The running is going to kill her. Faster and faster she charges through the undergrowth, wishing it wasn't greenleaf, wishing the wood weren't so lush and thick. But would leaf-bare be any better, cold and exposed? Don't answer that, she tells herself, lunging over a fallen log and nearly twisting a paw. That's all it would take to kill her with the coyotes on her heels. But she refuses to die. She's come this far. She's come so far.
Her chest burns with the effort. Dodging every stray frond and twig saps her energy, and the bigger obstacles afford her no shelter. There are too many coyotes in pursuit for her to spend time searching for a hiding place. And what of Tawnyfeather? Did the BreezeClan warrior get away, or did the coyotes make a meal of her? Don't answer that, she thinks again.
A tangle of vines and ferns suddenly blocks the way. Stonetail draws up short, taking great, heaving breaths as her pursuers crash through the forest behind her. Where's the way out? Can she climb? No, not fast enough. And the gaps in the foliage are too tight. Muscling her way through will only result in the vines trapping her, holding her steady for death. Frantic, she whirls, expecting slavering jaws and searing breath in the seconds before being torn apart. Instead, she spies amber eyes peering out of the wood at her.
"Tawnyfeather!" Stonetail gasps, and when the eyes rush away, she follows through a narrow gap between two thorny bushes, heedless of the lines scored against her skin. Small scrapes that can be covered in cobwebs will heal, and she'll take recovery over being made into a meal. Clearly Tawnyfeather thinks the same thing, because even though they've put the thorns between themselves and the coyotes, she hardly slows, burning through the undergrowth with her limbs pumping furiously. Stonetail follows a tail-length behind, long legs stinging as if riddled with pine needles, but still holding. Until they are safe, until they can return to the others without leading the coyotes along the way, her weary limbs will have to hold.
A sharp, sudden turn nearly sends the grey warrior careening down a short slope with a shallow creek at the bottom. It occurs to her that Tawnyfeather didn't signal the shift with her tail, something they had agreed on when they left as scouts that morning, but maybe the fear is getting to her. It's certainly getting to Stonetail. Though the distance between her and the coyotes has increased, their panting and baying rings in her ears, their sour breath filling her nose.
Rousing them had been an accident. She and Tawnyfeather had stumbled upon the sleeping family by mistake, and in the process of slipping away, a misstep had rustled the ground cover. A coyote had lifted its ears, and in moments, the entire group was in hungry pursuit of an easy meal. Somewhere along the way, Tawnyfeather had split off to the side and vanished, leaving Stonetail to her own devices.
"Why did you leave me?" Stonetail demands, each word coming out in a labored burst. But Tawnyfeather doesn't reply, instead doubling her pace as she takes another sharp turn. Her tail vanishes through a cluster of dense holly, and when Stonetail explodes through the other side, she finds herself overlooking a bubbling stream, fed by a small waterfall. It's nothing like WillowClan's old river and violent rapids, and despite the urgency in the air, there's something peaceful to the water as it tumbles steadily down the rocks. Stonetail almost forgets that she is running for her life until another long howl sounds from nearby, and when she snaps to attention, she spots Tawnyfeather splashing across wet rocks to reach the opposite bank. From there, she hurries toward the base of the waterfall, and to Stonetail's alarm, disappears in the spray.
With no time to lose, Stonetail sprints down to the stream and picks her way across the rocks. She nearly pitches into the water partway across, the slick surface fully prepared to do her in, but makes it to the other side with a long, adrenaline-fueled leap. Still at full tilt, she darts after Tawnyfeather, and when she comes alongside the waterfall, the narrow gap in the rocks, glimmering with mist, is plain to see.
So are the coyotes, even the pups big and heavy enough to cross the stream without aid of the rocks. Terror trounces reason, and without a second thought, Stonetail squeezes herself into the passage. The walls press close to her sides, their jagged edges prodding her uncomfortably as she squirms along, but they keep out the snarling coyotes, which jam their muzzles into the opening with as much force as they can. Stonetail nearly loses the tip of her tail and surges forward, only to fall into a small hollow filled with damp air and the faint scents of water vole. It is startling to realize the tranquil falls could hide such a convenient hideaway.
More startling, though, is the cat already occupying the limited space. She is not Tawnyfeather.
"Who are you?" the mystery cat spits, hackles raised. She backs toward the far wall, tail raised and damp moss squelching underfoot.
"Who are you?" Stonetail echoes, mirroring the other cat's movements until the snarl of a coyote reminds her it isn't safe to back up too far. Instead, she slinks around the outer wall of the space, forcing the ginger-and-white cat to shift with her until they spit at one another from across the little cavern.
The she-cat refuses to give up a name. "You brought them here," she says accusingly, flicking the barest glance toward the crevice that leads outside. Another snarl rings out, along with a splash and a high yelp.
"I thought you were a friend," Stonetail replies defensively, pinning her ears back. "Hardly my fault that you didn't make that clear." Still, there's a kernel of truth in the she-cat's words: Stonetail did wake the beasts and draw them into pursuit. Wrinkling her nose, she neglects to address that particular factor, and the she-cat doesn't seem to know. She doesn't bring it up, and instead, after a few cold, tense minutes, she rocks back onto her haunches and settles down with her unwavering gaze on Stonetail at all times. At first, Stonetail returns the favor, but eventually, an itch crawls up and down her spine, and she surrenders to the urge to groom herself, keeping one ear swiveled toward the other side of the chamber just in case.
It goes on like this too long. The coyotes don't seem to know when to give up, and even though a number of heavy splashes suggest that their footing by the falls is no less than precarious, the snarling and scratching at the rock is too grating to be a trick of the water rebounding off the miniature cliff-face above.
The she-cat pipes up unexpectedly after another howl fills the air. "We're going to be here until they give up," she says. "Tell me who you are, or I'll be the only one who walks out."
It's been a while since Stonetail was threatened. To her surprise, it rolls off her back like rain. "Move a whisker-length toward me and I'll roll your body out for them," she drawls, licking a paw and drawing it over her face, a soothingly simple motion. To her satisfaction, the she-cat blinks in surprise, as if her experience in blustering is limited to being the blusterer. Her quick recovery, though is to her credit, and perhaps her conflict resolution skills are not limited to the kind involving tooth and claw.
"I'm Skipper," she concedes. "Now tell me who you are."
"Stonetail."
Skipper cocks her head. "Funny name you've got," she says with her eyes narrowed.
"Speak for yourself," Stonetail answers. She gives up grooming, though, and studies Skipper more carefully now, taking in the dirt under her claws and the feral tilt of her eyes. She could be a loner, which Stonetail would prefer. A loner is apt to move on without kicking up a fuss and alerting other cats to their presence. The Clans may dislike outsiders, especially now, but a loner is no threat to a large group.
A rogue, though? If Skipper shows any sign of being a rogue, Stonetail won't let her see the world outside again without ample warning of what will happen if they meet twice.
A twinge of guilt races through her gut. Once, she might have offered the benefit of the doubt, even to a rogue, but after witnessing the destruction a single violent cat can cause under the right circumstances, she's not inclined to take chances. Rogues, according to the remaining BreezeClan warriors, who dealt with them most frequently back in their meadow, often travel in groups, or claim territory as extensive as a full-fledged Clan might. They take land as conquerors, and there are no tales of rogues being merciful to the conquered.
If Skipper is a rogue, the Clans waiting on Tawnyfeather and Stonetail's scouting report may be in danger. Surviving this encounter is imperative.
Luckily, Skipper seems keen on surviving as well. She keeps her distance and sheathes her claws, though her gaze remains wary. "What are you doing here?" she asks. "I've never seen your hide before."
"Just passing through with a friend," Stonetail says, intentionally omitting the Clans. Better not to give Skipper too many reasons to fear her. "Trying to find a new home."
"New home?"
Don't ask for details, Stonetail prays even as she answers flatly, "Wildfire." And a murderer, but that's not appropriate for small talk with strangers. She schools her posture into total neutrality, and it takes less effort than it might have half a moon ago. She's had all that time to push her fear and rage under a carpet of moss, to replace it with cool certainty and a desire to finally settle, putting the good of her Clan first, though she would have never taught herself to do so if Greystar wasn't still a burning topic of the nightly gossip she so desperately tries to avoid.
ShadeClan wonders about the fate of its leader, wonders about when its new leader will be allowed to take his rightful place, but Stonetail wonders further back, wondering chiefly about where her mother's heart was.
It isn't the type of thought to pursue in a stranger's company, though, so she simply focuses on neutrality, cool neutrality. Neutrality is impressive and intimidating, and unless Skipper is brave to the point of idiocy, she'll steer well clear of trying to put chips in Stonetail's façade.
And she does. Until a cool night breeze trickles in, until the coyotes have long surrendered their pursuit and charged off in search of easier prey, Skipper is totally silent. Even when the coast clears, she maintains her silence, scenting the air carefully before squeezing into the tunnel. In the interest of avoiding a fight, Stonetail follows at a healthy distance, giving Skipper a wide enough berth to avoid giving the impression that she's following her.
Quickly they move to part, but to Stonetail's surprise, Skipper halts atop the stepping stones in the middle of the creek. "You smell like a lot of other cats," she says. "I'm assuming you're with the group in the oak glade. Go that way. And good luck." She kinks her tail downstream, and before Stonetail can reply, she vanishes into the nearest thicket, leaving only her scent as trace.
Stonetail follows the stream, sulking. Scents. Of course Skipper smelled all the scents on her pelt. If she's sent to scout tomorrow, she resolves, she's going to roll in the rankest patch of weeds she can find.
»»««
She returns just in time to witness Oaknose confronting Featherstar behind the hollow oak that serves as shelter for the weakest cats. "Enough stalling," he growls, lashing his tail and puffing out his chest. "My Clan is leaderless. BreezeClan is, too, and they're missing a medicine cat. Out of all the Clans, you've come off the best in this deal. If you don't search for a replacement for the Moon Grove, I will take my Clan and find one, and you can fend for yourself."
Featherstar's white pelt glows in the moonlight despite the signs of matting around her ruff. Diplomatic as ever, she does everything in her power to appear above the stresses of the search. "Oaknose, I would love to replace the Moon Grove immediately," she says. "Brackenheart would dearly love to ask our ancestors for advice. However, our priority is getting our weaker cats to safety. They need a home where they can recover without fear of having to abandon their nests in the morning. They need water, shelter, fast-running prey, adequate herbs, and so much more. Would you deny them that just to find a sacred place we may never be safe to use again?"
"After a half moon, I would!" He thrusts his muzzle into Featherstar's face, fangs bared. "You are leading us aimlessly. We have found nowhere safe to settle under your direction."
Featherstar shakes her head, and the glitter of light on her claws as she sinks them into the grass is the only sign that Oaknose angers her. "So you believe you can do better, by cutting your Clan out of one of the only stable alliances we've seen in generations?"
Stonetail chooses this moment to slide out of the shadowy undergrowth, pretending as if she has heard nothing of note. She dips her head to Oaknose first, then Featherstar, who sits upright at her arrival. "Stonetail, you're back! Good news, I hope?" WillowClan's leader purrs, a sound that is horrifically forced. No one is fooled.
"Coyotes," Stonetail replies, shaking her head. "They separated me from Tawnyfeather. Did she make it back safely?"
"Shaken, but safe," Featherstar admits. "We were worried for you."
Oaknose snorts and grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, "I doubt it." He earns a sharp, sour glance for the trouble from Featherstar.
The field of Clan politics is almost as tiring as running from coyotes, and Stonetail dislikes the idea of lingering long enough to be caught up in the heated feud she's interrupted. "There's nowhere for us here," she says, "and I need to rest before we leave. Assuming we move again in the morning."
She slinks away toward the bursting bushes where the other cats have tucked themselves for the night, but before she can go far, footsteps sound behind her, and Featherstar's scent wafts forward. Oaknose spits an insult from afar but does not pursue.
"Any sign of anything else?" Featherstar asks, falling into step next to Stonetail. In this case, anything is much more like anyone. WillowClan's leader harbors a suspicion that Torch is still out there, perhaps licking his wounds but otherwise alive, and it seems every other day, she sends Stonetail out on scouting trails that intentionally loop around behind the Clans, as if Torch will make it easy and slather his scent in their wake. Stonetail only complies because it gives her the opportunity to search for other scents, too. One, she doubts she'll ever smell again, but the other, she has to search for. Clay would be disappointed in her if she did not.
Shaking her head to clear out the tired fog that begins to settle in, she replies, "Just a loner. Not a familiar one." The clarification pushes Featherstar's shoulders into a slump and she sighs.
"Then we move tomorrow." She hesitates to leave Stonetail's side, still keeping pace, but then she suddenly sits, allowing the gap between them to grow as Stonetail angles for the nearest open space beneath the bushes, and as she lies down sandwiched between Stormfoot and Rivershine, she pretends not to hear Featherstar's apology.
She does a lot of pretending lately.