To my father, "John", whose eyes see light in a starless sky.

"We are not bound forever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory."—Aragorn

As the winds of newleaf brushed gently over her, some despondent part of Briarlight wished the world were still thrashing about in the grips of leafbare and snow. No, wait—that wasn't entirely accurate. Not quite. She wanted to see the earth smothered in it, choking under its icy claws, all its new life born into and buried in mountains of chilly white powder.

Briarlight gazed morosely into the back of her den. This was her home now, in a way, the place where she would bid fair well to the milky glory of the stars above for the rest of her life. But it didn't feel like it. Even the small pool in the far corner of the tiny cave seemed to refuse to bear her reflection, as if warning her that this—her new life, her new mentor, her new everything—was going to be fleeting, like the translucent phantasms she'd seen stalking the skies.

And besides, those same apparitions would reject her, turn their starry gazes from her and let her wander blindly into her fate. They probably already had. After all, didn't the cats of Starclan have eyes everywhere, roving, tireless ones that watched your every move? Until someone told her otherwise, she always assume they were frowning down at, shaking their heads in disapproval at her every action. Would feel their gazes pressing down on her dark, mahogany pelt, would feel them delve into the endless sea of regrets and mistakes lying just beneath.

In the nest beside hers, a gray lump stirred before stiffening, going as ridged as ice. A head emerged from the shape, its eyes large and blue. Its ear twitched, pricking in her direction as she faced the mass of fur, and found herself meeting the milky gaze of her mentor.

Jayfeather.

"Briarlight," he gasped, as if he'd expected anyone but her in his den. His sightless eyes widened. "You didn't…I mean, I didn't…you didn't hear me saying anything in my sleep, did you?"

She blinked. "Um, no. I'd almost forgotten you were here."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Because she hardly slept anymore, that's why. Because the guilt ate her alive, gnawed at her whatever still remained of her heart. Because the memories—the brush of silver pelt, the glory of a warm nose pressed to her cheek—wouldn't die. "I might've waken you myself if I did."

He nodded, but the knowledge didn't seem to light his spirits any. This was a haggard cat, she realized, an individual who'd been pushed to his breaking point. Except…well, she doubted it ended with that. Judging by his sagging shoulders and bowed head, he'd been forced beyond that point—and watched it shatter.

Gingerly, she touched her nose to the top of his head. "It was dream, wasn't it?"

Flinching, Jayfeather pulled away, leaving her nose to greet nothing but brisk night air. But she wasn't surprised. Like his father, the silver tabby wasn't one for sentimentality, and had developed a recent disliking for physical contact—from friends, from relatives, from anyone. So no cheek-rubbing, then. No long nights spent pressed close, hoping that her mentor's mere closeness could ward off her guilt-racked dreams.

"It was," he replied guardedly, "but that was all. Just a dream."

Awkwardly, she withdrew her head. She hated this. Hated his frigidity, his utter coldness that shrouded the cat she knew was there. The cat she longed to touch. "About?"

His eyes screwed shut. "Firestar."

"Did he say anything?" she asked, ears pricked.

"Besides the normal, vague Starclan talk? Then no, he didn't really have much to say, Briarlight. And what he did, it's not worth losing sleep over."

"Why?" she pressed.

His cloudy eyes narrowed. "Because I said it wasn't."

Briarlight touched his shoulder lightly, watched his ears flatten to the back of his skull at the gesture. A growl began to rise in his throat, vibrating the air as if a crazed bumble bee were zipping past, and his lip lifted to reveal sparkling canines. She took a step back—a difficult maneuver for her with mangled back legs and nearly useless spine—drew in long, shaky breath, and shook her head. "Jayfeather, please. Stop lying to me. You and I both know that you wouldn't have been so shaken if Firestar's words weren't important."

The fur along Jayfeather's spine bristled. "Then stop lying to me about your kits."

Part of her—all of her—went cold. She couldn't move. Couldn't breath. Could only stare at him, unblinking, feeling as though his murky eyes had seen into her soul.

So he'd put it together, then. Or maybe he'd drifted into her thoughts, sifting through them like water through a beaver dam. That was his special gift from Starclan, after all—walking in other's dream, in their minds—and it wouldn't have been the first time he'd used his talent unscrupulously. And it wouldn't be the last, either.

As soon as she'd recovered enough, she mewed, "I did it to protect you, Jayfeather. I didn't…I didn't want you to suffer the same fate as Leafpool. All that shame."

Neither of them was feeling up to mentioning it, but there was more than shame leading down that road. There was plenty of disgrace, yes—but that's not where it ended. The final sight on that road, the coda of the birdsong, was when a Windclan border patrol had stumbled upon the two lifeless bodies of Leafpool and Crowfeather, her light brown tabby pelt contrasting beautifully with his dark gray fur.

As if attempting to the purge the memory, Jayfeather quickly shook his head. "Just get back to bed, Briarlight. You forget about this whole conversation come morning."

Yeah, right. "Firestar said something about Leafpool, didn't he?"

The medicine cat's ear went flat. "I said, go the bed, Briarlight."

"Jayfeather…"

"You won't want to hear what he said anyway," he said, icy tone warming just a tad. "And besides, Leafpool's not in Starclan. Not anymore."

Briarlight went rigid. "She went to the Dark Forest? The Place of No Stars?"

"No, no. And she never went anywhere—not on her own anyway." Curling in a tight, fluffy ball, Jayfeather turned away from her. "Nightcloud killed both her Crowfeather, sent them to the…the place Firestar was telling me about."

"Nightcloud's dead?" she shrieked, incredulous. "When did that happen?"

"A few days Crowfeather and Leafpool were found," he answered clinically, as if he were recounting a detail from one of elder's countless stories and not referring to his parents' demise. "From what Firestar told me, it seems as though she killed herself for the express purpose of killing…those two."

"Where…" She cut herself off, unable to force to tongue to ask that dreadful question. It was something she shouldn't know, something for Starclan's mind's only. Something beyond what even their timeless, starry thoughts could wrap around. Fathom.

But Jayfeather must've sense what she'd been about to ask, because he'd gone completely still. Or maybe he'd gleaned it from her thoughts, gone walking in there again without permission. Or maybe he'd just known, somehow, deep in whatever lied beyond his heart…because it was exactly the same thing that he was thinking.

"They're past the stars now, according to Firestar," he finally whispered, voice strangled with emotion. "They're somewhere where cats go after they pass out of Starclan , when there isn't a cat alive who remembers their name. A place beyond memory. Beyond time. And beyond death."

"How…" She swallowed, tried again. "How does Firestar know any of this, anyway?"

"Spottedleaf told him. She still speaks to him from there, he says, asks him to come join her when he's ready." Suddenly, Jayfeather pushed to his paws, facing her that oddly inescapable gaze. Perhaps he could actually see her, or perhaps it only felt that way, but she somehow knew that he was watching her. One way or another. "They when love is strong enough, deep enough, it can overcome all that's place in its path that isn't part of it's own will. Time, reality, death…they drown in an ocean of love so vast, time never applied to it in the first place."

"And…he still loves Sandstorm, doesn't he?" she asked, a little too frantically.

And then…then Briarlight found her eyes drifting opening, allowing in piercing shafts of sunlight. And the sight of a cat's face. A light brown tabby one, with soft, green eyes starring kindly down at her.

"You're up," Leafpool greeted warmly. When Jayfeather appeared beside her, she added, "we've been waiting all morning for you to wake. But Jayfeather insisted we let you sleep, since he thought you looked like you were having a good dream."

"Sort of," she replied, still dazed from her dream. She glanced at Jayfeather. "How's Sandstorm doing?"

There was a pause, a morose one shared by the other two cats. Leafpool averted her gaze; Jayfeather kept on starring into nothing, his blind gaze looking all the more eerie, like twin moons set in starless sky. His tail brushed the brown tabby's shoulder gently, and Briarlight could swear she heard the sound of his heartbeat echoing off the grotto's wall. Could hear it snap, then shatter into infinite pieces.

"She's dead," breathed Jayfeather, head bowed. "She just couldn't shake her greencough."

Briarlight stiffened. "Oh."

And that's when Briarlight knew that that hadn't been just a dream. That it hadn't been a simple prophecy, either, had been something far greater than she could even imagine. Something mysterious, something that sang in every cat's heart before they took their first breath.

It was the song of the Place Beyond Memory, calling her across the stars.

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience on earth can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."—C.S. Lewis