As the Gathering ends, Blackstar nods to the other leaders and leaps off the Great Rock into the crowd. He's still not used to sitting there, and he sometimes doubts whether he'll ever be.
Russetfur threads nimbly through the throng and falls into step beside him. "Blackstar," she says, dipping her head briefly.
His new name is another thing he needs to get used to. It feels off, like an ill-fitting pelt; both right and wrong at once. He supposes it will become familiar with time.
"Russetfur," he greets his deputy.
"We need to leave right away," she says, glancing up at the sky. "Starclan has granted us clear weather for the Gathering, but the clouds are building up and I'd rather we get home before it rains. We have elders and young apprentices here."
Blackstar nods and raises his tail over his back in silent command. His clan quickly says their parting goodbyes and fall in behind him as he leads the way up the slope. Whatever other doubts he harbors about leadership, this- the knowledge that he only has to call and his clanmates will be at his side- comforts him.
A cloud briefly passes over the moon as they near the Thunderpath. It does little to affect the visibility- Shadowclan is, after all, much more adept at traversing the darkness than other clans- but Blackstar quickens his pace. Russetfur is right; many of his cats are still weak after the latest bout of greencough, and they can ill afford a reiteration. Beside him, Russetfur is busying herself with a headcount while there is still light to do so.
"Rowanpaw, Tawnypaw! Starclan, if those two ran off again, I'll shred them to pieces," his deputy growls, apparently at the end of her patience. After she calls their names a second time, the two apprentices burst out of the woods and scurry into line, chirping a faintly embarrassed reply. As Russetfur gives them a thorough tongue-lashing, Blackstar sees movement in the brush. At first he thinks he'd imagined it, but no; a blue-gray tail slides under a bush several tail-lengths away.
Starclan give me strength. "Russetfur," he hisses to her under his breath. "I'm going to check something out. Go on without me."
Russetfur gives him a look like she wants to argue, but he really doesn't feel like doing this now. "I'll catch up later," he says. Because she's a good deputy, and by virtue of that is really too good for him, she doesn't question him, but sweeps on ahead without missing a beat in her lecture. As his cats stream past him, Blackstar edges out of the patrol into the woods. He doesn't bother trying to be subtle; all Shadowclan cats are too well trained to miss him (with his white coat, it would be difficult to do so), but thankfully they are also too well trained to take him up on it.
He'll just tell them he saw a squirrel or something later.
What greets Blackstar when he steps into the small clearing is most certainly not a squirrel. Mistyfoot's blue-gray pelt gleams silver in the moonlight, rapidly fading though it is. He cannot read the expression in her eyes (he's never been very good at reading cats outside his clan- no empathy, his mother said once, but she also said Brokenstar would make their clan great and look how that turned out).
"Blackstar," the Riverclan deputy greets him, and continues without waiting for a response. "I've been thinking about our last conversation. You know the one?"
Blackstar narrows his eyes. She gives no specifics, but he doesn't need any. Their last conversation is still fresh in his mind, and will quite possibly be until his dying day. The one time he'd lowered himself to show weakness, had admitted a wrong and asked for forgiveness, it had been rejected and thrown back in his face. If nothing else, she'd at least given him ready warning for the way the other clans would receive Shadowclan after Scourge; the wounds that had been dealt by his clan's paw were too fresh and deep to be forgotten lightly. In retrospect, he had been a fool to hope for anything other than her visceral reaction, but it was too late to mend that now.
"I do," he says.
At his flat response, Mistyfoot's composure slips for an instant. He catches a brief glimpse of pure, unbridled rage before it is wiped away, locked behind a blank face that would make any Shadowclan cat proud. So she is still angry, then, he muses with an vague sense of detachment. If this is how she truly feels about him, he admires her self-control. Unless, of course, she has lured him out to attempt revenge.
"Then I'm sure you also recall what we discussed," Mistyfoot goes on. Blackstar briefly wonders what she's getting at, reflects again on the possibility of murder, and dismisses it. He's got his nine lives now, so if she's hoping for another case of Nightstar, she is sadly mistaken. "You said you regretted your murder of Stonefur." Mistyfoot's clear blue eyes- still vacant of any expression- meet his own. She looks every inch a warrior and very much able to hurt him if she deems it necessary. "Were you sincere?" she asks quietly.
Blackstar lifts his head; he has nothing to hide. "I was," he says. "And I still am. I have killed before," he adds, almost without meaning to. "But Stonefur.. should not have died." That's about as diplomatic as he can get, really, and it's more than he's ever revealed to anyone else before. He's not sure why he needs her to understand so badly, but somehow it feels like if she can forgive him, there might still be hope.
Blackstar puts aside the embarrassingly maudlin thoughts and focuses on the cat in front of him. Her eyes are narrowed, and she seems to be thinking over what he's said. Something in his chest makes a hopeful noise; Blackstar squashes it ruthlessly.
At last, Mistyfoot speaks. "I still think you're generally terrible as a cat, and I'm probably going to hate you forever. But.. I also think Stonefur wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life plotting to tear out your entrails." She stands up and paces slowly forward. "So, no, this is not for you. Don't get any illusions that everything you've done is suddenly forgiven or anything. I'm just going to make the attempt to move past this- if you'll meet me halfway."
She is less than a mouse-length away from him now; their breath, visible in the cool autumn air, mingles between them. Mistyfoot leans in so close that their whiskers are very nearly touching. Blackstar does not flinch. He has humiliated himself enough for tonight without the added display of weakness. "Lead your clan, Blackstar," she hisses. The fury in her eyes is very visible now. "I will not seek revenge. But if you turn- just a hint that you'll follow in the steps of your predecessors- and I will kill you."
It is not an empty threat, but a promise. Blackstar catches her gaze, holding her fast in a battle of wills. "I understand," he growls.
They glare at each other, neither willing to back down first, when the impromptu battle is broken by a rumble of thunder almost directly above their heads. Moments later, the first raindrops trickle down from the trees. Blackstar stands, and without a word, turns to leave the clearing.
"Blackstar!" Mistyfoot calls behind him. He does not look at her. "Remember what I said here."
Blackstar flicks his tail in acknowledgement and, as soon as he is out of sight, breaks into a long, smooth lope. The rain is not yet coming down hard, but it will soon, and he has a clan to lead.
The constant weight of Stonefur's death sits heavy at the back of his mind.