll be."

"I'd say Tigerstorm, but he's really struggling with his kit in the medicine den. That also takes out Starlin' and Whitecloud too." Patchpelt spoke up. Smallear nodded. "I'm thinking it'll be Lionheart. He's a bit older than them, and he's not struggling with anything."

"My vote is on Stonestep. He's got more natural leadership than Lionheart, even though he's younger." Sparrowtail meowed, closing his eyes as he nodded. 

"I think Ambershine would be good. She's a good planner. And she's got them quick paws." Dappletail remarked. Rosetail shook her head. "I agree with Smallear. Lionheart's the best choice we got, and he's also the only one with an apprentice out of this group." Firepaw looked over at Sandpaw, who looked incredibly bored.

"You two done with that mouse? Cause we still got a whole ass tour to finish." Sandpaw grimaced as she spoke.

"Language, Sandy." White-eye croaked, her pale, cloudy gaze on the apprentice. 

"Sorry, Gran." She ducked her head before pushing out of the den, Firepaw and Smudge quick to follow.