There were many cats in StarClan, Bluestar mused as she padded around in search of her sister, Snowfur. Many had died after the Great Battle, including her successor, Firestar, but many more lived on.

"Hello, Bluestar!" Stonefur meowed from where he and Mosskit chatted happily on Warmrocks.

"Hello, you two. Having fun?"

"Yes!" The little grey and white she-cat flew toward her mother, but Bluestar stopped her from crashing just in time. "Stonefur was telling me about what RiverClan was like! It was fun!"

"I think you would have liked ThunderClan better." The blue-grey leader purred mischievously. "ThunderClan rules!" Bluestar snickered.

"ThunderClan rules!" Mosskit chirped after her mother.

"Hey!" A red-furred tom with bright green eyes padded over at the sight of his family. "I take offense to that!"

"Father!" Mosskit barreled into Oakheart, who received his daughter with open paws. "I bet it's true!" She grinned.

"Yeah, sure, kit. RiverClan cats can swim, but what can you stinky ThunderClan cats do?" He challenged playfully.

"We climb trees!" Mosskit yowled. "Look, Father! I can climb!"

Stonefur, Oakheart, and Bluestar watched as Mosskit scrabbled onto a low-hanging tree branch from a nearby rock.

"Very good!" Bluestar purred. "Now get down before you hurt yourself!"


Firestar glared down at the pool to the living. He'd been in StarClan for more than a quarter moon, and he missed his Clan desperately. It wasn't fair! Why did he have to go when Sandstorm still needed him?

"You can wish all you want, but she won't join you before her time." A dark grey she-cat with a broad, flattened face and piercing orange glare loped over to where the great ginger leader sat. "None of them will."

"There's no use in complaining, but what's the point of StarClan when Sandstorm isn't here to make everything perfect?"

"StarClan is here to wait on those living and help them spend their lives the best they know how so that when they join us, it is without regrets."

"What do you know about regrets, Yellowfang?" The ginger leader snapped. "Or Sandstorm and I, for that matter?"

"I know plenty about regrets, young tom." She reminded him. "Your hurts will be smoothed over time, but you cannot interfere with the living. There are plenty of cats in the same predicament as you, Firestar. You are not alone."

The grey medicine cat left her would-be son to his own devices. He would have to learn.


Silverstream stared through a different pool with similar results. At least Greystripe seemed happy with the life he led. Who was she to get in the way of that?

"You shouldn't torture yourself." A gentle voice murmured from not too far away. The silver tabby whirled around at the presence of a new cat. He was ThunderClan by scent, a sandy grey tom with blue eyes.

"My name is Thrushpelt, and I once thought Bluestar hung the moon and scattered the stars." He chuckled softly.

"Her heart belonged to another, and I eventually figured out that she could never love me that way. Certainly, no one could force her to do anything she wasn't interested in."

"You make moving on sound so easy," Silverstream scoffed.

"Whoever thinks that has moss for brains, because moving on hurts. It takes time that you don't want to spend alone and patience that you don't want to have, but mostly it takes understanding. If he really has moved on, then you'll eventually have to do the same."

"Seeing her with him… at least I know he loved me once. But their poor kits… she's definitely no one's mother."

"She never did seem the type. Bluestar was all over the camp chasing after her kits. Always growling at anyone who dared to look at them wrong. Losing them, even the way she did, it broke her. I don't know this cat well enough, but she seems too… unattached."

"I feel terrible for being so selfish. She's done nothing to me. Has done more for me than I can say. But…"

"You love him. That might not go away." Thrushpelt offered, flicking his tail. "And it doesn't have to, because some part of him still loves you. I mean look at her."

"There are plenty of grey cats around." Silverstream snorted.

"Oh, it's more than that." Thrushpelt deadpanned. They snickered.

"I feel bad for her kits." The RiverClan she-cat admitted. "I know that my friends and family did right by Stormfur and Feathertail. They turned out wonderfully…" She purred thoughtfully.

"I don't think, had I been around to raise them, that I would have done as good a job. So I'm kind of glad that I wasn't. But I watch her with her kits and… I just want to scream every time she pushes poor Blossomfall away. And by the Stars, it's a wonder that Bumblestripe turned out the way he did. But then maybe Greystripe had more of a paw in things than he was willing to show."

"Well, the kid's no Ashfur."

"Ugh, do not dare mention that wretched tom! It's a wonder no one has tried chasing him across the border, that-."

"He wouldn't survive there. And someone here knew it. His actions later in life were absolutely reproachable, but overall he was a good warrior. I have to believe that, or what does that make me?"

"Better than that fleabag, for sure." Silverstream scoffed. "I might not approve of what Millie does, but that doesn't mean I want her gone! He just… ugh, I don't get why."

"Ask him someday. He's of sound mind with plenty to reflect on. He might give you a straight answer."


"Hello," Cinderpelt bristled before the sound of the familiar voice reached her ears. She hated when cats snuck up on her. Getting shocked out of your fur was not fun, no matter how many times Squirrelflight tried it as an apprentice.

"Whitestorm, Lionheart." She dipped her head to the white tom and the golden tabby in turn. "What can I do for you?"

"I say we start with a walk and go from there." Whitestorm offered. "There are some things that were never truly explained."

Yes, there were. Like why Lionheart wasn't their father even though they'd grown up with him. Or why one of her littermates was named after a golden ShadowClan tom that looked eerily similar to him. Or why she had a completely dark grey pelt when nobody else, not even her mother's parents, were anything remotely resembling her. The closest she could possibly fathom was Fuzzypelt, and he was pure black. If Lionheart was her father, she could get it from Smallear. Maybe something like a duller version of Fuzzypelt's… but that made no sense. Even now she had no clue who her father was. Her mother had never wanted to talk about it with any of them, but Cinderpelt knew she stood out. Like a fox in the leafbare snow, she stood out against her literally golden family! No one ever teased her for it, and she never felt that she was lacking as a kit. Lionheart was great, at first. But then he got Greystripe for an apprentice and he stopped seeing them that often. Then he became deputy and he couldn't play with them at all. She'd never asked Frostfur out of respect for her mother. Why bring in any unnecessary grief? Frostfur would tell Cinderpelt when she was ready.

"I suppose you're wondering about your true heritage." Her mother's uneasy voice drifted to her ears.

Apparently, Frostfur was ready.


"I fell for a ShadowClan tom in my youth. Brackenfoot."

"So my brother was named for his father?" Cinderpelt snorted. "Wasn't that a little risky?"

"It was a one-time thing. I'd just become a warrior and boy, was I reveling in it. Bluestar was so proud of me! I was perfect, just like my sister. We got away with everything until Willowpelt and the tortoiseshell twins became warriors. I fancied myself in love, but he never told me it was a onetime thing. He certainly never told me that he had a mate."

"Whoa… when did he get a mate?!"

"Well, he was a ShadowClan cat. Much older than I was. I was looking for some attention and I found it… oh, did I find it. I tracked down his mate not too long after you all were born, told her everything, all but broke down in front of her… she just stared at me. I had no idea what she was thinking, but eventually, she said that it wasn't entirely my fault. He made his decision, and even if it hadn't been me, he would have found some other young cat. It was a bad habit of his. She made me swear to never tell anyone who fathered my kits, and I was perfectly okay with that. Brindleface never told anyone who fathered Ashfur and Ferncloud either, so I was glad to know I wasn't the only one. Besides, we queens are allowed to have a few secrets."

"So we were, what, mistakes? And what about the part where I'm my mentor's younger sister?!"

"You are absolutely no one's mistake, sweet one. I need you to remember that, no matter what happens from here. I love you and your brothers will the heat of a million stars, and knowing who your father is won't make me stop."


The last thing Bluestar remembers is playing with her youngest and feeling happier than she had in moons.

The last thing Thrushpelt recalled, he was talking to Silverstream about letting go of someone you couldn't have.

Firestar was wrapped up in the trauma every StarClan cat felt when they first arrived, and likely would remain so for half a moon. There were plenty of cats waiting and willing to help him through settling in. The ginger leader of ThunderClan would be fine.

Whitestorm padded easily beside Lionheart, hoping that Cinderpelt and her mother talked things out and Frostfur would, at the very least, no longer be an anxious wreck. Perhaps even pleasant.

Cinderpelt was shocked beyond belief. There was an old rule that queens didn't have to tell Clanmates who fathered their kits. This was definitely why, she realized.

A dark wave washed over all of StarClan and the voices of the First Ancestors could be heard for miles.

"TIME SHALL RECLAIM WHAT HAS BEEN LOST TO SOME, AND OTHERS SHALL HEAL REGARDLESS."