"We leave for Shadowclan in the morning!" He declared decisively. Hazelstorm looked up at him warily from where he built the third nest.
"That requires traveling through Riverclan territory," The tabby mewed cautiously, "Would that be wise? Shouldn't we wait a day for the Clan to settle down? They'll be lying in wait, you know. There hasn't been any action on the borders for a moon. They're looking for a fight."
Wolffang frowned, "No. We have to leave tomorrow."
"And why is that?" Falconshade rumbled, eyes narrow, "We need to build up our strength. Hazelstorm is right, they'll be waiting for us, and all we can do is wait in return."
"And if we wait too long?" Wolffang countered, "What then? What if Hollowstar dies? What if Stonetail and Paledove are already dead, and he dies? Who will support us in Shadowclan then? That Clan is our birthright! What will we do when there is no one left who can attest to that? What if we wait, as you say, and become so cozy here we never leave? We need to get to Shadowclan as soon as possible." The white tom was insistent, and Hazelstorm knew that at this point arguing was futile. Blossomclaw sniffed, turning away.
"I'm going hunting," She said in a small voice, walking away further into the depths of the barn, "I'll be back later." The three toms watched her go, Falconshade sadly, Wolffang irritably, and Hazelstorm soon went back to building the third nest. Wolffang growled a few inaudible things to himself before settling down into his own nest and glaring at the distant wall of the barn. Falconshade glanced up at his sons and wondered what they'd been reduced to before he commenced construction of his own nest. Hazelstorm finished his project before jumping down to assist his father.
"Here, let me do it." The young warrior said, hauling a mouthful of fresh straw over to his father's nest, arranging them in a cozy circle. Falconshade smiled.
"Thank you," He purred, touching his nose to his son's cheek. Ever since Waverunner's death, the ginger tom had gotten quieter, more broken than he was before. He had always been their guardian angel, their protector, and their rock. But now, Wolffang and Hazelstorm had taken his place as authoritarian figure, of leader, of defender. Falconshade had been moons older than Whitefang; his littermates had mates and kits before he'd ever even heard of the white warrior. Now, his joints would creak some days or his bones would ache in cold weather, and old wounds might act up of old muscle scars would twinge with pain at random. He was a battle worn warrior, an aging veteran. His kits had taken it upon themselves to care for him, and he would provide wise council or sage opinion on important matters of dispute.
"Anything for you, Papa." Hazelstorm smiled in reply, patting down a layer of soft white chicken feathers over the spiky, prickly straw. As soon as they'd finished, Falconshade glanced into the dark area where Blossomclaw had wandered off to hunt.
"I think I'll fetch your sister, maybe help her out a bit. We'll be back soon." Falconshade meowed, padding away. "Get some rest!"
"We will," Hazelstorm assured him before returning to his nest, situated on the bale just below Wolffang's. As soon as he'd curled up in it, the brown tabby had fallen asleep. Wolffang was alone.
The white tom stared at the long, dark planks of wood that made up the barn wall. Some were splintered, others dented and worn. Each was different, and beaten up in some way or another. None were perfect. An occasional icy blast would whistle through the cracks between a pair of wooden beams and he would shiver, but he wasn't truly paying attention to the wall and its imperfections. No, the former Riverclan tom had much more serious things on his mind.
Starclan, if you really wanted us to go, send me a sign. He prayed silently from the tip of his golden mountain. Please. Whitefang, if you're still out there, if you haven't given up on us just yet, please tell me! Show me something, anything. He closed his eyes, and he tried to remember Shadowclan. All that came immediately to him was the scent of pine needles and milk, and a pair of glowing golden eyes: his mother's eyes. He pushed himself to remember more: her scent, her voice, and the beat of her heart and the touch of her fur against his. The tighter he squeezed his eyes shut and the more he tried to recall his life before her death, the struggle was painful. His head ached something fierce, and the most he remembered was her face. And that was only because he'd seen her once again, after death. He could still picture vividly his mother's rage-filled golden gaze, the stern line of her mouth, and the proud stance she had taken on the halfbridge. He could also see his aunt clearly: he shimmering silver and white pelt, her wild, bright green eyes and sinister smile. He knew she'd once been beautiful, but the cat he'd seen was not Swanmist. He refused to believe she was the real Swanmist. Wolffang willingly let the memory slide from his grasp, and he relaxed into the soft feathers and crinkly straw. He quickly drifted into fitful waking dreams.
"Whitefang!" He cried. He was standing on the halfbridge, fearful of what was coming next. He felt as though something was lurking just behind him, but he was unable to turn his head. "Whitefang, where are you?"
"There's nothing to fear," Her soft voice echoed over the quiet lake.
"Mama, there's something behind me!" He whispered fearfully, feeling once again like the kit that stood at the edge of the pier all those moons ago.
"Turn around," She replied, "And see for yourself." He suddenly found himself able to move, and he whipped around rapidly, claws unsheathed. Nothing stood by the lakeshore but rippling grasses and swaying reeds. A swallow warbled in the nearby brush. The hairs that stood at the nape of his neck flattened, and he unsheathed his claws.
"There's nothing to fear," Whitefang murmured, "But fear itself." He turned toward the lake again, and his mother stood atop the little blue waves that rolled toward the shore. Unlike the last time he'd seen her, her pelt did not shimmer. She seemed solid and alive, the first time he'd seen her like that since the night before he drowned. She padded toward him, paws just barely skimming the peaks of the ripples. Her smile was brighter than the sun, and her eyes seemed to glow with unending light. Her entire being bespoke warmth and love, and he rushed to embrace her. She met him at the edge of the dock and nuzzled his face with the tenderness of mother.
"I've missed you," He choked. He hadn't seen her for the longest time…every so often, a golden glint would flash in the corner of his eye, or the faint scent of pine and star shine would waft about him, or soft tail tip would skim his shoulder. He'd known she was there whenever he felt these things, but he'd never truly seen her. She was just as he remembered: beautiful in her strength, mighty in her pride.
"And you needn't have. I've been right here." She purred. Pulling away, she looked at his approvingly.
"Look at you! You're enormous. Let's see…" She sidled up to him, measuring her shoulder against his. He stood taller, but by just enough to get by. She laughed. "Just barely!" He grinned.
"I only wish I could be half the warrior you were. Falconshade told us stories, but…I'd rather hear them from you." He was hopeful, but she shook her head.
"All the ones I could share end with impossibly embarrassing events at my expense, and I'm sure he's told you the others. Ask your grandparents." She meowed playfully. His eyes widened.
"They're still-?" He meowed excitedly. She nodded. "And you want us to-?"
"It's your birthright," She mewed, mimicking his earlier thoughts so well he assumed she'd heard them, "and your home."
"I don't remember it at all," Wolffang whispered, distressed, "Nothing." Whitefang frowned.
"Well, we can't have that." She mewed, disappointed. "Follow me." She lept down off of the halfbridge, and landed on the soft yellow sand. He jumped after her, hurrying to catch up as she strode confidently through empty Riverclan territory. As they walked, he noticed their surroundings change. The seasons cycled through backwards, and the landscape shifted subtly with every passing moment. Soon, though, the morphing wilderness ceased its cycle. They crossed the border into Shadowclan, and Whitefang stood for a moment, breathing in the rich symphony of forest scents. The heavy drizzle that fell around them didn't touch them, but soaked the pine needle covered ground.
"Is this real? Am I still dreaming?" Wolffang wondered. Whitefang smiled sadly and shook her head.
"No, little one. This is just a memory."
They continued on their journey, and soon were walking through a shaded thorny tunnel. As they emerged onto the other side, action and life erupted about them, and Wolffang stopped immediately, floored by the familiarity and yet utter foreignness of the camp. He knew it was the camp…why else would so many of his mother's clanmates gather here? Whitefang seemed to relax; his mother glanced about the bustling scene with a sad wistfulness about her.
"Mama…do I know these cats?" He wondered, padding up alongside her. She nodded silently.
"There's one you should recognize." She murmured, gesturing with a paw to a hurrying little tuft of white fur. Wolffang stared aghast at it as it trotted away purposefully to what he assumed was the nursery, carrying what seemed to be a bluebird feather in its mouth.
"Is…is that me?" He asked, astonished.
"Yes," She purred, "Go look and see." Leaving her to stand in the middle of camp, Wolffang ran to the nursery. He wriggled through the entrance excitedly, and found his little kit-self prodding a sleeping Whitefang awake. His mother looked far more peaceful than he'd ever seen her before.
"Mother!" Little Wolfkit squeaked. Wolffang watched as his kit-self woke Whitefang, who smiled amusedly without opening her eyes. Her ears twitched, and he knew she was trying not to laugh.
"Yes, Wolfkit, darling?" She mumbled.
"What is this called?" He asked, prodding her again. Wolffang chuckled as Wolfkit insistently tugged at his mother. Whitefang opened her eyes.
"What is what, dear?" Whitefang asked sleepily.
"This!" Wolfkit mewed, pushing a bright blue feather towards her. Wolffang watched as Whitefang caught herself before laughing, and he grinned.
"That's a feather, sweetheart." Whitefang purred, and a distant look appeared momentarily in her eyes. Wolffang wondered what she was thinking about.
"A feather?" Little Wolfkit repeated, poking the blue feather curiously. He prodded into the air, where it lazily drifted back down into the nest. "Where do feathers come from?"
"They come from birds," Whitefang explained patiently, "Because they help birds fly. Flying is when something goes through the sky, and can stay up in the air without falling." Wolfkit listened intently, and Wolffang watched himself curiously. He was nothing more than an inquisitive ball of kit fluff, but there was something endearing about all his questions.
"Can cats fly?" He asked. Wolffang laughed, and Whitefang did too.
"No, cats can't fly." Whitefang answered amusedly, "And I wouldn't try, if I were you. Now, where is your brother? And your sister?"
"Blossomkit and Hazelkit are visiting the elders. They wanted to hear stories, but I've heard them all already!" The little white tom said proudly, puffing out his chest. Wolffang immediately imagined his littermates this small, and couldn't wait to see them. He shook his head at his kit-self. There is no way one can hear every story. He thought sagely.
"Wow! All of them?" Whitefang gasped, her eyes wide. Wolffang admired his mother's acting.
"All of them!" Wolfkit replied, grinning, "Stonetail says I must be the wisest kit in all the Clans if I've heard every single story." Wolffang thought about his grandparents; could he have possibly known them once? Have memorized their faces, heard their voices?
"Well, have you asked Timbermask to tell you any of his stories?" Whitefang asked. Wolffang sarted. Timbermask? He hadn't heard that name, remembered that name, or even thought about that name in the longest time. Timbermask. Who is Timbermask?
"I haven't! Does Daddy have good stories?" Wolfkit wondered, blue eyes wide. A shadow crossed over Whitefang's face at the same time Wolffang gasped out loud. No one heard him. Timbermask! He wanted to shout. He remembered…Dazed, Wolffang stumbled out of the nursery, leaving his kit self and mother behind. He found Whitefang out in the clearing, and noticed she looked more exhausted than ever.
"Timbermask?" He mewed once he reached her, head spinning. She pursed her lips and inhaled deeply.
"Yes, Timbermask." She replied, knowing exactly what he meant by the name, innocently posed as a question.
"I-I remember." Wolffang stammered…"He was…"
"He was there for us when we needed him," Whitefang replied evenly, her voice betraying a small pang of regret. "Nothing more."
"But…I said…Daddy." Wolffang meowed.
"Nothing more!" Whitefang insisted, but at that moment little Wolfkit came bursting out of the nursery a pleased smile on his face, and Wolffang was distracted. The little tom dashed to the warrior's den and disappeared inside. A white-pelted shape stood in the nursery entrance, and Wolffang watched, open mouthed, as two familiar shapes bumbled toward the other Whitefang. One was ginger and white, the other dark brown tabby. They met the other Whitefang at the nursery, and began talking rapidly. He could see the surprise on his mother's face from where he stood. She was…scared.
"Mama, what're they saying?" He asked, but Whitefang was silent. Then, little Wolfkit darted back out into the rain, followed by someone much bigger. A hulking pale brown tabby tom emerged from the warrior's den, eyes squinty and ears back against the splattering raindrops. His whiskers twitched bemusedly as Wolfkit scampered ahead, and his tabby striped pelt ruffled against the cool water falling from ominous gray clouds. Wolffang stared at him intently: the handsome tom's face was so familiar, the green of his eyes tugging at the white warrior's memory…he squinted, as if that would help him make out the Shadowclan cat's significance. Suddenly, and image bloomed in his mind, so real and so vibrant it shook him to the very core.
"Timbermask!" He cried, "Dad!"
"Wolfkit, wait up!" Blossomkit called after him, struggling to exit the nursery on sleepy, wobbly legs.
"Guys!" Hazelkit mewed, racing after them.
"Daddy!" Blossomkit howled. A disgruntled Timbermask stumbled out of the warrior's den, eyes bleary and unfocused as he walked toward his foster kits.
"What's wrong? Why are you up so early? The dawn patrol hasn't even woken yet. Go back to sleep." He mewed softly, "Go back to your mother. Go on now." Timbermask herded the kits back to the nursery. By now, Paledove and Stonetail had emerged from the warrior's den as well. Bleary eyed and ungroomed, they approached their family.
"What's all the ruckus?" The graying deputy asked, shaking his head as though to clear it. Paledove padded slowly after him, crystal blue eyes half-closed. Blossomkit raced to her grandmother, grasping her about the leg in a desperate attempt to be noticed.
"Paledove, Paledove, I can't find Mama!" She whimpered. Immediately, the former queen's eyes snapped open.
"Whitefang? You can't find Whitefang?" She asked, looking down at the ginger kit. Blossomkit nodded anxiously.
"She was here last night, Paledove. I woke up and she was leaving. She wouldn't tell me when she was coming back." The tiny kit sniffed.
"Leaving?" Stonetail whispered, his voice cracked and tired.
"Whitefang…she always leaves. She always comes back. Maybe she just got stuck in the storm." Paledove offered, consoling her mate and granddaughter. Wolfkit and Hazelkit looked to their foster father worriedly.
"She just left," Wolfkit repeated, hoping to evoke some kind of response. Timbermask stayed silent. Then, turning to Blossomkit, he asked:
"What exactly did she say to you, sweetheart?" He murmured.
"She said…it was something Mommy had to do alone. I couldn't come," Blossomkit mewled, "She never said when she'd come back…but she said she'd always love us." This hit Timbermask hard. His eyes widened, like deep green pools that shone with grief.
"Whitefang," He whispered, voicing the pain that had blossomed in his chest. Wolffang gasped for breath, stumbling backwards, away from his mother.
"Wolffang! Are you alright?" She asked worriedly, crouching by his side as he sat on the ground, shaking his head as if ridding himself from some nightmare.
"You left…" He mumbled. Another one hit him, even more powerful than the first.
Timbermask entered. Paledove's echoing cry shook the earth. Whitefang's body was draped over a pair of strong, pale brown shoulders crisscrossed with darker stripes. His emerald eyes were dark and watered down with defeat. Stonetail's sharp intake of breath and choked speech - "No!" - riled the kits, who in turn began to cry. Wolfkit screamed, staring at her. Cherrynose whimpered quietly as Timbermask lowered himself to the ground and gently slid the sodden, dirty white form from his back and onto the ground with a small thud. Her golden eyes were still open: wide, terrified, and unseeing. He raced up to the body. Wolfkit licked her face, and tasted the acrid tang from the grimy river water.
"Mama?" He mewed, pawing at her cheek, "Mama it's me! Don't you remember me?" Hazelkit buried his face in his mother's pelt, and looked up to Timbermask in fear.
"She's cold, Daddy! Her fur is cold!" He wailed. Blossomkit threw herself at her mother, shaking her body persistently.
"Get up! Get up!" She cried, "Mama, you need to get up!"
"Her eyes are open, Daddy, but she won't get up! Is she still asleep?" Wolfkit asked, beseeching staring into Timbermask's sullen face.
"She isn't sleeping, Wolfkit," He replied, raising a paw to cover his mouth, for he couldn't bear telling the whole truth to such an innocent child.
"Mama, you said you would stay with us! You promised!" Blossomkit squeaked.
"Mama, please!" Hazelkit whined, catching on before his siblings. His eyes widened. "Mama?"
Paledove collapsed beside her daughter, pressing against her soaking wet pelt. She coiled around Whitefang as if she were a sleeping kit, lapping at her fur, murmuring sweet nothings that she would never hear.
"Whitefang," Stonetail rasped, padding over to the body, "my daughter."
"What's wrong, Daddy?" Blossomkit whimpered, looking up at her stoic foster father, "What's wrong with Mama?
"Whitefang- Mama's dead." Timbermask whispered. The kits commenced their hysteria, straining to reach their mother. Cherrynose shook her head and gently herded the kits back to the nursery, where the other queens and kits stared out in horror and disbelief. By now, the entire warrior's den had emerged into the clearing, yowling and crying out in pain. Hollowstar and Featherfall braced themselves against each other, the former queen's copper eyes dark as night as she remembered the warrior who once saved her and named her daughter, who she now joined in Starclan. Bouncestrike and Rainwing comforted their brother, and their parents mourned quietly from a fair distance away. Addershriek's glowing hazel gaze was clouded and distant, as was Waterfall's, as they were reminded of the hardworking apprentice that had once graced their mentorships. The apprentices – Aspenpaw, Sorrelpaw, Honeypaw, and Emberpaw – gazed upon the fallen warrior with great sadness. Emberpaw had lost one of his first and only friends in the Clans, and his Uncle, Lightheart, stood beside Rosefoot solemnly. The tears in his eyes spilled silently over his cheeks, and eventually he had to turn away. Pinetail stood by his parents, who mourned Whitefang's loss as the others did. Even Icegaze managed to conjure a tear as he held Stormfall back from the body. Shiverspots murmured small comforts to her frantic brother, who was in no way consoled. The elders arrived, old joints creaking as they told themselves it should've been them to go first. The younger warriors and even the older ones, such as Kestrelwind, stayed quietly off to the side, letting those who were closer to Whitefang step forward.
Wolfkit watched from the nursery as Shiverspots enlisted Addershriek and Hollowstar's help in carrying the body into the medicine cat's den for burial and vigil preparations. The other kits were cowering in the nursery entrance with him now, sniffling and watching Timbermask with wide eyes. The tabby was standing still and icy cold in the clearing, watching Paledove and Stonetail curl about each other.
"You drowned, and you left us…" Wolffang rasped, emotion wracking his body as he recalled thing long suppressed.
A strange cat stood in the camp, his ginger head held high as if Shadowclan had something that belonged to him. He demanded his kits, and the Clan buzzed with confusion.
"I'm taking them home!"
Falconshade stood in the center of camp, his head held high and proud as he surveyed the Clan that outnumbered him twenty to one. His blue eyes shone with a light she'd never seen before: he was determined to take his children home.
"Who is he?" Someone hissed angrily.
"Who does he think he is?"
"What is he doing here?"
"He stinks of Riverclan!"
"Leave, Riverclanner!"
"Swim away like one of those skunky fish you eat!"
"You're not welcome here!"
Falconshade took the insults in stride and stood firm in the center of the crowd. His two cohorts, a pair of burly Riverclan warriors, stood at either side of the tunnel, poised to flee.
"I'm here to take my kits home," He said simply. Icegaze stepped forward, his silver eyes as cold as stone.
"There are no kits here for you!" He snarled, claws unsheathed. A pale brown tabby was silent in the back of the mob, his emerald eyes dark as midnight.
"Wolfkit?" Falconshade called. Every cat froze. They glanced warily at each other, wondering how this strange tom knew that name. "Blossomkit! Hazelkit! Where are you?" The ginger tabby scanned the crowd for his children, his voice growing anxious. "Come on, you three. I don't bite!"
"Yeah, right!" Grayshadow growled. Paledove stepped forward, crystal blue eyes balls of ice.
"Those kits are not yours!" She hissed, "They are my daughter's and Timbermask's! How dare you-"
"Paledove," Falconshade said gently. The pale silver warrior stopped speaking, clearly stunned by the recognition. "They are my kits. Whitefang's and mine. I'm here to take them home with me." Stonetail's golden eyes widened. His grandfather looked from Falconshade down to Timbermask's paws, where they stood. Then, he looked from the tom to the kits again. A spark of recognition flared in his gaze, but the gray tom said nothing. He only stared, slack jawed, at the ginger tabby.
"Whitefang would never betray her Clan!" Cherrynose howled furiously from the nursery. Her face poked out from the black depths of the den, dark blue eyes narrowed and angry. "Never!"
"They are his kits," A small voice said shakily from the crowd. Wolfkit watched curiously, not fully comprehending the situation, as Stormfall stepped out, sadness in his gaze as he went to stand beside Falconshade. "They are his kits and Timbermask knows it." Every cat turned to stare at the brown tabby tom, who fought their eyes with his, challenging anyone and everyone who dared question his fatherhood.
"Stormfall! How could she not tell us, if this is really true?" Waterfall demanded. Blueshine and Addershriek nodded, stunned by the thought that the kits were not theirs by blood.
"She did not see it as betrayal," Stormfall said, his voice growing stronger, "only as love. And as a wise cat once said: Love is never wrong, and so it never dies." Stonetail's eyes welled with tears. "Clearly, this love did not die with Whitefang. Just look at him: do you not see it? He is their father, and therefore has a right to act as one."
"No!" Paledove cried.
"Would Whitefang want this petty squabbling over her kits?" Stormfall challenged her. The crowd went silent. Looking at each other and the tom with fury and disbelief. Even Hollowstar was speechless. Then, a squeaky-small voice piped up from the back.
"Is it true?" Wolfkit made his way through the barrier of cats and stood before his true father curiously. "Are you really my Papa?" Falconshade's blue eyes softened, and he leaned down to see eye to eye with his son.
"It is true." He replied gently.
"Then why didn't you stay with us?" Wolfkit asked, hurt. Falconshade sighed heavily.
"Because your mother was a very careful cat. She had just gotten her mother back, and was worried about losing her again. She did what she thought was best for all of us, and that was keeping me away. It was only supposed to be for a little while. I promised her I'd join Shadowclan to be with her, I'd do whatever it took to be your Papa." He explained carefully. By now, Blossomkit had joined her brother. Hazelkit was cautiously making his way toward them, golden eyes narrow and wary.
"Did Mama love you?" Blossomkit wondered, "If she did, why did she keep you away?"
"I think your mama had a very hard life sometimes, and she made decisions based on what she thought was right. I loved her, and she loved me, but sometimes that's not all that matters." Falconshade murmured, eyes betraying his pain.
"Do you love us?" Hazelkit mewed.
"Of course I love you! I love you with all my heart. And that's why I'm taking you home." The ginger tabby said.
"You can't take them!" Timbermask exploded from the back, pushing his way toward Falconshade. "I won't let you!" the kits turned and stared, wide eyed, at their foster father.
"But he's our Papa too," Wolfkit whispered.
"We should go home." Falconshade said quickly, standing up. Hollowstar looked at him with great sadness.
"Don't let him take them!" Paledove screamed.
"Gramma!" Blossomkit cried out in fear as Addershriek went to hold her back.
"As their true father, it is only right that the kits stay with their remaining parent…" Hollowstar said, his voice empty and emotionless.
"No!" Paledove shrieked.
"…and therefore, Falconshade may return with the kits to his Clan, as his next of kin by blood."
"You can't do this!" Timbermask howled.
"Are you ready to go?" Falconshade asked the kits calmly, ignoring the chaos. Wolfkit glanced over his shoulder at his family.
"But-"
"Yes," Blossomkit mewed in a small voice.
"Do we really have a choice?" Hazelkit asked himself, staring at his foster father. Stonetail had leapt forward and pinned Timbermask to the ground as Addershriek barred Paledove from the kits, trying to mask her hysteria. Timbermask snarled from beneath Stonetail, desperately trying to claw his way to the kits.
"Don't leave with him! Stay, stay with me!" He called. Hazelkit turned away.
"Please! Please, not them! Anything but them!" Paledove wailed as the last three parts of her daughter were taken away. Wolfkit was the only one who still watched their struggle.
"Wolfkit! My son, my beautiful, beautiful little warrior…don't go." Timbermask pleaded, crying. He reached for the little tom from between the bars of his new prison.
"We should really be going." Falconshade murmured, lifting the ragged white kit up in his jaws as gently as possible. His two compatriots joined his, each taking a kit in their mouth a delicately as possible. Paledove screamed bloody murder, and Timbermask called their names. But the ginger tabby and his clanmates were already leaving. The rest of the Clan watched in stunned silence as the final part of Whitefang was taken from them. With a final swish of his ginger tabby tail, Falconshade had disappeared. Wolfkit heard Timbermask from the tunnel, and his heart tore painfully.
"Let me go," Timbermask sobbed, "let me go, I have to get them! I have to bring them back…Whitefang!"
"He took us away!" Wolffang howled, doubling over with the weight of these newfound memories. Whitefang pressed against her son, licking his ears, whispering gentle words of assurance.
"Everything turned out alright…everything is fine…please, little one, look at me…" Wolffang glared up at his mother.
"You-you left us! You killed yourself and you left us!" He moaned, "And he stole us away! Papa stole us!" Wolffang buried his face in his paws, everything that he ever thought was true quickly disappearing. "He never told us how you died…he never said-he never said he stole us from them…he never talked about Timbermask…" He looked up at Whitefang tearfully, anger replaced by distress and wounded faith, "Is my entire life a lie?"
"Look here now," Whitefang mewed sternly, wrapping her son up in her self, smothering him until white blended with white and they were one together in the forest of the past, "I don't know what he told, or what he didn't tell you. The point is that he is your family; he is your father. He raised all three of you well and to the best of his abilities, and you came from a difficult place, with a difficult past, and you struggled. The point is that he loves you, and that they all love you, and all they ever wanted was for you to be happy. You were happy in Riverclan, weren't you?"
He nodded feebly.
"And were you happy in Shadowclan? Did you look happy?" she asked. He shook his head. "You needed to get out of there. You needed a fresh start and fresh faces. He loves you. He's always loved you. And now, wherever you're all together is home. Riverclan was home, and now Shadowclan can be home again. Please, tell me you understand." Whitefang met his watery blue gaze and he took a deep, shuddering breath.
"I understand." He whispered.
"Good, now-" Whitefang began, but then her ears twitched.
"Mama, will I see anything else?" He asked softly, "Mama?"
"No, you have to go." She said suddenly. He furrowed his brow.
"What?"
"I said you have to go! Now! Get up!" Whitefang mewed insistently, "Wake up!"
"But Mama, I-"
"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter anymore! Wake up!" She cried.
Part 2 of 3