The moon has only cycled a few times in Thistle's life.
The first time, she grew from a hapless, mewling bundle into a lovely little kitten. The third time was when her brother got his Clan name, when he passed on, and when Thistle began to curl in on herself.
Now the moon has cycled six times since her birth.
A new moon.
A new stage of life.
A new place in the Clan.
Dawn is grooming herself, this is a big day and she refuses to look like some fluffy kit.
She does not. She is bigger.
Echo sits, with no comment but definitely concern. Gorse lets their mother fuss over him.
Thistle lays in her nest. She snores halfheartedly.
Dawn gives a rumbling laugh as she grooms her back left leg with vigour.
Their mother is not done with Gorse.
Echo hasn't moved.
It's time to leave.
The light hits Thistle as she clambers out of the mess of roots that hide their camp. This is the first time she has been outside.
She doesn't know whether she craves it or despises it.
Probably both.
Her eyes adjust slowly. Dawn stumbles. Echo trips twice. Gorse follows their mother closer than ever before.
Welcome, calls the trees, welcome to the real world, this is home.
The winding trees and roots, the dense bushes, they are all new to Thistle and her siblings. Gorse pauses at a plant. He parts his mouth.
Mmm… citrus.
Thistle pays no attention. Her freshly green gaze is focused instead on a plump not-kitten sitting on a low branch. Watching.
She can't remember whether it was rabbits or squirrels that could climb trees. Either way, she knows that they both taste good.
Thistle looks back. Her family follows behind her. All of them.
Her father walks side by side with her mother, her father's sister not far behind.
The head of their family weaves through the dense forest flanked by her one of her two seconds - Thistle does not know her name.
She knows the head's name, though. She is Sagestar, the wisest of heads Thistle has ever seen.
Thistle has only seen two.
The extended family, that she now knows is known as Darkkin, makes their way towards the gathering place of the whole Clan.
She has never seen so many cats in her life.
Groups of cats - all ages, all ranks - meowing greetings and hushed whispers. Each came with their own kin, but now they mix among themselves.
Seven small groups.
One massive Clan.
As they make their way down to the awaiting kin-groups, Dawn rubs against her, sensing her unease and perhaps attempting to rub off some of her confidence.
It is not Thistle who needs it.
Darkkin settles next to Cinderkin, their closest neighbours. They have a long history of sitting side by side.
The heads each climb atop the mountainous tree stump overcome with fungus. It sprawls over far more space than the tree trunk ever filled.
It fills Thistle with awe.
And disgust.
Who would want to walk on fungus?
It takes a minute or so for silence to overcome the excited greetings of old friends, cautious mews of new friends and stoic nods towards old rivals.
Thistle sits with her littermates. They huddle. They make no sound, as though they are mute.
A small, dark figure slips into their group. He asks their names, and offers his. He is Nettle from Cinderkin, and he is becoming an apprentice today. They reciprocate the gesture and yes, so are they.
For some reason, not all of them look happy.
A shrill call. Turned heads. There are new apprentices today.
Dawn.
Gorse.
Thistle.
Prickle.
Nettle.
Lark.
Frost.
There are more, but Thistle doesn't notice, or care.
Cloudfrost had always looked forward to this day.
Echo sits on the sidelines as her name is called. She is a healer. She cannot walk properly, how could she ever become a warrior?
Names are chanted, praises are sung, young warriors are appointed, older warriors retire. The littermates feel nothing but melancholy.
But Dawn shines in the rising sun.
This is who she is meant to be.
Not everyone gets that happy ending.
On the way back to camp they pass Cloudfrost's mound. Where he lay when the starry kin in the night sky put him to rest.
The littermates walk past. They pause.
They keep walking.