A cool breeze blew through the ruined camp, ruffling Rubblepaw's fur. He shivered, casting a sad glance up at the sky. The moon was in its first-quarter phase, and the stars were twinkling idly overhead, shining on as though everything was normal. It wasn't.
He had trudged into camp with Honeypool that afternoon to find that things hadn't improved in the camp. In fact, the RogueClan camp was now entirely devoid of RogueClan cats. He and Honeypool had wandered around, staying out of the way of the Alliance, until they came across a scent trail that led to a hole on a hill beneath the roots of the tree. This was where their Clanmates had been staying after having snuck out of camp, knowing that if they stayed the Alliance would keep on attacking them.
Rubblepaw had wanted Frostglaze to take a look at Honeypool to check if she had any poison left in her system, but he already had his paws full. Fishleap had mentioned that Browndapple had gotten off a bit worse than him, and now Rubblepaw knew what he meant: the dappled she-cat's left front leg had been mangled beyond repair, with the paw and part of the lower leg and ankle having been chewed off entirely. She wouldn't be able to use that leg again.
No cat had gotten to eat that evening, but nobody wanted anything anyway, especially not Rubblepaw. Appetites weren't something it was common to have after seeing one Clanmate lose an eye, another lose part of a leg, and your mentor try to kill herself.
It was amazingly awful how just one day could make things take such a drastic change for the worse. Rubblepaw could barely even remember the cheerful conversation Honeypool and Specklestone had been having that morning, less than twenty hours ago but seeming like it had been seasons ago. Now Specklestone and Squirreltail were curled up protectively on either side of Honeypool, grooming her fur and whispering with trembling, angry but frightened mews.
"How could you do that to yourself?" Squirreltail muttered. "Do you realize how close you came to dying?"
"I know," was all Honeypool said.
"Well, why did you do it?" It had to have been at least the tenth time he'd asked that night.
Honeypool didn't reply.
"Sweetie, you have to think about other cats," Specklestone murmured. "Can you even imagine what we would have gone through? Your father and I had a hard enough time when Dewpaw died. We don't want to lose out other daughter too."
Rubblepaw couldn't listen to them anymore. It was too depressing. Everything about this whole situation was too depressing. The worst part was that Honeypool was usually the cat he'd go to to be cheered up. But she was clearly in no state to cheer up any cat.
The only members of RogueClan who weren't horrifically injured in some way, fretting over their mates or kits, busy working, or simply staring ominously into the distance were Yellowkit and Daisykit. But somehow they were the cats who it pained Rubblepaw the most to look at. They were so young and innocent, like he'd been before this whole Alliance fiasco. Rubblepaw longed to go back to the days when he was simply Rogue, a kit who lived with Boss and tromped through the marsh looking for frogs; who laid down in the middle of the twoleg walking path once and got picked up and cuddled by a twoleg before Boss showed up and scared them away; who caught a chickadee at the feeder but missed the plump red squirrel sitting on top of the feeder, barely two tail-lengths above his head.
Rubblepaw missed that sometimes.
In the morning, when dawn light filtered into the hole beneath the tree roots where the cats of RogueClan slept, it took Rubblepaw a second to remember what had happened. In fact, it took him several seconds. At first he simply got up, groggy, and stepped over sleeping cats before realizing that he wasn't in the usual place. He had slept in ditches every now and then when there was a storm and his tree rocked in the wind, out of fear that it would blow down overnight, but that hadn't happened since he'd joined RogueClan.
Then once he became more aware of his surroundings, the bloodscent seeped into Rubblepaw's half-open mouth, resting on his tongue and making him gag. That was when the events of the previous day hit him in a flash and he remembered that his Clan had been driven out of its camp by the Alliance.
Now Rubblepaw really wanted to gag. But unlike the previous night, now he was hungry. He stepped tentatively out from under the tree roots, keeping his head up in case there were any Alliance cats lurking about.
Strikestar was sitting at the top of the hill, staring out over the woods solemnly. Rubblepaw joined him.
"It's really terrible what happened to us, huh?"
"Rubblepaw… what are you doing up?" Strikestar had dark circles under his eyes; he must not have slept very much, if at all. "You should be resting with your Clanmates. I'll catch a few things for you all to eat if you want."
"Strikestar, you can't do everything by yourself," Rubblepaw protested. "I can catch my own breakfast. Besides, you need to rest too."
"You aren't my deputy. Why are you telling me what to do?" Strikestar's meow wasn't angry, but it sounded kind of vacant, like he had just given up. "I'm the Clan leader. I make my own decisions."
"You're my brother, Strikestar." Rubblepaw was sometimes frustrated by the leader's independent mindset. "I care about you, and I want what's best for you."
Strikestar blinked slowly but didn't reply. He got up and walked back into the shelter, where he walked in circles a few times before lying down. Rubblepaw doubted he was really going to sleep- Strikestar was probably just doing it to shut him up. But at least he was letting Rubblepaw hunt for himself.
Rubblepaw headed toward the twoleg bird feeding structure. When he got to it, he saw that it had fallen from the tree and was lying on the ground. All the seeds had spilled out, and birds were pecking at them. Rubblepaw caught a couple of them and started to head back, but he stopped.
Maybe he should go see what things looked like at the camp.
It was mouse-brained, he knew. He didn't want a run-in with the Alliance. But he had to see for himself what was going on there. Within minutes, Rubblepaw found himself standing at the line of trees that acted as a tunnel into camp. The splintered wood poked into his pads as he stepped gingerly over it to see that the camp was completely deserted. There wasn't a single cat there- Alliance or otherwise. The Alliance must have figured out that RogueClan had snuck away, and decided there was no point in sticking around.
Well, there was nothing more to see here. Rubblepaw turned, tail swishing sadly, and headed back to where his Clanmates hid.
He dropped his catch in the sandy ground, sending a cloud of dust billowing up around it. He coughed, roots brushing up against his back. Most of the Clan was awake now, although Frostglaze, who had worked all night, was sprawled out on his back sleeping. Rustleleaf was encouraging Browndapple as she tried to walk using only three legs. Meanwhile, Emberfur was sobbing over Fishleap's blinded eye. Bearpelt, whose wounds were finally starting to heal properly, was comforting her. Specklestone was trying to keep Yellowkit and Daisykit entertained while Squirreltail glared at Honeypool, still understandably furious about her actions. There had been no sign of Darkstep, and Strikestar had said that she had to be presumed dead at this point.
"I've got a couple of birds here," Rubblepaw announced. "If anybody wants to eat them, go ahead, but be sure to share!"
"Me! Me!" Daisykit exclaimed, scrambling over to the fresh-kill with drool dripping from her lips. "I wanna eat!"
She grabbed a cedar waxwing and devoured half of it before rolling onto her back, licking her lips happily. Yellowkit walked up more slowly, trying to seem more cool and grown-up, but hunger glinted in his eyes too and he finished off the waxwing quickly.
"I'll share that finch with you if you want," Honeypool mewed to Emberfur, who nodded gratefully. "I don't know if Bearpelt would want any; maybe you should ask him."
"Yeah, you should have that finch," Squirreltail muttered. "I bet it'll taste a lot better than those Deathberries did."
"Don't say that!" Specklestone hissed. "Can't you see she's upset about what she did already? Let's just be glad that Rubblepaw was there to save her."
"Actually, the one who really saved her was an Alliance cat called Ray," Rubblepaw admitted. "He gave me some yarrow. I don't even know what he was doing there or how he got the yarrow, but it was a relief, that's for sure. I'll make sure to thank him for it if I ever see him again."
"Ray?" Strikestar's ears pricked and he cracked open his eye. "Tell me what Ray looked like."
"He was a golden tabby tom with amber eyes."
"I knew I cat that sounds exactly like that back in the Alliance," Strikestar muttered. "He was very nice to me, but just like Mist, he preferred you. You got sick when you were only a couple days old, and Ray saved your life. After that I got jealous and tried to put myself in danger to get his attention. I ran across a thunderpath while a monster was coming. Ray saved me, but he got hit instead of me and died. It can't be the same cat, but it sounds exactly like him."
Rubblepaw blinked in amazement. Ray had appeared more or less out of nowhere both times Rubblepaw had come across him, and both times it had been just in time to help Rubblepaw save someone. He thought back to standing outside of Trixie and Coal's den.
"You've gotta go in there alone." That was what he'd said. But had it really been because he didn't want to betray the Alliance, or was it because he had done as much as he could to help Rubblepaw already? When Rubblepaw concentrated on holding the image of Ray in his mind, he could picture stardust lining the coat of the kindly tom. It all made sense now. Ray was a spirit-cat!
"Ray must be one of those spirit-cats," Rubblepaw mewed excitedly. "He showed up out of the blue and gave me what I needed, and then he vanished! It makes so much sense. It is the same Ray you knew, but now he's visiting form the afterlife to help-"
"That's ridiculous," Strikestar cut him off. "Spirit-cats are the stuff of myth. If I've never seen one, and Frostglaze has never seen one, why would some random apprentice see one?! It's preposterous. Now, if all you've got to do is make claims about random cats being ghosts, maybe you should consider making yourself a little more useful."
He stormed off. Rubblepaw stared sadly after him, confused. Why was Strikestar so set against the existence of spirit-cats? And why wouldn't they appear to Strikestar? Was there something about Strikestar that didn't make him a proper leader? It seemed that everywhere Rubblepaw turned, there was a new set of questions, but there was no time to think about spirits when the entire Clan had been uprooted. Strikestar was right; Rubblepaw did need to make himself useful.