A/N: Insert usual apology here. Long chapter here; even longer than the last one (which was almost 7k, if you care to know). And I mean really long.
Disclaimer: Um, uh, NO.
Chapter 12
"The cats on the dawn patrol are Oakbranch, Ferncloud, Dawnpaw, and Stormfur." The voice of the new deputy, Cinderheart, echoed throughout ThunderClan camp.
Still weary from sleep, Oakbranch nodded and stretched, grabbing another piece of prey, a mouse, from the fresh-kill pile. Savoring the plump prey, he took each bite slowly, trying to ignore the prickling on the back of his neck, a sure sign that someone was staring at him.
After swallowing the last bite of mouse, the brown tom quickly looked behind him, just in time to see the focused green eyes of Ferncloud look away as she hurriedly started up a conversation with her brother Ashfur, who was busy eating a thrush nearby. The brown tom saw Ashfur speak slowly, his eyes narrowed at Ferncloud as his eyes seemed to waver towards Oakbranch.
Oakbranch was sure Ferncloud had been one of the cats who had left him helpless in the middle of nowhere, but he had no proof. Any cat would have yelled at him for what he did in his opinion, even Oakbranch himself if it had been another cat. And Ferncloud's recent staring at him couldn't necessarily mean that she hated him; Clanmates had been staring at Specklewing and Mousepatch, too, ever since the battle in the Twolegplace that resulted in Firestar's death. And no one hated them; but they hadn't gone off like a fool to rescue a brother that wouldn't come back like he had, which explained that.
"Oakbranch! Are you coming or not?" A shrill voice yowled. Oakbranch looked toward the direction the yowl had come from and saw the voice belonged to Dawnpaw, her short, pale gray fur bristling and her odd gray eyes narrowed in annoyance. Like always.
"Of course I am!" the ThunderClan warrior mewed back, padding over to her, Stormfur, and Ferncloud, the other cats in the dawn patrol, but not before looking back a little longingly at the fresh-kill pile. Oakbranch had been gorging himself a bit ever since his time without food or water. He did feel a little cramped now and then, but he decided that after all that time without anything to eat or drink, it would be good to have more than usual. Looking again at the irritated Dawnpaw, he wondered in a small part of his head if Dawnpaw hated him like Ferncloud; after all, her brother, Stonepaw, hated him and he suspected Stonepaw had also been one of the cats who tied him up and left him to die.
Ferncloud narrowed her green eyes at Oakbranch as he walked up to them and mewed, "Don't forget the regular way of doing things in the Clan after your…little adventure."
Oakbranch said lightly, "Of course I won't." but then wondered with a slight shiver if she was referring to the battle with BloodClan or his being left in the middle of nowhere for days. He hoped (but doubted) that it was the former.
A gray tail suddenly whapped him and Ferncloud in the face; it was Dawnpaw's. She glared at them both and meowed, "Are you coming on the dawn patrol or not? At this rate, we'll be starting at sunhigh."
"Don't worry, we're coming," Oakbranch mewed, as Ferncloud snapped, "Respect your elders and betters, Dawnpaw."
"I do," the she-cat muttered, then stalked off to her father, Stormfur, the last cat on the dawn patrol. Oakbranch glanced at Stormfur and wondered how such a cat like Dawnpaw could come from such calm and mild mannered cats like Stormfur and Brook.
Stormfur's gaze switched from a whisker-twitching, bristling Dawnpaw, to a Ferncloud with an angrily swishing tail and narrowed eyes, to a rather confused Oakbranch who seemed to have the expression of "Don't ask me." Whiskers twitching with what could have been amusement or consternation, the gray tom mewed, "Well, I guess we better get going." He led the way out of the ThunderClan camp, Ferncloud, Dawnpaw, and Oakbranch following.
The dawn patrol looked to Oakbranch like it would be a pretty normal, peaceful one–no skirmishes and arguments with WindClan or ShadowClan, no badgers, just a nice walk redoing the markings and on the lookout for any sort of trouble that really wouldn't be coming that day–so he just walked along and let his mind wander.
Almost immediately, Oakbranch's thoughts turned to BloodClan. (No surprise.) It all seemed so strange the way BloodClan hadn't attacked any of the Clans – the real Clans – yet, or even made any suggestions of a battle at the Gatherings. Perhaps it was because they had plenty of territory and prey in their giant Twolegplace. But there were Clans because the Clans depended on each other, so if BloodClan didn't need the other Clans, did they really need to be a Clan at all? BloodClan being part of the Clans was just too odd; they weren't a natural Clan – that is, there hadn't been a cat named Blood along with Thunder, River, Shadow, and Wind (and according to Firestar's big quest when the Clans still lived in the old territory, Sky) so they couldn't be a real Clan, a Clan StarClan meant, right?
Right, thought Oakbranch. It all made perfect sense to him. After all, didn't Firestar say after the big battle with BloodClan when Scourge was leader that StarClan had told him there were always five Clans – StarClan, ThunderClan, WindClan, RiverClan, and ShadowClan? (Six if you counted SkyClan.) But BloodClan wasn't – was never – mentioned. StarClan would have mentioned them if BloodClan was a real Clan, not a group of cats led by a cat who just wanted power and to rule the forest, and a cat who would kill to get it, and enjoy those killings.
But – but when Heat and the rest of BloodClan first appeared at the Gatherings, back when Oakbranch was just Oakpaw, StarClan hadn't covered the moon with clouds; in fact, it had been clear skies all night, the moon shining brightly and all the stars twinkling. StarClan had shown no disapproving or anger, just indifference, or even – Oakbranch shuddered just to think of it – approving. Heat had even successfully been given nine lives by StarClan! Oakbranch shook his head; this was just all too preposterous to think about, yet all completely true. There had been no Blood that became Bloodstar, yet StarClan hadn't covered the moon when BloodClan reappeared, even after their attempt to take over the forest back in the old territory. StarClan had said there had always been meant to be five (six, including SkyClan) Clans, after BloodClan's defeat, yet Heat received nine lives just like any normal leader of any normal – real – Clan. StarClan had been unsupportive of BloodClan at first, but now they seemed to act as if BloodClan was any old Clan that had been there at the beginning! Oakbranch had always thought StarClan made things nice and clear, not contradicting and confusing.
Now his head hurt.
However, Oakbranch still had an innate instinct that something about BloodClan was just wrong. They didn't live in the forest, they didn't have normal Clan names (Heat? What was wrong with Heatstar?), they had tons more cats than any other Clan (Oakbranch sometimes speculated they might have as many as all the other Clans put together), they had kittypet collars with teeth on them, for StarClan's sake, their cats regularly killed others, and they most likely – Oakbranch just knew they did – had different customs than the other Clans.
Oakbranch wrinkled his nose and narrowed his amber eyes, whiskers twitching. There was obviously more evidence stacked up for BloodClan not being a true Clan than there was for it being one. Whatever StarClan might think before they changed their minds again, in Oakbranch's mind, BloodClan was definitely not a Cla–
Wait. That meant they were little better than rogues. Scorn…
Scorn was a Clan cat, not a rogue. Scorn may have been a BloodClanner, but he would never, ever be a rogue. Oakbranch's brother could not be a rogue and would never be a rogue.
But were the other BloodClanners still rogues then? They were just as good as, since they were so cruel and mean. But then Oakbranch remembered the cat who had told all the other BloodClanners to stop throwing him around like a ball of moss and kicking and hitting him; though it wasn't all, Oakbranch reflected. Around half – maybe even more – had stood aside. But they had just watched and only that one cat had spoken out, so wouldn't they be just as bad? They were practically participating, but with their eyes instead of their paws and legs, just too squeamish to hurt a bound up and helpless cat. ThunderClan, WindClan, RiverClan – StarClan, even ShadowClan, would never do that. But BloodClan would, because it was an evil non-Clan made up of bloodthirsty rogues.
And Scorn.
Oakbranch sighed.
"Hey, Oakbranch! Catch up with the rest of us, won't you? We won't wait for you, you know!" Dawnpaw's shrill yowl pierced Oakbranch's ears, and he winced, running over to the group of three.
"With all the yelling and noticing you do, Dawnpaw, maybe you should become deputy when you're a warrior," Stormfur joked, as Dawnpaw shot yet another scowl at Oakbranch.
"Well, I don't think Cinderheart will die anytime soon," Oakbranch replied with a smile, thinking, Luckily.
Dawnpaw screwed up her nose at Oakbranch, which the brown tom interpreted as time to go back to his thoughts again.
This BloodClan quandary seemed like only something StarClan could solve – but if they could do so, why weren't they telling any cat? Did they think no cat would think about it? Well, they were wrong in that respect, Oakbranch supposed. He was doing that very action right now. But StarClan knew everything – they were StarClan. So why didn't Oakbranch just…somehow get to StarClan in a dream? StarClan came to the Clans – though really only medicine cats and leaders – so why couldn't a Clan cat go to StarClan? Besides, the question was perfectly harmless.
But…how exactly could one get to StarClan? Only dead cats knew how to walk the skies – and Oakbranch knew he certainly wasn't dead. Perhaps he could…direct his dreams? After all, it seemed like that was what StarClan did to the dreams of medicine cats and leaders sometimes, after they went to the Moonpo–
The Moonpool! How had Oakbranch forgotten about it? He could sneak out that night to the Moonpool, touch his tongue to the water, fall asleep, and meet with StarClan in his dreams! It was definitely the best chance Oakbranch had of a discussion with StarClan. Yes, the Moonpool was the answer–
"Fox!" yowled Ferncloud, her tail waving about and her eyes widened. Jolted out of his ponders, Oakbranch's eyes widened also and he mewed, "What?!" as his ears pricked.
Indeed, there was a fox just a few fox-lengths (Oakbranch noticed this, but did not laugh at the irony) away from the four cats. Inspecting the fox, however, Oakbranch observed it didn't look like it was much up to a fight; its ribs jutted out of its brown smudged and stained fur, which hung limply on its body (a far cry from the long and lustrous reddish brown fur of a healthy fox), and its tail waved around weakly, as if rattling a death knell. Oakbranch wondered why a fox would look so starved and helpless during a time that wasn't leafbare, but then his gaze traveled to one of the fox's legs, which looked twisted, somewhat infected, and very dirty. With such a hurt leg, the fox couldn't have hunted well at all.
"We need to drive it out of our territory!" Dawnpaw hissed, casting her trademark glare at the fox as if that was all that was needed for it to be defeated.
"Don't race in right away," Stormfur said in a calm voice. "Even though the fox is injured badly, it can still fight."
Stormfur was right, judging from the wild, ferocious look in the fox's dull yellowish green eyes. It could have been driven near crazy from pain and hunger.
"Now," Stormfur mewed to Dawnpaw, as if he was training her on how to fight other animals in the training clearing, "stand still and watch the fox closely, preparing yourself for when it'll attack…"
As if the fox had heard this and felt insulted, it suddenly ran (surprisingly at a very quick pace, what with its hunger and twisted leg) towards the dawn patrol, a raspy snarl escaping from its mouth. Oakbranch saw Dawnpaw race ahead eagerly to the fox, but Stormfur pushed her away; after all, he was her father and had the right to be protective.
Stormfur headed to the fox's front, while Oakbranch and Ferncloud headed for its sides. Dawnpaw tried to go to the fox's behind, but Ferncloud pushed her away like Stormfur; it was known throughout ThunderClan how protective Stormfur was of his kits.
"Take this, fox," the gray tom hissed, scratching his muzzle as Oakbranch and Ferncloud sunk their claws into his sides. The fox whined and bared his fangs, trying to kick out, but before it could do anything Dawnpaw tackled the fox from behind, sinking her fangs into its back. Ferncloud and Oakbranch were both so shocked (and slightly frightened for the well-being of Dawnpaw after Stormfur got to her) that they momentarily lightened their grips and the fox sprung free, slowly turning around with its twisted leg. Stormfur, however, had not been frozen into submission; his daughter's risk seemed to make him more agile and he jumped onto the fox and sunk the claws on all his paws into it, except for one which he used to strike its head. The fox struggled, snapping its jaws. It also wiggled furiously, causing Stormfur to lose his balance and fall off the fox.
Oakbranch and Ferncloud had been closest to the fox's jaws. However, Oakbranch's back had been turned, and he disregarded the fox's scent seeming so close to him, as it had already been close. It wasn't until Oakbranch felt claws sink into his back and rake his skin did the fact register in his mind that the fox must have escaped Stormfur's grip. He whipped around and saw the fox also turned around as well, lumbering over to Stormfur as he was the one who had caused the fox the most pain.
But Dawnpaw, ever the eager one to do some harm to the enemy, crept over to the fox and almost falling as she did so from lack of balance, used both paws to pull the fox's tail. "How do you like that, eh, fox?" Dawnpaw mewed, smirking.
Though Dawnpaw had obviously not intended it to, this action successfully diverted the fox's attention away from Stormfur to Dawnpaw, and the fox prepared to leap on the pale gray apprentice. But before it could do that, Stormfur ran to the fox and tackled it, digging his claws into its skull. "You – will – not – hurt – my – kit!" Stormfur snarled, sinking his claws deeper after each word.
Oakbranch watched the fox's yellowish green eyes flicker, then close, as its body stiffened and it fell to the ground.
"It's – dead," Dawnpaw meowed, gray eyes widened as she stared at the limp fox.
Stormfur, panting, nodded.
"Well, it was going to die soon, anyway," Oakbranch pointed out, inspecting the fox. "It had that injured, infected leg and was starving."
Dawnpaw nodded, too shocked to glare at Oakbranch as if he were insulting her intelligence by stating the obvious.
Stormfur swallowed, giving the fox a quick glance. "Well…I guess we should…proceed onward, right?"
Three murmured yeses answered him, and they started walking again, as if the fight had never happened. (Except for Dawnpaw, who continued to dart awed glances at the quickly shrinking figure of the fox in the distance.)
Oakbranch winced as a burst of pain occurred in his scratches the fox had given him and wrinkled his nose, trying to ignore the stinging.
"Are you all right, Oakbranch?" Stormfur asked, turning back to look at him with a frown.
The brown warrior nodded. "Just – just a few scratches from that fox," he mewed, trying to speak of it lightly. "Nothing Leafpool can't heal."
"Oh, okay." Stormfur looked away, as did Dawnpaw and Ferncloud.
Ferncloud had had an odd expression on her face.
Oakbranch's jaw went taut.
The hate wasn't over yet.
Oakbranch staggered over to the warriors den and nearly collapsed on the nest of comfy moss. He had planned to go to the Moonpool, but for some reason he had just been so very exhausted; plus, he'd had a few stomach cramps. Nothing a quick visit to Leafpool hadn't fixed, though, after he'd received the remedy for the deep scratches from the "fox". As his eyes closed, he almost forgot that he had forgotten to go to the Moonpool and talk with StarClan. But Oakbranch didn't particularly want to anyway. Why tramp around in the forest during the cold nighttime, when you could be in a warm warriors den where the moss was just so…cozy…
Oakbranch found himself in a rather dusty clearing surrounded by some big oak trees. Looking around, he saw he wasn't the only cat there – there was a blue-gray she cat that was obviously Bluestar, leader before Firestar, and a tortoiseshell tom with a ginger tail, a strong looking white tom with blue eyes, and a big golden tom with warm amber eyes. Oakbranch looked at them with his eyes narrowed, wondering who these three cats were. They must have been important, by the looks of them. The big white tom looked rather familiar…was he Whitestorm, the first deputy Firestar had? The ThunderClanner decided it was pretty likely, then turned his gaze to the other two cats. The tortoiseshell tom had a strange red tail, added to the strangeness of his being a tortoiseshell and a tom. Wait…of course! It was Redtail, Bluestar's first deputy and the first cat that Tigerstar had murdered. The big golden cat still looked unfamiliar, and couldn't think of who he could be. Perhaps he was another of Bluestar's deputies? There had been, in order, Redtail, Lionheart, Tigerstar, Firestar. He could be Lionheart – he had the golden pelt and amber eyes. In fact, he looked exactly how Lionheart was described in the elders' tales, so that was who the cat must have been. Satisfied that he had figured this all out, Oakbranch turned his gaze to the last two cats. These last two cats were a young tortoiseshell she-cat, and last of all, Firestar himself, looking alive and well that Oakbranch almost had the urge to run up to him and yowl, "Why are you here and not leading ThunderClan?!", but he managed to restrain himself.
"I – I thought I didn't go to the Moonpool," Oakbranch stammered, gazing at the five cats in awe.
"You didn't," said the tortoiseshell she-cat, smiling kindly at him. Oakbranch guessed she was Spottedleaf, the medicine cat before Yellowfang, Cinderpelt, and Leafpool.
"But why have you come to me then?" Oakbranch asked, looking with wonder at the StarClanners that all must have been well known ThunderClanners. "I'm definitely not a leader or medicine cat…" Oakbranch trailed off, eyes narrowed in confusion; after a moment his eyes widened, and he burst out, "Unless I'm the subject of a prophecy! But – but that can't be, Leafpool hasn't received any prophecies like that and I would never be the subject of a prophecy…"
"Relax, you're none of those three," Bluestar purred, licking a forepaw and running it through her fur. Her icy blue eyes glimmered with what seemed to be amusement, as her tail swished around her paws a bit.
"Then – then why am I here?" Oakbranch mewed, eyes still narrowed in confusion.
The tortoiseshell tom shrugged. "Not only medicine cats and leaders can receive answers from StarClan," he said simply, as if the answer was obvious.
So – StarClan knew Oakbranch had had questions? But if so, why didn't they just start answering them straightaway? Or maybe they could just sense questions that desperately needed to be answered were asked, but didn't know the questions themselves? Hmm…that was something interesting that could be speculated one for a while.
A silence settled in the clearing for a while, and the StarClanners stared at Oakbranch, their pricked ears and thoughtful expressions making it seem they were expecting or waiting for him to speak – which they probably were. But those cats were StarClanners – Oakbranch couldn't just speak like he was talking to any old cat to StarClanners.
The golden tom – Lionheart – chuckled, his chuckle more like a deep rumble. "Just let out your thoughts," he meowed, whiskers twitching in amusement. "Go on. We won't bite if you say something which you think we'll object to." The other two toms, Whitestorm, and Redtail, seemed to be amused by this, and they mrrowed in laughter. Oakbranch felt somewhat offended by this
The brown warrior sighed. They were StarClanners; they couldn't understand how odd it was to be standing in front of well known former ThunderClanners who wanted you to let out all your thoughts, wonderings, and dissensions. Perhaps they could've understand when they were simply living ThunderClanners themselves, but not anymore, not now.
Then Spottedleaf smiled reassuringly at him, and he found the words burbling from his lips like a waterfall, voicing all his worries that he'd found during the dawn patrol.
"StarClan – you – first said that there were always meant to be five Clans; StarClan, ThunderClan, WindClan, RiverClan, and ShadowClan. Yet when the new BloodClan came to the Gathering, you didn't cover the moon with clouds. You let Heat gain nine lives like any normal Clan leader. The Clans live in the lake territory, except for BloodClan, which lives in the giant Twoleg-place and doesn't even have normal Clan names. They could live without the Clans – they had enough cats, prey, and territory – and had no need to battle the other Clans, unless they just wanted our territory because it was there. BloodClan…"
Oakbranch continued to talk, feeling a bit embarrassed at how the words were flowing nonstop from his mouth. The StarClanners' expressions didn't change; perhaps a whisker twitching here, a tail swishing there, the occasional expression becoming just a little more thoughtful, but the StarClanners might as well have been gazing at the sky and not listening to a ThunderClanner rant about BloodClan.
Finally, Oakbranch finished up. Saying his last words, he mewed, "Why StarClan, why? Why aren't you doing anything? Will there be prophecied cat to drive them out? Are they here for an important prophecy? StarClan…please, just give me some answers."
For the first time, Firestar strode out of the group of cats, ginger fur shining like a flame and green eyes full of luster. Once again Oakbranch felt the urge to tackle him and drag him back to ThunderClan camp like he had merely run away and had to be brought home. And it sure seemed like it to Oakbranch, with that flaming pelt and those piercing green eyes full of luster. Yet his eyes didn't have the luster of life or joy, but of sadness.
"Oakbranch, we are sorry. We don't control destiny, and not every cat in the world. We are merely the ones who pass the important messages on." The other StarClanners nodded in agreement and bowed their heads.
"What – what do you mean?"
Firestar just gazed at Oakbranch, his eyes brimming with an unspeakable sadness. Well, Oakbranch mused, it would probably be speakable when he said what he had to say. But that wasn't the point. His eyes still had this deep sadness to them that it seemed any living cat would be capable of – the kind of sadness that comes from a cat who is wise, who understands it all, who has a complete knowledge of the world.
"Oakbranch," he said. "There is no destined cat. There is no deep, unknown reason."
"But – but –" Oakbranch sputtered, tail waving around frantically.
"There is no prophecy."
Scorn bobbed and weaved his way to the front of the crowd, avoiding squeezing through the cats and getting annoyed complaints. Satisfied, he pricked his ears and didn't hear one mutter using his name or the description "that brown tom".
Content, he sat up straight and turned his gaze to the Scraphill, where Heat was currently sitting down with her tail wrapped around her paws, waiting for the rest of the second and third lowest orders to filter in around the Scraphill. Just a couple moments ago a sleek black cat–one of Heat's messengers–had sidled up to him and hissed that Heat had wanted him–a cat of the second lowest order of BloodClan warriors–to go to the Scraphill. Turning his head, Scorn watched some sheepish looking cats sit down at the edges of the crowd, the last ones to arrive.
Heat studied them all, then mewed, "I shall assume that all of the cats of the fourth and fifth orders of BloodClan warriors have arrived, and proceed." The way she said this almost convinced Scorn that there would be a few unlucky latecomers, but he resisted turning his head to look, knowing that several warriors were probably doing that at the moment.
A long furred ginger she-cat sitting next to Scorn snickered. "Stupid cats thinking what Heat's saying is true. S'not like everything she says will become the truth, even if it's that big dogs will fall out of the sky in place of rain."
Almost instinctively, Scorn's eyes flickered to Heat, and sure enough, Heat's gleaming amber gaze was centered on the long furred she-cat. The BloodClan leader had spies everywhere, and those spies were excellent at what they did. Sometimes Scorn wondered if they could read minds.
"You may all be wondering why I have called you – the fourth and fifth orders – here to the Scraphill today." Heat's voice slithered out of her mouth like a serpent, then swishing into the cats' ears and just barely tickling the sensitive fur like a small breeze, whispering important words.
Scorn could almost hear the nodding of every cat sitting around the Scraphill.
"After rather recent developments, I have decided it should be fairly simple for us – and do well for us – to recruit BloodClan cats from the Clans."
Scorn's cheeks burned as he recognized the allusion to his joining of BloodClan, and felt glad not many cats knew his exact origins, as was the case for most BloodClan cats. However, the BloodClanner still felt a spark of annoyance inside him because of the reference, knowing that because of it a few more cats would learn of where he came from soon. And he definitely did not want more BloodClanners to know he was once a Clan cat – and not just any Clan cat, but a ThunderClan cat, which was considered the worst of the worst.
"As you know, it is the fifth and sixth BloodClan orders that are used for recruiting, not the fourth and fifth."
Once again Scorn could almost hear the nodding, like it was essential for every BloodClan cat to give some sort of sign indicating they had heard and understood what Heat had said, and as if this sign was needed very much, too.
"But, of course, it is far easier to convince kittypets, loners, and rogues who are either scared stiff of us or have never heard of us before to join BloodClan than Clan cats that hate us with a passion. Thus, somewhat better skills in logic, persuasion, and reasoning will be needed – why the fourth order has been called along with the fifth and not the sixth."
Scorn noticed previously disgruntled cats almost glow from the tips of their ears all the way down to the last sharpened edge of each claw, noticed cats that had had insulted expressions (recruiting was for the fifth and sixth orders, after all, not the fourth) before look bloated with arrogance and pride and get their frowns replaced with wide smiles. Glancing up at Heat, Scorn saw the BloodClan leader looking down at these sixth order cats, a smug expression gleaming in her amber eyes, but her mouth still staying neutral, in neither a frown nor smile. Obviously, so not everyone could see her amusement and pleasure at how highly her BloodClanners regarded her opinion.
Scorn inhaled slowly and hoped he would never be like that, kowtowing whenever he could to his leader without the bounds of reason. Yes, Heat was an excellent leader; no, she wasn't the equivalent of StarClan. (Not that Scorn thought StarClan was good enough to be used in that kind of analogy, but he was thinking in the frame of mind as he would have back when he was an apprentice in ThunderClan or as that of a Clan cat in a BloodClan cat's place, not with his own opinions.)
"You will recruit kits and apprentices, as they are more susceptible to persuasion, and kits will not have much memory of Clanlife – they will eagerly go along with you to a "fun place", and be raised as BloodClan warriors. I expressly forbid you to attempt to recruit warriors – they are firmly set in their ways and will run away to their leaders to tell about what we are doing, not come along with us.
"If you're thick headed enough to think the only way to recruit Clan cats is by meeting them while they're hunting alone, I shall need to reconsider why I ever even raised you so far as to the fifth or sixth order."
Scorn rolled his eyes. He wasn't an idiot, despite the condescending way Heat would speak to them often. He had already figured out the alternative to recruiting Clan cats. One would go to the Clans disguised as a rogue or loner who was lost and hungry. While staying, they would discern what apprentices and/or kits would be good as BloodClanners, and convince them to leave with them when they weren't "lost" or "hungry" anymore. All this after disguising one's BloodClan scent of course; forgetting to do that would put a serious flaw in the plan.
Predictably, Heat went on to speak Scorn's thoughts, and though Scorn knew he wasn't such a suck-up as some of the other BloodClanners, he couldn't help feeling the glow of satisfaction that he'd been right about what Heat thought.
"Some BloodClanners have already been sent out in disguise as rogues or loners to get kits, so the Clan cats will not get too suspicious about all the sudden rogues and loners."
Eyes narrowing, Scorn glowered at the ground. So he wasn't good enough to be sent out early? He was the one who had persuaded all those cats to join BloodClan, and had them thinking it was of their free will. He was the one Heat had praised. He was the one who had been moved up so quickly from one order to the next for doing precisely what Heat now wanted them to do specifically.
Heat was still not done. She opened her mouth once more, and mewed, "But, of course, they will still be suspicious. You cannot always use the unoriginal 'lost and hungry loner or rogue'. If you're planning to try to convince ThunderClanners, maybe say you have heard of the Clans and you are thinking about joining, but would like to experience some Clanlife before doing so. Those soft geese would accept such a flimsy explanation immediately, and welcome you with open paws."
Scorn heard a small voice mutter somewhere behind him, "And what if we can't think of any other explanations?"
"If you can't, dear Falcon, then I shall give you a suitable Lowering later this day," Heat returned in a sugary sweet voice, giving the impression that she could hear and see anything as usual. Despite the sweet voice, the look Heat had on her face was the one a cat would wear when staring at a particularly plump and oblivious piece of prey.
The BloodClanner Falcon, a light brown tom with a permanently scrawny look, shivered a little and stuttered, "N – no, H – heat, I – I – I'm p – perf – fectly fine h – how I am."
Heat smiled, amber eyes shining with fake concern. "So you're able to think up your own explanations?"
Falcon nodded, head bobbing up and down to prove the point. "Y – yes, Heat."
Once again, Heat smiled – but if one looked closely, they could see the sharp point of a fang poking out of her mouth. "Glad to hear it, Falcon."
After this murmuring broke out as BloodClanners began to talk to each other about this new development, assuming the meeting was over. Scorn began to exchange a couple words with a shorthaired gray cat to his left but kept a close eye on Heat, knowing the meeting was probably not over and when Heat called them to attention again, she would delight in the astonishment and fear on her BloodClanners' faces.
"I'm not sure if the Clan cats – even apprentices and kits – will be so easily convinced like Heat says," said the gray cat with a frown. "After all, they've been raised on tales like 'the evil Scourge" and "the wicked Tigerstar" since before they were weaned. Even if our scents are disg–"
"Now, what was I going to say?" Heat cleared her throat, exaggerating the sound, and all BloodClanners jumped and sat facing Heat again. The gray cat's clear green eyes quickly switched from Scorn to the leader of BloodClan, with an almost blank stare.
"Ah, now I remember," Heat mewed, though it was obvious to every BloodClanner she had never forgotten – and Heat knew that.
"Dearest Falcon over here" – Heat gave the shaking Falcon a quick smile as every other cat was glad they weren't Falcon – "made me finalize a decision I had been pondering about for a couple days. I have come to the conclusion some cats simply aren't…good enough to infiltrate the Clans during recruiting."
Scorn bet Heat had really enjoyed those shocked, gaping, and hurt expressions that graced the faces of many BloodClanners at the moment.
"Therefore, I have decided on a group of cats among you, the fourth and fifth orders, to be allowed to both catch the apprentices while hunting alone and disguise yourself as a loner or rogue and enter the Clans." For a moment, an expression that actually seemed to be stern and serious went on Heat's face while her gaze traveled over the crowd of the fourth and fifth order of BloodClan warriors. "These cats are Swipe, Dusk, Scar, Edge, Gleam, Mask, Whip…"
Scorn patiently waited for his name, looking calm and peaceful, but as more names were spoken and none were Scorn's, his expression in his mind had a mouth that opened wider and wider, with eyes that continued to widen in astonishment and anger. How could Heat do this to him? She had acknowledged him as an excellent recruiter – surely he was good enough to infiltrate the Clans? He had even lived among them, had been born in the Clan, for – for StarClan's sake! Heat was an ignorant fool if she didn't pick him to be able to pose as a loner or rogue in the Clans!
"…and Scrape. That is all."
No. It – it couldn't be true. He wasn't part of that group. Heat was an ignorant fool, but it was impossible! Heat was observant, was intelligent, was cunning! She couldn't have simply forgotten about him, especially when it took him three times to join BloodClan as a ThunderClan apprentice.
"Oh, yes, and another; I just completely forgot. Scorn."
A rush of bubbly joy filled up as Scorn's entire body, all the way to the tips of whiskers, seemed to exhale. But it completely disappeared almost a moment after, replaced with red-hot fire, no, white-hot, so hot it was white. It seared and burned; it would make ashes of anything that touched it. Scorn looked up at Heat, his lip curled and his amber eyes narrowed and flashing.
Heat's eyes gleamed and she just gave him an innocent-seeming smile. Scorn guessed she would have sneered, if he was the only one there – but he wasn't; he was just there along with the rest of the fourth and fifth BloodClan orders.
Heat had done it on purpose. Had taken a perverse pleasure in watching him being crushed, hurt that Heat had thought that little of him. But she didn't – just liked him to think that so she could have fun toying with him. Heat may have been an intelligent and cunning leader, but she was also a cruel one, in more ways than one.
Oddly, though the searing silver-white fire still flamed inside him when Heat let them go, with the words they were now free to start their recruiting, what Scorn was thinking about the most was that the cat Falcon hadn't been allowed to recruit inside the Clans themselves.
Heat may have been cruel, but she was also sensible enough (and not vindictive enough) to know that letting a terrified cat to infiltrate the Clans would just destroy her plan. One could say the leader of BloodClan was a happy medium.
Scorn disagreed with that statement.
The lost loner that was currently staying in WindClan for a short period of time, Dandelion, was pretty friendly. She had lots of stories to tell about odd places that Pricklepaw had never been to before, like giant Twolegplaces. Pricklepaw had been interested in Twolegplaces ever since she heard BloodClan lived there; she wondered how any cat could live there, but she thought it sounded a whole lot more interesting than the boring lake territory, which stayed the same day after day after day. At the huge Twolegplace there were many Twolegs that didn't try to harm you, giant monsters, lots of other cats and animals, and many strange Twolegnests of which no two looked alike. It all just seemed so much more…fascinating than the rather boring day-to-day Clanlife.
Not that anyone else knew. Pricklepaw liked to keep secrets – it gave her a thrill, making her feel as if she had some sort of power over her Clanmates, even if it was just something like, "I ate a little bit of mouse on a hunting mission." The small brown apprentice had prided herself on how well she kept her secrets – she had never told one, whether it was one of her own or a secret someone else had told her.
But then Dandelion had came. And Dandelion was…different.
Read as: Pricklepaw had done what had once been the unknown to her. She had spilled a secret to the sunny she-cat. There had just been something about Dandelion that wanted one to tell her a precious secret of yours. The secret Pricklepaw had spilled was her most recent one, her interest in giant Twolegplaces.
And not only that. Just her secrets in general. How she loved to keep them, how she loved the thrill, the strange power. How nobody knew (except for Dandelion, now).
But as stated before, Dandelion was different. Better. Not like a Clan cat. She hadn't just stared at her then walked away. Instead, she had mewed in Pricklepaw's ear, "Come with me out of the camp. I have something to tell you, and I don't want to be overheard."
Pricklepaw did so with almost zealous obedience. What Dandelion had said meant more secrets, and Pricklepaw nearly lived for secrets, especially during boring lulls in her life.
When the two arrived at a fairly isolated spot in the moors of WindClan territory, Dandelion mewed, "Pricklepaw, how would you feel if I told you that I've lied about who I am – that I'm not a loner?"
Pricklepaw shrugged. "Lots of cats lie. I lie. You lie. We do it because we have to."
Pricklepaw saw Dandelion's eyes widen, and the loner (or not) half-smiled. Had Pricklepaw impressed her for some odd reason?
"Good," Dandelion meowed. "You seem like one of the few sensible cats here in the Clans. All right; here goes: I live in the giant Twolegplace – in fact, the one BloodClan lives in."
Pricklepaw's yellow eyes widened immediately, and her tail swished around with excitement. "Really? You do? What's it like? Is it better than here?" Then it occurred to the WindClanner what the last part Dandelion had said meant. "Wait – the same one as BloodClan?!" Mingled horror and excitement came onto Pricklepaw's face, as she looked up at Dandelion with widened eyes, almost begging with them for more secrets.
"And – I don't just live near the BloodClanners…Pricklepaw, I am one. I was sent here to find cats who wanted to join BloodClan."
One part of Pricklepaw's mind urged her to do what she had been taught as a Clan cat. Run away. Tell the leader. Battle her. Yowl.
The other part was in ecstasy. A huge secret, and an exciting one. Dandelion – a BloodClanner? She didn't seem like what the others had said BloodClanners were like…Dandelion wasn't cruel or bloodthirsty or mean or evil or anything…just nice and understanding and kind. Things like that.
"Wow," Pricklepaw whispered. But what had been drummed into her since a kit still throbbed in her head: Tell the Clan. Run away. Yowl. Battle her. So she proceeded to spill some of her thoughts.
"But – Dandelion, you're not like what my Clan says BloodClan cats are like you. You're not bloodthirsty or evil, and you're not cold and mean, either, or anything like that. You're just…normal."
Dandelion smiled. "That's because that's what BloodClan really is, despite the wicked sounding name. Just a normal Clan, but a big one that lives in the ci – giant Twolegplace. Sure, our leader may seem pretty cruel, but she's really just smart and clever."
Pricklepaw nodded, her eyes feeling like they would be widened perfectly. She could believe that. The ShadowClan leader, Blackstar, seemed kind of mean, but ShadowClan seemed perfectly fine with their leader, didn't they? And if you thought of the same thing, but with BloodClan, and incorporated Dandelion into it…
Yup. BloodClan – just a normal Clan. That lived in a giant Twolegplace, in a place that was better than the moors or the lake or the forest. And which had Dandelion in it, and maybe cats like Dandelion.
"Dandelion, I – I know this sounds kind of weird, but I want to join BloodClan. It just seems – seems better than WindClan." Pricklepaw looked at the hilly ground right after saying this, just in case she got a scornful reaction back.
However (and thankfully), Pricklepaw didn't get that. Instead, Dandelion laughed and meowed, "Of course? Why couldn't you? We always welcome more recruits. Come with me!"
Pricklepaw blinked. "We're leaving? Now? Already?"
Dandelion grinned. "Of course! Why not? Do you want to stay here any longer?"
Pricklepaw shrugged, brow furrowing. "No, not really." She let her yellow gaze travel over the moors one last time, then mewed, "Okay, let's go!"
Minkkit scuffed some leaves with his small paws, purring at the satisfying crackle they made. He wondered why his mother, Honeydrop, never let him out of her sight or into the forest – it was so fun! He couldn't wait until he was an apprentice and could do this every day, though Honeydrop might try to stop him. Whenever he asked why he couldn't leave the nursery, she always mumbled something. Minkkit could never hear what exactly she mumbled about; he had heard the sounds "Sc" and "F" before in the mumbles, but that was it. Well, that and "looks alike, but a little lighter," but that was it. It confused Minkkit very much, and no one would explain this and much more to him.
His ears pricked as he heard a big skritching noise – maybe it was a mouse, or a vole! Minkkit could just imagine how proud Honeydrop and Berrytail would be of him, for catching prey when he was just a four-moon-old kit. His brother and sister of another litter would be proud too, especially his brother. His brother appreciated warrior skills like that. His paws touching the ground lightly as he padded through the grassy groundcover (at least, how light a kit could make their paws, which wasn't very much) Minkkit moved toward what he thought was nearest to the prey. Soon, he saw a small tail flick out of a bunch of leaves and plants. So there was prey! Minkkit pounced, aiming for the tail. Right before he reached the ground, however, a small mouse shot out of the plants and ran under a bush, disappearing from Minkkit's sight.
Minkkit sighed; he had been so close! Now Honeydrop and Berrytail wouldn't be proud of him, and nor would his brother and sister. They would be so disappointed – they – they might even hold of his apprentice ceremony because of this! Or punish him for escaping from camp where he could get lost or eaten or hurt!
Minkkit's tail drooped, his good mood now ruined. He began to head toward where he thought ThunderClan camp was, his tiny paws making soft padding and crackling noises on the grass and leaves.
"Hey, that was actually a pretty good try for a kit."
Minkkit spun around, his brown fur beginning to bristle. He didn't smell ThunderClan, only a strong scent which he knew was definitely not that of another Clan's. Some cat must have trespassed on ThunderClan's territory!
Standing in between two slender trees was a cat with dark gray fur and a small smile, and his eyes half-lidded.
"Who are you?" Minkkit demanded in his kit squeak. "You're on ThunderClan territory, you know. You could get Punished." Minkkit knew that. He got Punished a lot.
The dark gray cat laughed and stretched, arching his back. Somehow this seemed all the more worse to Minkkit; it showed he was at home at a place that he couldn't be and it showed he didn't care about that.
"I should know," Minkkit continued, his kit nature taking the better of him as he began to ramble to a stranger. "Once I went outside the nursery and I got in trouble, even though kits are allowed to go out of the nursery. Then I had to stay in the same spot in the nursery all the way through moonhigh. It was terrible. Sometimes I don't like Clanlife much, there's too many rules and stuff. That's why I'm here. I wanna make Honeydrop and Berrytail proud."
The dark gray tom smirked, but Minkkit didn't notice. Instead he went straight to another topic, announcing, "Where are you from? You smell strange?"
The tom smiled widely, replying, "I'm from a place where there aren't as many restrictions as your home."
Minkkit's nose wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. "What does restrictions mean?"
The tom let out a soft, weary sigh. "It means there aren't as many stupid rules and stupid punishments."
Minkkit's eyes widened. "I want to go wherever you live! It sounds better than here. Would you let me out of camp?"
"Certainly," mewed the dark gray cat, laughing. "Are you sure you want to come with me to my home?"
The brown kit nodded furiously, whiskers twitching and tail swishing in excitement. "Yeah!"
The tom grinned. "Okay," he purred. "Follow me."
"You'll have to try harder than that, Hawkpaw," Voletooth mewed in a monotone to a burly black tom, as if he had said such a sentence hundreds of times.
Hawkpaw didn't even bother to sigh or let his whiskers droop. This had happened too many times for him to be sad about it anymore; he felt nothing anymore except for resentment.
"Don't worry," Voletooth added, though the look in the mentor's eyes almost seemed to encourage Hawkpaw to do just that. "You'll understand this fighting move soon." The tone in which Voletooth said this suggested just the opposite.
"I'm sorry," mumbled Hawkpaw, though he had said this too hundreds of times. The words had become so natural coming out of his mouth they were almost – unnatural, if such a feeling made sense.
"Anyway," Voletooth meowed, "why don't you go on a hunting mission? The fresh-kill pile is low, and you've become pretty good at hunting."
"Sure," Hawkpaw muttered.
Voletooth's face brightened up immediately, and he raced off to talk with a couple other RiverClan toms.
He could at least bother to disguise the fact that he loves it when he doesn't need to mentor a worthless piece of mousedung like me, Hawkpaw thought, eyes narrowing in Voletooth's direction. Nonetheless, Hawkpaw began to pad out of RiverClan camp.
He hadn't gone very far, however, when his brother – Cloudpaw – strutted over to him.
"Where're you going, bro?" Cloudpaw mewed, sneering as he said the word "bro". "Off on yet another hunting trip, because your mentor knows how useless it is to try to teach you how to fight?"
Hawkpaw ignored the routine bullying, but a spark of anger still began to burn inside him, as he resisted the urge to unsheathe his claws. He didn't need to waste his fighting skills – however dismal they were – on his brother.
"Good to see you too, Cloudpaw" was all Hawkpaw murmured as he padded past him and out of RiverClan camp, over to the river. He went further than most cats so he wouldn't need to be near any of his Clanmates, even though most didn't taunt him about his fighting skills. But Hawkpaw saw it in their eyes, just the same.
Hawkpaw crouched on the banks of the river, staring with glassy eyes at the rippling water. He couldn't think about catching fish now. It was one of those days – one of those days when, despite how routine it was, how much he was used to it, his horrible fighting skills would get into his mind too much, as would the teasing he got because of it. On these days the little flame of resentment and anger became bigger and bigger, until Hawkpaw almost couldn't stand it.
The black apprentice continued to stare at the river, a slight frown on his face. He still couldn't understand why his fighting skills were so horrible. Sure, one couldn't always be good at something, but they wouldn't be bad. After all, when for ages and ages cats learn how to fight and hunt, it's pretty unlikely there would suddenly come a cat who just couldn't get the hang of fighting at all.
Yet Hawkpaw had been born, and he was just that.
Something always went wrong when he tried to engage in a mock-battle with another apprentice or his mentor, Voletooth. He knew it wasn't the way Voletooth taught, because Hawkpaw thought his mentor taught pretty well, it was just something inside Hawkpaw, something innate that Hawkpaw really wished wasn't innate.
It would have been okay if Hawkpaw was a hunting master; then he would be respected, because it was harder to hunt if you were a RiverClanner than if you were a cat of any other Clan. But he wasn't particularly good at hunting – he just had a normal skill for it.
And instead of doing anything about it, his fellow RiverClanners did nothing – they jeered at him and laughed at him, or just outright ignored him, because he was Voletooth's problem, not theirs. Or rather, no cat's problem, because Voletooth didn't seem to pay much attention to him anyway. They could have asked one of RiverClan's best fighters to help him out and teach him, as perhaps they'd be better than an average warrior. But no, RiverClan just resented him; he was like something that was just in the way, like a rock you would stub your claw on.
He could leave RiverClan and become a ThunderClanner, and his Clanmates still wouldn't care. Maybe Cloudpaw would celebrate.
StarClan, he could go to BloodClan, and they still wouldn't care! Not that BloodClan would want him – according to many cats, they were superb fighters. They wouldn't take in a dud like him.
"Slacking off on your hunting?" A smooth, unfamiliar voice slunk into Hawkpaw's ears; for a moment he almost thought it was Cloudpaw, there to tease him as usual. Turning around, Hawkpaw found himself facing a light tabby she-cat with slit yellow eyes.
"Who – who are you?" Hawkpaw asked, settling into a defensive stance.
The tabby yawned and stretched, her body long and lithe. "Just a harmless loner," she replied, a tinge of amusement and derision in her voice. "You know."
Hawkpaw's eyes narrowed; something seemed wrong about that. "No," he said. "I don't know."
"Of course you do." The tabby rolled her eyes and snorted.
Hawkpaw sniffed the air deeply – odd, he didn't smell the scent of a place far away, with scents of strange, different plants and such.
Just garlic.
Now, what cat just smelled naturally of garlic? A cat trying to cover up their real scent, that's who. And what cat would cover up their real scent if they were just a loner or a rogue?
Eyes widening, Hawkpaw stared at the tabby she-cat. "You're…you're from BloodClan."
If the tabby – the BloodClanner – was surprised, she didn't show it; instead, she smiled. "Yes," she mewed. "I am."
A moment passed.
"Why haven't you attacked me yet?" she asked, the tiniest note of suspicion in her voice.
"Why should I bother?" Hawkpaw meowed back, bitterness entering into his voice as his tone hardened. "I'm foxdung at fighting. Can't do it at all. My Clan might be glad if you abducted me, or killed me, or something like that."
The BloodClanner considered this. "Well, it's not like you would be a good addition to BloodClan," she said at last. "But whatever you say, I'm not letting you alive either. Guess I'll have to–"
Don't you even dare, Lemon." A new voice entered the conversation, and Hawkpaw spotted a wiry dark brown tom with a white chest slink out from behind a bush, padding up to the BloodClanner, who appeared to be called Lemon. (Lemon? What a weird name.)
Lemon flicked her ears, then glanced at Hawkpaw. "Why? You heard him; he's a terrible fighter, and he doesn't seem to be that great of a hunter, either."
The brown tom looked at Hawkpaw with an indecipherable expression that seemed as full with feelings as stone; it also seemed to be hard and immovable: also like stone.
After many moments, the BloodClanner's gaze switched to Lemon, and he just stared at her, only a glint in his eyes showing his feelings. "Trust me, Lemon. I would know."
Lemon opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. "Ah. I remember." She turned back to Hawkpaw, who had been watching the two BloodClanners with a fixated stare and narrowed eyes.
"Apparently," she hissed, "my dear acquaintance, Scorn, seems to think you're worth more than some blood on my claws. So–"
Scorn (another odd name) interrupted Lemon, saying, "Let me." Before Lemon could even open her mouth, Scorn went on smoothly, mewing, "We have an inquiry for you. Would you like to join BloodClan?"
Hawkpaw's mouth dropped open. Of all things – he definitely hadn't been expecting this. "Did – did I hear you right?" Hawkpaw quavered, tail twitching.
"Yes."
"But – but–"
"You will learn how to fight. You will work hard at it, but you will learn how to fight, and you will have an excellent mentor. I can assure you of that."
Hawkpaw's eyes narrowed as he considered this. This was BloodClan that cat was talking about…but it couldn't be worse than RiverClan, which was home, yeah, but mostly full of cats that didn't care about him. Cats that made a flame full of resentment spark in his chest.
Would BloodClan be like that?
Hawkpaw ignored look before you leap for the first time ever.
"I – I'll join," he whispered, eyes wide.
The BloodClan tom – Scorn – smiled.
"You won't regret it," he hissed.
No. No. No, no, no.
Honeydrop raced over to Berrytail, who had just returned to the ThunderClan camp with a vole dangling from his mouth.
"Berrytail," Honeydrop rasped, her voice breathless. "Berrytail…I – I – I…"
The creamy furred tom dropped the piece of prey on the fresh-kill pile, directing his attention to his mate immediately. "What is it, Honeydrop?" he asked, not being a cat to worry as much as his mate.
"Minkkit," Honeydrop whispered, her eyes glassy with held back tears. "I can't find him. He's not anywhere – anywhere – in the camp."
Though one couldn't have seen it, Berrytail's heartbeat quickened, and he began to panic, the only sign of it being a taut jaw.
"Well – it – it happens to most kits. You know, they – go out into the forest and try to catch a mouse, or something like that. Then one of our warriors finds them, they get a stern lecture and a punishment – and – and it's all better." Berrytail ended with a cracked tone to his voice on the last word, as he breathed in deeply.
"But – what if–" Honeydrop didn't need to finish her sentence. Berrytail knew. What if he had just somehow gotten the same fate as their little Ferretpaw – but unwillingly.
It seemed impossible, but if one had suggested to Honeydrop and Berrytail when Ferretpaw was a kit that what would happen to him would happen to him, they would have wondered if that cat that said such a thing to them had ate a bit – more than a bit – too much prey.
Better safe than never.
"Bramblestar!" Berrytail ran over to his former mentor, who was currently basking in the sun in the middle of camp next to his mate, Squirrelflight. The dark brown tabby tom stretched and clumsily rose, still blinking a bit. "What is it, Berrytail?" he asked.
Berrytail explained the situation, and Brambleclaw's brow furrowed more and more as he heard.
Search parties were sent out. Minkkit was called for. The forest was scoured. They asked dawn patrols from WindClan and ShadowClan if they had spotted a small brown tom kit. They hadn't.
Minkkit was gone.
Weaselfur sat at the edge of WindClan camp, watching the sun set. The pale blue color of the sky was changing into brilliant pink and orange hues, as long, skinny clouds seemed to blend into the colors until you couldn't tell where clouds ended and the colors of the sunset began. Much of the sun could still be seen, but the ginger warrior knew soon there would only be a sliver left, and after that, nothing.
But Weaselfur wasn't sitting there only to gaze at the sunset, something he could to perfectly well in the middle of the open WindClan camp. He shouldn't have been letting the sunset's beauty occupy him anyway. What should be occupying his mind – and what had been, ever since before the first hints of sunset had came – was his apprentice, Sedgepaw.
This was a strange new feeling for him about Sedgepaw, because if any apprentice needed to be worried about, it definitely wasn't Sedgepaw. Sedgepaw generally acted quiet and modest, with never a hair out of place among her smooth brown fur or a moment late to camp after a hunting mission. Weaselfur's fellow mentors would often jokingly complain how they had all got the short end of the stick with apprentices. Weaselfur would just smile back.
But right now Sedgepaw wasn't living up to her usual reliability. She should have been back at WindClan camp a long time ago, far before the sunset would start, and at the latest, just a bit before the first hints of sunset came along into the sky.
Weaselfur glanced at the sunset again. It was well into it now, and the sun was rapidly disappearing, bit by bit. He stared out into the horizon, searching for a moving figure in the distance.
He stared a bit more. Sighing, he knew his eyes were definitely not playing tricks on him, and he still saw no moving figu – wait! What was that?
"Hey, Weaselfur!" Mistpaw chirped, her mew muffled because of the fresh moss that was clamped between her teeth. Dropping the moss, she licked a paw and mewed, "I just got back from getting more moss for the elders – they just got some new moss a couple days ago, but you know Tornear, so Breezepelt ordered me to get some more. She scowled. "Breezepelt is so bossy, don't you think?"
"Yes, I do," Weaselfur murmured a bit distractedly, a slightly disappointed look on his face as he continued to stare off into the distance.
Mistpaw wrinkled her nose and looked at Weaselfur. "What are you doing?" she asked, beginning to pick up the fresh moss again.
"Sedgepaw isn't back yet," Weaselfur responded, as he looked at the WindClan territory harder.
"That's odd," Mistpaw muttered. "She's always the first one back, because she's so efficient." Shrugging, Mistpaw added, "See you later, Weaselfur…" and strolled into WindClan camp, moss in tow.
Weaselfur sighed and continued to look into the distance. A couple moments later, he looked at the sunset again.
Only the faintest sliver of sun was left.
He sighed again and sat on the grassy hill, continuing to wait for Sedgepaw.
Time passed. Eventually, Weaselfur looked up at the sky again. The sun had set, and the sky was gradually beginning to darken and give way to a dusky twilight.
The WindClan warrior felt a gravelly rumbling in his stomach, but ignored it. He vowed to himself he would not get fresh-kill from the fresh-kill pile until Sedgepaw came back from her hunting mission.
Twilight turned to night, and soon it was moonhigh, the sliver of moon casting a faint light on the hills. Night turned to midnight, and the only light came from the moon and the stars. Weaselfur ignored his stomach rumbles, ignored the calls from his Clanmates to come in and eat and sleep, ignored the apprentices and other WindClanners asking if he had seen Sedgepaw. His sharp eyes scoured WindClan territory for a long time, and he did not see the shape of Sedgepaw.
Sedgepaw was Sedgepaw; Weaselfur knew she would come back to WindClan camp.
Eventually.
And for the first time in his life, Weaselfur was completely, totally, and utterly wrong.
Sedgepaw watched countless BloodClan cats gather around the Scraphill, milling about and discussing what this meeting was about, and all saying it was probably a ceremony for a BloodClan recruit. The brown she-cat spotted some queens and kits near the back of the crowd, and even some cranky looking elders. Of course, there were also many, many warriors, not to mention apprentices like her. Sedgepaw sniffed the air, and even thought she had gotten a whiff of herbs – a sure sign there were cats like the medicine cats in the Clans there, too. Sedgepaw widened her eyes, amazed. It was just like a normal Clan, except with many more cats, and many more cats in each part of the Clan – especially the warriors. Besides that, the fact they lived in a giant Twolegplace (or, as Scrape told her it was called, a city), and that their names didn't consist of two parts, one could just call BloodClan a regular Clan, a Clan that could be grouped with RiverClan, WindClan, ShadowClan, and ThunderClan without the speaker stuttering over its name or going strangely quiet.
It reminded Sedgepaw a lot of the meetings Onestar usually held – except for that there were many, many more cats and the leader, Heat, sat on pile of Twoleg junk called the Scraphill, instead of what Onestar stood upon, the Tallrock. Sedgepaw had to admit what Onestar stood upon was better, but considering BloodClan lived in a place for Twolegs, it was lucky Heat had found such a big, convenient place for the BloodClanners.
Sedgepaw's ears stayed pricked for a while as she listened to the BloodClanners talk. She soon found it was just like ordinary Clan talk: gossip, things about other Clans, current happenings in the Clan, and stuff like that. Letting her ears relax, she sat down behind the Scraphill and waited for Heat to call her up, her tail curled around her paws. As he was the one who had persuaded her to join BloodClan, the BloodClanner Scrape, a golden brown tom with traces of ginger, sat with her.
"This reminds me of when I became an apprentice in WindClan," Sedgepaw mewed, reminiscing. "I had been so excited, and I was jumping around like a squirrel. My tail wouldn't stop moving, until my mother joked she might have to clamp it down to the ground…"
"I'm one of the BloodClan members who had been born into this Clan," Scrape mewed, watching Heat's back and she sat and waited for the last of BloodClan to filter in. "I wasn't the only one to be apprenticed that day – it's very uncommon for only one cat to be apprenticed in one day, since there are so many of us. You're an exception"
"And now, I'm getting apprenticed for the second time," Sedgepaw murmured, staring up at Heat. "It all seems so odd."
Scrape opened his mouth, possibly to say some words of assurance, but then Heat began to speak, her voice filling the clearing as all cats went silent, the only sounds besides Heat's mew being the swishing of tails, occasional scratches in the ground, and other such actions.
"Greetings, fellow BloodClanners," Heat mewed. Many murmurs of "Greetings" were mewed back, disorderly and more like a jumble of gibberish than one short word.
"I have called you to the Scraphill today," Heat continued, "for another apprentice ceremony. Like with the last new apprentice, this cat is from the Clans – WindClan, to be precise. For this new recruit, we must thank and congratulate Scrape, a BloodClanner of the fourth order of warriors.
"I have to go up now," Scrape muttered to Sedgepaw, and he dashed up the Scraphill, walking up to Heat. He sat down a couple tail-lengths away from her, as a show of respect.
"Scrape! Scrape! Scrape!" the BloodClanners cheered, congratulating the tom on his victory of convincing Sedgepaw to join BloodClan.
Scrape bowed his head and then leaped off the Scraphill, joining a particular place in the crowd of BloodClanners – the space for warriors of the fourth order.
"Now, Sedgepaw, come up," Heat meowed, directing her piercing amber gaze at Sedgepaw. Rather awkwardly, Sedgepaw padded up the Scraphill and stood a few tail-lengths away from Heat, trying to ignore the stares of all the BloodClanners. It was even worse than her apprentice ceremony when she was six moons old; at least there hadn't been at least as many cats as the other four Clans combined, like it was here in BloodClan.
"Sedgepaw, do you vow to give up all your ties to your former Clan and loyalties? Do you vow to commit yourself to your leader and your new Clan, BloodClan?"
"I do," Sedgepaw mewed, happy that the words had come out smoothly without a single stammer.
"Sedgepaw, you have now shed your former loyalties. Now, do you promise to shed your last trace of your former home – your Clan name?"
This time, Sedgepaw stuttered. "Y – yes, I promise."
Heat smirked. "Excellent. You have now shed your last tie of all to the other Clans. Sedgepaw, you are now Sedge, apprentice of BloodClan."
Sedgepaw – no, now she was Sedge – shivered a bit. She had always had a second part to her name, faithful and always there. First it was –kit, then it was –paw, and if she had stayed at WindClan long enough to become a warrior, it would have been one of a whole variety; maybe –fur or –pelt, or –claw or –flower, or –tail or –foot…Sedge had no idea. But now, there was just a big blank where that second part had once been. Now she was simply Sedge.
"Sedge, your mentor will be Quartz, a warrior of the second order of BloodClan warriors."
A white warrior surfaced from the front of the crowd and came up on the Scraphill. Sedge almost touched Quartz's nose, but when she saw her new mentor didn't put his head forward, she guessed it wasn't a tradition in BloodClan. Instead, he bowed his head. She bowed it, too, and from the look in Heat's eyes, Sedge knew she had done it right.
"Sedge! Sedge! Sedge!" the cats all yowled, mouths wide open and tails thwapping the ground with delight. Astonishingly, Sedge recognized one, a light golden brown she-cat who looked around her own age. It was Pricklepaw! The fellow former WindClan apprentice had disappeared a long time ago, with a loner called Dandelion. Most had assumed that Pricklepaw had either been forced to go with Dandelion or had decided Clanlife was not for her, and left with Dandelion. But she had gone to BloodClan – now it seemed obvious.
"BloodClanners, you may disperse," Heat said over the shouting. Once all the cats quieted down and walked out of the clearing, Heat turned to Sedge.
"Welcome to BloodClan, Sedge," Heat whispered, her amber eyes narrowed and gleaming.
Sedge nodded. She was now a BloodClanner.
It happened several times.
"Welcome to BloodClan, Mink."
"Welcome to BloodClan, Prickle."
"Welcome to BloodClan, Hawk."
"Welcome to BloodClan, Slash."
"Welcome to BloodClan, Spark."
"Welcome to BloodClan, Flame."
Welcome to BloodClan. Welcome to BloodClan. Welcome to BloodClan.
Welcome to BloodClan, indeed.
Bramblestar, Blackstar, Mistystar, and Onestar sat on the branches of a huge tree, while their deputies Cinderheart, Russetfur, Reedwhisker, and Ashfoot sat at the roots. The cats of RiverClan, ShadowClan, ThunderClan, and WindClan all sat facing the tree, gossiping, talking, and whispering among themselves, as BloodClan was late.
The conversations went on and on, and behind the veneer of friendliness and light banter, the cats became worried and pensive. Where was BloodClan? Had something horrible happened? Had they finally given up with interacting with the true four Clans? No Clan should be this late, even if they lived far away in a Twolegplace…
Finally, the leaders couldn't take it anymore. BloodClan was too late, and the Gathering would go on without them. Besides, the Clans could take advantage of their lateness, to complain about what BloodClan's presence was inflicting on ordinary Clanlife.
"Something odd – very odd – has happened these past few moons," Mistystar mewed, her claws digging into the branch. "Am I the only one who has had a couple of my apprentices and RiverClan kits disappear?"
Blackstar's eyes narrowed. "Apparently," he said grimly, "no. I have had apprentices return from hunting missions and out to make dirt and never come back; I have had lost or hurt loners to come and when they leave have kits disappear with them."
Onestar pawed the branch he was perched on. "This has happened to me too, Mistystar and Blackstar. A loner called Dandelion came to my Clan, claiming to be lost and coming from a place where she only hunted fish. A few days later when she didn't need to stay any longer, an apprentice called Pricklepaw never came back to WindClan camp once. And she wasn't the only one."
Bramblestar sighed. "Obviously, I have also had the same troubling case. For example, like many kits are wont to do, Minkkit escaped from the protection of the nursery, perhaps to attempt to catch a piece of prey. Did he come back? No – and after a couple more disappearances and what you three have spoken of, I highly doubt he was killed by a badger or fox."
"But why have they disappeared? Obviously they haven't just left of their own will; who–or what–has taken them?
"BloodClan," Mistystar hissed, as a loud scraping sound filled the ears of the leaders. Mistystar had dug into her branch a little too much, and it was now barely hanging by a couple twigs. Standing with light paws on the branch, Mistystar moved like a slug, paws placed in a painstakingly exact way as she walked, to a part of the branch nearer to the trunk. "BloodClan," she repeated, blue eyes narrowing. "I'm sure of it – it's just like them, to steal the lifeblood of our Clans and brainwash them into BloodClan warriors. BloodClan isn't a normal Clan; they want nothing more than to spite us, to kill us, to destroy us. They want to be the only Clan around, and they want power over us – but of course they'll do it in a sneaky, underhanded, and completely BloodClan way."
Bramblestar's brow furrowed and his amber eyes started to narrow as he began to think about what Mistystar had said. Onestar swished his tail and meowed, "You're right! BloodClan was a cruel and evil Clan when we battled them when Scourge was their leader, and they are still the same way."
All the Clan cats meowed their assent, some with narrowed eyes and moving tails: the ones more intolerant of BloodClan, and also perhaps the cats who had fought in that battle so many moons ago.
"BloodClan isn't right!" yowled a ThunderClan cat. "There wasn't a Blood along with Thunder, Shadow, River, and Wind! The old territory wasn't divided into five, and nor is this one! They do not have true names and they live in a place meant for Twolegs! Is that what StarClan would have given a true Clan?!"
"No!" another cat shouted, this one bearing WindClan scent. "We are the ones in the Clans that River, Wind, Shadow, and Thunder started – not them. We are the ones who were told by StarClan to travel to a new territory – not them. We are the ones with Clan traditions that have been kept since the time of the first leaders – not them. They have experienced none of it, and we, the true Clans, have!"
"You're right!" another WindClanner yowled. "In fact, why is BloodClan here if StarClan did not make them, if they weren't told to come here by StarClan? The only similarity they have to us is that their name ends in –Clan! Without that, they're just a bunch of mean rogues!
"StarClan!" a ShadowClan she-cat snorted. "If BloodClan isn't right because of StarClan – and believe me, it's not only because of that that BloodClan is just wrong – then why hasn't StarClan interfered? Why didn't StarClan send clouds to cover the moon at the first Gathering they appeared? Why hasn't StarClan come to Heat in a dream and commanded her to stop bothering the real Clans?"
"Yes – why hasn't StarClan interfered?" a RiverClanner questioned, green eyes narrowing. "Are – are they saying that BloodClan is right? That they're as much of a Clan as us?"
"If so, StarClan's going insane!" one ThunderClan tom snarled, pawing the ground with paws that looked like they would unsheathe their claws any second.
After such a declaration, chaos broke out and many cats began yowling about what they thought about this: "How dare you say StarClan is insane! They are our esteemed ancestors!" "How can StarClan even imply BloodClan is as good as us? That's just wrong!" and other such opinions.
Bramblestar sighed. "If BloodClan had never come and tried to join us as a fifth Clan, we would not be arguing and shouting among ourselves. Apprentices and kits would not be missing. Firestar would not be dead. So much would be for the better…"
The other three leaders nodded with agreement, while their warriors continued to squabble and argue about BloodClan.
Blackstar's eyes narrowed, and his paws gripped the branch he was perched on tighter and tighter. Finally, he yowled, "All of you! Stop!" His screech resounded in the clearing, and every cat quieted down, looking with luminous eyes on Blackstar.
"Look at you!" he hissed. "Quarreling like immature little kits! Yes, BloodClan is definitely not doing anything for the better for us Clans. Yes, StarClan seems to have left us upon the matter of BloodClan. Yes, BloodClan may well be not a true Clan. But that does not give you all the right to screech and whine and forget the meaning of the word dignity. Well?"
Not one cat spoke.
"I think we have settled things for now," Blackstar said coldly, looking with heavy lidded eyes at the crowd of Clan cats. "Now, are we done with this…pre-Gathering?"
All cats nodded.
Blackstar gave a curt nod. "Good."
After the Clan cats had settled down, a small and agile BloodClan cat dashed away to tell what had happened to Heat, who had decided that cats would certainly be angry with her Clan after recent events.
Once again, Heat was right, causing many of the BloodClanners to wonder – once again – how Heat sometimes seemed more than a normal cat. And they knew they would wonder this many more times in the future.
A/N: Ahahaha, you're all mad at me, aren't you? I'm really sorry, but I couldn't split this into two chapters. Besides, I didn't even end at the place I was going to. What was going to be the ending will now be in Chapter 13 instead, so it could be a bit shorter as I'm sure you'd already be annoyed at me for this super long chapter enough; it's 47 pages double spaced on Microsoft Word and exactly 12900 words. x.x. Well, that's what Word says. FFNet always says something different.
Constructive criticism appreciated.