The rain comes to a halt in the hours before dawn, and when sunrise arrives, it dries much of the moisture clinging to the pelts of the cats that have held vigil for the lost WillowClan cats. Stonetail is particularly glad of her short coat as the air warms; she can feel the damp crawling away much sooner than Featherstar or Rivershine, whose thick pelts sag with the weight of the water they've trapped. Even Streamheart suffers a while longer, soaked through. But there are worse things than wet fur, like losing Clanmates to disaster, and the grey tabby finds it hard to look at the two WillowClan she-cats with their heads bowed. One life lost now and again is a trial all Clans face, but the fire sent five cats into StarClan's ranks, if Frogthroat's harsh ramblings are to be believed. Poolfeather, the medicine cat apprentice, was the first, killed when the blazing camp trapped her inside her den. Eelsplash, second of the dead, lost his footing and drowned in the river trying to help Silvertail to the safer shore; the elder followed shortly, too feeble to finish the crossing alone.
Stonetail thanks StarClan she did not have to witness these ends, but others remain with her, all too clear. Webfeather's shriek still rings in her ears, and though she never saw the apprentice, the mere idea of Toadpaw left behind in the circle of burning pines makes her stomach twist with revulsion. He died alone, most likely. The chances are slim that his mother was able to reach him before the fire reached her.
And that leaves Mistpaw an orphan. As Featherstar softly asks the ShadeClan warriors for a moment of peace, Stonetail itches to slip into the elders' den, to be sure the little apprentice hasn't left the world in pursuit of her family. According to Brightface's tales, it is possible for cats to die of a broken heart.
It is also possible for cats to grow aggressive and wild to protect their broken hearts. Thinking of the WillowClan warriors that line the walls of the elders' den, Stonetail decides to keep her concerns to herself for the time being. There is no need to step on toes or tails to find out if Mistpaw has survived the night; she will either leave the den on her own four paws, or she will be carried out, and that is all there is to it.
"We need to tell them what happened." Streamheart's voice brings Stonetail's focus back from its wanderings.
"Tell who?"
Streamheart flicks her ears at the den they have come to know rather well over the last few days. "Coal and Clay. They need to know who these strange cats are, and why they're here."
"They also need to know that they're moving." Greystar pads up behind her warriors, tail trailing loosely in her wake and shoulders slumped from their usual rigid position. With a hint of a sigh, she says, "Featherstar and her cats will be more comfortable if they have a den to call their own. Please move the loners to the warriors' den before sunhigh, if you will."
For the first time, it is Streamheart who raises protest. "The other warriors don't trust them. I don't think they'll be safe–"
"Move them," Greystar interrupts her. There's a brief return of her imperious posture, but she glances over at Featherstar and Rivershine with their heads bowed, then deflates. "Before sunhigh. That is all I ask. If there is trouble, I will deal with it myself."
When Greystar trudges out of earshot, Stonetail finds a number of phrases resting on her tongue, most made of confusion and the barest trace of fear. The only one that makes it out, though, is the one she least expects, but also the one that requires the least thinking. "Let's go tell them."
»»««
The brothers handle the news very differently. Clay is ecstatic, though he attempts to subdue it for the sake of the somber mood. His tail tip comes to life, twitching about as he sneaks repeated glances across the clearing, where the warriors' den waits. "Maybe we can stay there when WillowClan leaves," he whispers, a purr hard-pressed not to burst from his chest. "I'd like to stay there. As a warrior."
At first, it seems like Coal has brushed off the comment. He doesn't respond with his usual insistence that they move on, and even looks over Stonetail's shoulder to peek at the other den for himself. But his tail curls tighter around his paws, and his ears flatten. If he were not so disciplined in maintaining a cool demeanor, Stonetail is sure the fur along his spine would be standing on end. It's remarkable that he's allowed even small signs to remain visible. And yet maybe he hasn't allowed them so much as forgotten to conceal them.
The grey tabby lets the scent of the den wreath her. Clay's scent is thick, almost overpowering, and speaks of naught but pleasant emotions. Underneath, though, Coal's scent seems to waver and spike, laced with muted streaks of fear that Stonetail is only able to sense in fits and flashes, like minnows in a stream. A kernel of distress finds a home in her chest, and she forces herself to exhale slowly.
"Don't worry about being warriors yet," she says. "Right now, we need to concentrate on making sure WillowClan can go home."
"Which could be a while," Streamheart adds. "Their territory is probably destroyed, and prey won't stray near for a long time. That fire wasn't small…"
"But it rained." Coal, who hasn't spoken after greeting Stonetail and Streamheart when they first arrived, suddenly has words to spare. "It should have been damp, especially if their land is as wet as you make it sound. I don't understand how everything caught fire, even with a break in the rain." He unfolds himself and turns in a circle, claws picking at the moss of his nest, which is looking scattered at best. Finding nowhere to go, though, he returns to his previous seat, coiling into himself once more.
"Maybe the time between storms let the territory dry enough," Clay offers, headbutting his brother's shoulder. "Don't get your tail in a knot."
"If WillowClan gets their paws muddy on a sunny day, something had to help the fire after the rain," Coal insists firmly, flashing his fangs before remembering he is among friends, or at least allies.
Streamheart and Stonetail trade a glance, brows furrowed. Both she-cats know something is out of place with the dark-furred tom, but to put a paw on what troubles him seems impossible. Impassive shell traded for prickly armor, Coal will not let anyone in. Even Clay appears cautious about continuing the conversation, and shortly he changes the topic at hand.
"Why is WillowClan staying here? Why not in BreezeClan?" he asks, swiveling his ears away from Coal as if to give his brother privacy. Coal's restlessness defeats the purpose, though.
"Why is Greystar allowing WillowClan to stay here?" he corrects the brown tabby. "Giving us a chance is different than sheltering a whole Clan."
"Some of the cats went to BreezeClan instead to even out the numbers, so it's not actually the whole Clan," Streamheart explains, but she gets no further.
"Greystar doesn't strike me as the kind of cat to take pity on her rivals, especially if she doesn't have to get involved, but now she's offering them shelter indefinitely? After their territory goes up in smoke when it should only smolder for a while and go out? I'm not sure why this is so hard for you to grasp, but something is wrong!" Now the fur along his spine really is standing on end, and Clay whimpers, trying to tug his tail away; it's trapped under Coal's claws.
"Coal, please," he begs, prying his tail free and tucking it beneath his belly. "There's nothing we can do about it now…"
"Your brother is right," Streamheart says, rising to her feet. "The fire is already over with. The best we can do now is make sure WillowClan survives long enough to go home, and you two are going to help with that by bundling up your moss and moving it to the warriors' den. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
Coal's bravado vanishes, replaced with the curled-tail, hollow stare he wore when Stonetail and Streamheart first arrived. Without further argument, he claws together the scraps of his nest and tucks the resulting wad of moss below his chin, looking expectantly to the ShadeClan she-cats. Stonetail's skin crawls at this; his stare is too even, too empty.
Too calculated.
It occurs to her that the black tom might run. The warriors' den is mere tail-lengths from the path to the dirtplace, and any cat with a wiry frame like Coal's could slip through the bracken safety barrier and be free before the well-fed forms of ShadeClan could hope to follow. Coal could become a ghost without breaking a sweat.
But seeing Clay gently bump against his brother convinces Stonetail to set her worries aside. Coal will not run. The skinny loner is Clay's guardian. They are nearly joined at the hip, the way Clay tells it, though it's more like Coal is Clay's ever-watchful shadow. One cannot exist without the other; it is impossible to picture otherwise.
However, she can't shake the idea that Coal is planning something. The abrupt shifts in his demeanor have startled Clay, who ought to know his brother's moods better than anyone else. If he had witnessed the fire, perhaps his behavior could be put down to shock, but Stonetail has seen such an emotion in the face of every WillowClan cat that has entered ShadeClan's camp, and Coal is most certainly not in shock.
Despite Stonetail's reservations about this new side to the loner, he does not cause a scene as they cross to the warriors' den, instead allowing his brother to enter first and choose a prime corner for his nest. Then, once Clay has kicked moss about to his liking, Coal makes a plain nest of his own and lies down in it. "Just let me sleep," he mumbles. Behind him, Clay nods vigorously in agreement.
"Rest will do you good." Streamheart pauses, eyeing her own nest in the corner opposite the loners'. A couple prize swan feathers, gathered from the riverbank, line it, downy soft and pristine white. The silver tabby gently pushes one of the feathers back into place before also settling down. "Rest will do us all good."
And after the long night she has had, Stonetail hardly remembers lying down, let alone falling asleep. Thankfully it is a dreamless sleep, brought on first and foremost by exhaustion as her body catches up with the tiring events she has taken part in. It feels as if it could last forever, as if she could pass to StarClan in its arms before she wakes, but the best of rests often do.
As such, the transition from sound asleep to half-conscious is a slow one, but the voice hissing in her ear will not relent. "Get up, Stonetail. Come on, please get up."
Stonetail rolls onto her side, paws outstretched and toes splayed as she uncoils. Blinking slowly, she discovers Clay hopping from side to side, tail standing straight in the air. "Greystar and Featherstar are going to patrol WillowClan's territory to check for survivors," he hisses, putting his muzzle close to the grey warrior's. "We should go, too!"
"No, we shouldn't." Stonetail is upright now, and her eyes rove over the den to check for eavesdroppers. Coal and Streamheart's flanks rise and fall steadily as they sleep, and Pineheart snores softly from the center nest. Peering over Clay's shoulder to find that no one is crouched outside, ears pricked with interest, she continues. "That isn't our territory, and we weren't asked to go with. Only a mousebrain would try to horn his way into this. Go back to sleep."
Clay presses one foot on the edge of Stonetail's moss, pulling the strands apart. "I need to go see it. Please, Stonetail. I just want you to come with for a little while. It'll be quick!" At the rise in Clay's voice, Pineheart stirs. Stonetail stiffens at the movement, but when the senior warrior's paws churn in the middle of a dream, the tabby exhales softly. The ginger she-cat is still too wrapped up in sleep to overhear Clay's ideas, which could easily be taken as misbehavior or worse coming from the loner rather than a Clan cat.
"We're not going," she insists, reaching to pull some of her scattered bedding closer. "It isn't right to force our way onto a patrol, especially not a leaders' patrol."
"Stonetail, it isn't like that," Clay pushes. "I just want to follow them for a little while." He pauses as if on the edge of some great secret, fangs worrying away at his lip. Then he confesses: "And Coal wants to know, too. I promised I'd try."
Stonetail can't decide what's worse: that Clay actually wants to follow the leaders without invitation to do so, or that Coal is behind the idea. Either way, it's asking for trouble, but the brown tabby doesn't seem to mind the risks at all. "We can say we're going hunting if anyone asks, and when we get far enough from camp, we can follow Greystar and Featherstar. As long as we're careful, they won't know we're there, and we can hurry back to really hunt before coming home. It's so easy, and nobody will know. Please?"
"No." Stonetail jumps as Streamheart pads up next to her. The silver tabby flicks her tail at Clay's nest and growls, "You stay put, and we'll go."
"But–" Clay and Stonetail say in unison. A solid look from Streamheart cuts them both off, though, and Clay slinks back to his nest, tail drooping with shame.
"I thought you were sleeping," Stonetail hisses, following her friend out of the den when it's apparent that Clay will obey orders, if reluctantly. Careful not to raise her voice, she demands to know what in StarClan has possessed Streamheart to volunteer for something so phenomenally mousebrained. "If they catch us, they'll have our tails for it. And what's the point? This isn't some sight-seeing trip."
But Streamheart refuses to reply, and at the camp entrance, Grasspelt snaps out of his daze to greet them. "Good luck hunting," he says, dipping his head to hide a yawn. "Hopefully the fire didn't scare off too much in our territory, otherwise it's going to be a real chore feeding them." He glances back at the den Clay and Coal shared earlier that morning; WillowClan cats have claimed it as their own now.
"We know," Streamheart tells him, going along with his assumption that the intent is to catch a mouse or two. "That's why we're heading out. Should be back before sunset." With that, she breaks into a run, following a curling trail that leads around the camp and towards the BreezeClan border. The path is tamped down by the footprints of many generations, but the rain has muddied it. Stonetail almost slips as she lopes after the silver tabby, recovering her footing by tramping through the sodden grass instead. Why Streamheart is taking this trail, she has no idea, and her legs pump furiously as she attempts to catch up.
"What are you doing?" she demands, drawing level with the other warrior. "First you tell them that there's nothing we can do, then you tell Clay we'll go stalk two leaders just to make him feel better, and now we're heading towards BreezeClan? Streamheart!"
"Keep your voice down," Streamheart huffs, skidding into a turn that takes them off the trail and into a thicket of holly. Squeezing through is a process that results in some fur being stripped from their bodies, but on the other side, the silver tabby finally stops to face her grey counterpart.
"We're going to WillowClan after Greystar and Featherstar, but we had to leave some scent in another direction so it looks like we're going hunting. Better safe than sorry." She grunts, pushing through another holly bush; the budding white flowers break off the bush and tumble from her back. "Now rub yourself in some of those," she adds over her shoulder. "You don't want to smell like yourself walking all over WillowClan, and you can wash it off later."
"Why are we doing this?" Stonetail rolls through the fallen flowers before following Streamheart through the holly. "It's done and over with. You said that yourself!"
Streamheart turns sharply and snorts in exasperation. "Did you even think about what Coal said? Look around. Our forest is still dripping, so how exactly did WillowClan catch fire like that? We can't do anything to fix what happened, but I want to understand it. And that means crossing the river to see for ourselves." There's a steeliness to her that strikes Stonetail as familiar, and she suddenly remembers the earliest moons of their apprenticeship, when the silver tabby first began to draw the leader's daughter out of her shell and into trouble. The look she wears now mirrors the one she wore the night two apprentices were caught trying to stalk a fox to protect the Clan and earn their chance at fame. The result had been two very tired she-cats being dragged home empty-pawed, more infamous than glorious. Ever since then, any escapade that began with Streamheart's insistence ended in either failure or a victory they could never share the spoils of without admitting to disobeying their mentors and the code.
Hopefully, this one will be one of their quiet triumphs.
"Fine," the grey tabby mutters, brushing against the holly plants one more time for good measure. "Fine, we'll do this. But," she threatens, "if we get caught, this is on you. Not that Greystar will care."
"Don't worry about that. Just stay low."
»»««
Crossing the river proves to be difficult. After following Greystar and Featherstar's trail, it seems to vanish at the water's edge, probably washed away. This is good news for the warriors; their own holly-masked scents will be gone when the leaders return. However, it makes finding the crossing point arduous. After wandering down the river's length, Streamheart spies a set of stepping stones, slick and wet, and the she-cats make their way to the opposite shore without any mishaps. Finding the scents they had been following becomes their next task.
Stonetail, perhaps so instinctively in tune with her mother's scent, finds the trail first. It is relatively fresh, but not overwhelming; Greystar and Featherstar did not spend long by the burnt reeds, instead proceeding further into the ravaged marshlands.
Underfoot, the ash clumps and sticks, clinging to Stonetail's paws. She itches to plunge her paws into the first creek they pass, but it runs thick with soot floating atop the water, and will only be dirtier to wash in than waiting to reach the river again. Wrinkling her nose at the polluted creek, the grey tabby turns away and scents the air again. It reeks of scorched marsh grasses and sedge, most half burnt by the flames, the remainder killed by the heat. A metallic tang hovers in the air as well, and underneath is a smoky, wispy scent neither Streamheart nor Stonetail can identify.
Most curious, though, are the scattered, charred branches and reed stalks littering the ground. They tend to lay whole tree lengths from one another, shriveled into ash at one end and scorched black but whole at the other, as if only partially consumed by flame. When Streamheart turns one over with her paw, it crumbles into the dirt.
"I don't like it," she says, sniffing it before recoiling. "There's too many of these and they're all half burned up. I…don't like it." Sharing a nod, they continue after the scent of the leaders, which grows harder and harder to distinguish from the overpowering smell of something that continues to smolder. That something proves to be a massive willow, split in two by lightning. Each half smokes gently, small fires still fizzling in the shelter of the willow's scorched branches. The stump, however, is done burning, and sits jagged and black between the willow's halves.
As Stonetail approaches the stump, though, dread spikes through her. Greystar and Featherstar sit on its other side, deep in conversation and thankfully upwind. As quietly as she can, Stonetail snakes away from the willow's base and to Streamheart, who has the posture of a cat about to call out.
"They're here," the grey tabby hisses, pressing against her friend to turn her back. "Get under the branches and hide before they see us!" Together they dive below the cluster of willow branches, stomping out any feeble sparks with their paws as they wriggle deeper into their makeshift shelter. Streamheart, who is broader in the shoulders, gets stuck once or twice, but a solid shove from Stonetail is enough to move her along. Eventually, and perhaps more out of curiosity than concern for stealth, the two warriors come to a crouched halt mere fox-lengths from the open space where the ShadeClan and WillowClan leaders sit in terse discussion.
"–want to protect my Clan," growls Greystar, "but I never thought I'd end up trying to protect you as well."
Featherstar laughs; without seeing her posture, Stonetail can only guess at whether it's genuine or not. "I don't need your protection. My Clan needs shelter and a few meals, but not protection."
"The last time you didn't need my protection, a warrior almost skinned you alive at a Gathering. You were the greenest apprentice I've ever seen."
"And you were a pretty green warrior yourself. Besides, Flowerstar would have stepped in if it were that bad. That warrior was one of yours."
Now Greystar laughs, and it's most certainly a bitter one; she has no other laugh. "Flowerstar was the least concerned mother you could ask for. She wouldn't step in for me or for you. Two litters, two fathers, two Clans, and I don't think she stepped in once. She had that reputation to uphold, remember?"
"And look at us. We turned out all right, didn't we?"
"Save for your prey-stealing. You're lucky she caught you at the border and covered it up. I told her not to let you off the hook, though."
Stonetail does not hear the reply to this. Instead she looks back to Streamheart, whose blue eyes look like the size of the moon in the gloom. Greystar and Featherstar are sisters, albeit half-sisters, separated by a number of moons and an entire Clan. Two daughters of Flowerstar, both with nine lives of their own.
"Did you know?" Streamheart asks as softly as she can. Stonetail shakes her head, and faintly realizes she can't seem to feel her paws. A glance down reveals she's stepped on a slightly stronger ember, and biting down a hiss, she stamps it out. Still, a peculiar numbness pervades her body, and she can't tear herself away from the leaders' conversation when she finally returns to it. Their secret hangs heavy in the air, muffling any outside noise.
"Are you really going to kill him?" Featherstar asks, clearly onto some new topic.
"I don't see another option," Greystar replies coldly. There's a scraping noise that becomes evident as claws ripping at bark. "I'll wait until he makes a mistake and exposes himself. Then I'll make a point of tearing up his face before I tear up his throat. Sounds fair."
Stonetail can't listen any longer. Backing away from the limbs that conceal her so well from view, she noses Streamheart onto her feet towards the side of the willow they came from. Wordlessly, they squeeze out and run away, rushing through the charred reeds until they find the roaring river once more. Their crossing is quick, and breathlessly they race downstream, where the river branches into more manageable streams that they can wash away the ash on their paws. Only once they are clean do they finally speak.
"Who was she talking about?" Streamheart's fur is puffed out; she looks nearly twice her size, and paces nervously while Stonetail washes a stubborn clump of soot from her side.
"I don't know," the grey warrior says, fighting the quaver in her voice. "But it sounds like it's someone in the Clan. Ours or WillowClan, I don't know."
"What about all that about tearing up his face? Why do that?"
But maybe this Stonetail does know the answer to. She recalls a thin double line that graces Greystar's cheek. It is mostly grown over by fur, but in heavy wind, it can be glimpsed by a sharp eye, pale pink and small. "She has a scar on her face from a long time ago. I don't know who did it, but maybe she wants to return the favor?" The idea makes Stonetail sick. She knows Greystar is a harsh, fierce cat, but a cruel one? No, just concerned with doling out justice.
"We need to go hunt," she says, putting the subject behind her even as her gut screams for her to pursue it. "We need to be back before they are, and we need to have something to eat. Grasspelt thinks we're hunting."
Streamheart is all too happy to drop the subject. Giving her chest fur a few nervous licks, she sets off towards the BreezeClan border, giving the ruined Gathering Place a wide berth. Here hills begin to form, low and rolling. The trek is an exposed one, but good enough hunting; rabbits run wild in this corner of ShadeClan's territory, a hearty meal for any cat that can catch one. But it's hard to put energy into the chase; both she-cats are still too preoccupied with what they overheard to focus on the hunt. Stonetail even goes so far as to wrench her shoulder by stepping into the opening of a rabbit warren she had not seen, and at that point, the two warriors opt to return to camp with the excuse that the fire has sent prey into hiding. Carefully, they plod home along the trail they initially chose when leaving camp, Stonetail finding the walk particularly excruciating with her twisted shoulder, and the relief they feel upon seeing Stormfoot on guard is all too sweet.
"It's safe here," Streamheart whispers, mostly to herself. She checks furtively over her shoulder as if expecting Greystar at any moment, but when she looks through the camp entrance, she stops in her tracks. Stonetail stumbles into her from behind, pain lancing through her shoulder, but can't find the words to scold the silver tabby for stopping without warning. Her heart leaps into her throat, blocking the instinct to shout for help.
In the middle of camp, Mistpaw lies all alone.