When he rose to Starclan he wasn't sure who'd be waiting for him. Would it be Swanmist, who he'd loved and forgotten? Would it be his parents: Blueshine, who loved no one, and Addershriek, who loved all but Blueshine? Would it be his unborn kits whose faces he'd never seen? Or would it be Whitefang, whose face he'd seen in his dreams every night until his last? He doubted it would be Whitefang; Falconshade had risen to the stars a few moons ago, and she would be by his side. He had hoped that somehow she'd be standing there, watching for his face to appear over the edge and greet him with one of her crooked smiles. He hadn't seen her smile in so long.

Instead, Timbermask was greeted by a sea of familiar faces once he reached the stars: his father Addershriek, his mentor Dawnstrike, his niece Nightsong and nephew Freckletail. Blueshine was there too, waiting to apologize. Her silver-blue pelt gleamed in the shadows and her mint green gaze refused to meet his father's. Then, to his great surprise, there was Whitefang. She waded through the sea and it parted for her. Her golden eyes were sad and gentle when she reached him, more so now than they'd ever been in life. Her voice he'd almost forgotten, and when she spoke it was like a chord striking so many distant memories. Her voice, her face, her scent were all music and he, the hapless dancer, was drawn to it like so many moths to flame.

"Timbermask," she smiled softly, and he noticed she glowed with the dewy radiance of youth. He took her in and breathed her scent just as he imagined he would after so long. Here was his warrior queen, and before her he'd never felt so alive.

"Whitefang," he breathed her name and it escaped him along with all the emotion he'd wrapped up inside: the longing that dulled his senses, the heartbreak that never mended, the weight of a thousand words he'd never said all left him and a dull, empty ache remained inside his chest. She was just in death as she had been in life: beautiful in her strength, mighty in her pride. Then, his eyes wandered. "Where is Swanmist?"

Whitefang's golden gaze darkened. "There's much I have to tell you," she sighed. They parted ways from the others, who let them pass without a word. Once far enough removed, Whitefang hung her head. "Swanmist isn't here, Timbermask, I'm sorry." He stared at her.

"What?"

Whitefang explained her promise to her dying sister and how it led her to Falconshade and to her death. Timbermask growled furiously.

"You should have told me! I could have helped you, could have saved you!" He cried miserably. She went on to tell him of the dreams that kept her up at night and the battle at the half bridge. He couldn't believe it: his Swanmist did this?

"She...she tried to kill you? To kill them?" He stammered. Whitefang nodded.

"They still have nightmares; if you had asked they would have told you. And I...I killed her Timbermask." Her golden gaze begged for understanding, for forgiveness. Timbermask had never expected to feel so utterly alone in Starclan, or at least not like this. Swanmist was gone and her killer was standing before him: he loved her. "Timbermask, I'm so sorry. I tried to make her understand, to stop what she was doing...I wanted her to be okay!" Whitefang was crying now, but he couldn't bring himself to touch her as he once had. He wasn't sure she deserved his consolation. "I just wanted her to stop...she was going to kill them, all of them, and she was going to kill Falconshade. She was going to send their bodies down the river to my parents, to you!" Whitefang could hardly speak, her voice choked with emotions she'd never acknowledged. "I tried so hard to make her stop, I told her she still had time to change, Timbermask, I did. I'm so sorry!"

"What about her kits? Our kits?" He asked, voice empty. "If she had them, why would she-" Whitefang shook her head, neck heavy with all the guilt she had carried silently for so many moons.

"Everyone has told me miscarried kits don't make it to Starclan the same way the others do. They're not...they're not fully formed. They didn't have enough time to become...anything." She whispered. Timbermask shook his head furiously and ignored her eyes as they pleaded with him.

"No, this can't be happening! It wasn't supposed to be like this!" He looked at Whitefang in anguish. "When I got here I was supposed to have a family waiting for me. I was supposed to have Swanmist and our kits...now you're saying I have neither?"

"Timbermask I didn't know-" She began, but he cut her off with a growl.

"You could have told me! You could have told me what she was making you do and this never would have happened!" He snarled, "If you had just trusted me-"

"But I hated you!" Whitefang screamed and he was taken aback, "I hated you and you hated me! I couldn't have told you anything and I couldn't tell anyone else! You don't understand!"

"I never hated you!" Timbermask whispered harshly, his voice cracking. She fell silent. "I loved you Whitefang. Even with Swanmist...when Swanmist...I loved you, Whitefang, and nothing you ever told me could have changed that." Whitefang stared at him, her golden eyes wide with pain.

"And I loved you once," she said softly, her white face now stained with tears, "a long time ago when we were both so different than we are now. And maybe, maybe somewhere along the line if something - anything - had gone differently we could have had a future together. But we never got that chance, Timbermask, and now it's too late." She ran the tip of her fluffy white tail across his cheek and he shuddered, not sure what to make of her anymore. Was she still his martyr - his saint? Did he hate her or did he love her? She'd been the queen of his heart, now the bringer of evil. Could she be both? A silver tear leaked from the corner of her eye as she drew her tail away from him and whatever he felt from her touch was dulled with loss. She'd loved him.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered, turning away. On the distant horizon, Timbermask could just barely make out the glowing ginger shape of Falconshade, waiting for her return. He felt his heart blacken and crumble, reduced to ashes as she doused his flame.

"Wait, Whitefang!" He called. She turned but barely, so her eyes glowed just over the great white mountain of her shoulder. Framed by stars, Timbermask couldn't imagine a time where she'd appeared more heartrendingly beautiful. "Was there ever a chance for us?" He asked softly. Her eyes welled up with fresh tears and she couldn't bring herself to face him; Whitefang turned her head toward the horizon and faded away. He could just barely make out the soft tremors of her voice on the cool night air as she said "Once."

Never had Timbermask imagined that in a sky full of stars he would feel so alone.

An angsty look at Timbermask's arrival in Starclan.