Chapter Twenty-Six
"Aaaand I win," Cloudtuft said, relishing the clink of bone as he moved his piece past Flamepaw's into the winning square.
The defeated blue-gray apprentice sat back on her haunches with an exaggerated sigh. "I've been vanquished! Conquered! Alas, the great Flamepaw has fallen..."
"...Again," the white tom added with the most charming grin he could manage. Flamepaw swatted at his nose and he shifted backwards, flicking his tail and suppressing a tired yawn.
"Honestly," Flamepaw said, "I lose literally every time I play Stonefall, and now you, too? What is this, the fifth time in a row?"
"Fourth," Cloudtuft corrected. "And, believe me, I lose every game to Stonefall too." He glanced at the currently sleeping tabby tom, wondering if he should check outside to see if it was time to switch watches yet. The RiverClanner puzzled over trying to figure out what time it was using the amount of moonlight from the fox burrow's exit while listening with one ear to Flamepaw's meows.
"To be fair, Stonefall is the Bored Game master," the she-cat was saying. "He's got, what, twelve moons of experience over us? But great stars, I'd hope to win just one game, or even move the clever!"
Flamepaw had a very slight obsession with that particular piece in the game, as Cloudtuft had discovered over many plays. When she —and technically Stonefall— had shown him the Bored Game, he had not been expecting to play it quite so much. The weather, however, had other plans.
About halfway through the fourth night of watch, the snow had started up again; not the light, playful snow from a few days prior, but a heavy-falling, threatening snow. They had been forced to hole up inside the fox burrow for the entire following day as well as tonight. Cloudtuft didn't think Stonefall and Flamepaw would be able to handle the cold even together, and the precipitation was unpredictable. It was safer to stay underground until the whole threat had passed.
And, since doing nothing for a full day and night would drive them all insane, they played the Bored Game.
It was an interesting thing to get from the Moon Tunnels. Cloudtuft couldn't help but wonder what the cat who received that gift had felt— disappointed, perhaps? After all, it was a game, and didn't seem useful at first glance compared to other tangible gifts.
Flamepaw was saying something about enjoying the pieces they'd fashioned from prey bones as opposed to the original ragtag objects when she interrupted herself with a wide yawn.
"Gosh, all this switching is messing with me," she meowed with a hint of exhaustion muddling her words. "I can't sleep during the day, and we've barely got a third of the night to rest."
Cloudtuft was inclined to agree; he felt the tug of sleep pulling at his own body, though he tried to ignore it. "I feel you." He considered capitalizing on the opportunity to convince her to leave before the end of the week he'd allowed them, to go back to the Clans and say "we failed" just so that they could all survive, but he found that he was unable to make much sense of his logic in his torpid state. He wouldn't be able to convince a one-moon-old kit in this state.
Why can't either of them see that Grassfur and Maplepool are dead? That we have no chance making it to the Moon Tunnels as a group of three? The second question didn't even seem to exist for Flamepaw; as far as she was concerned, the missing part of their group was very much alive.
He'd deal with this later, when he was better rested. It would have to be soon; their cached prey was running out. Less movement meant they needed to eat less, but food didn't last forever.
The white tom was this time unable to stifle a yawn as Flamepaw reset the game grid. "You know," he commented, "I don't think there's much to watch out for in this weather." Putting on a conspirational tone, he meowed, "Think Stonefall would kill us if he woke up and found us both sleeping?"
The apprentice twitched her whiskers. "Stonefall? Kill us?" As she prepared to elaborate, Cloudtuft's ears pricked, catching the sound of quiet shifting. He turned around.
Stonefall was awake, head up but still lying down. "I'uldn't kill you," he mumbled, sounding groggy.
Flamepaw looked delighted, perking up from the tired slump that had slowly started creeping over her shoulders. "Hey, Stonefall! We were just talking about you!"
"Figured 's'much," the tabby tom murmured, before dropping his head back down with a quiet sigh and apparently falling back asleep.
Well. If Stonefall was that light of a sleeper, they'd all be awake if any threat happened to make it into the fox den. "That solves that," Cloudtuft said out loud, grinning at Flamepaw. "What do you say we follow Stonefall's pawsteps and sleep?"
"Sounds good," the little blue-gray cat agreed, her sudden excitement seeping away now that its cause had disappeared. "Hopefully nothing else kills us," she said, glaring with mocking suspicion outside.
Cloudtuft laughed. He was feeling almost woozy now, and the soft scent of something herby was starting to wind around him. For some reason, that didn't seem any cause for concern; his mind was fixated on sleep, go to sleep and his body was glad to oblige. The white tom padded over to Stonefall and settled down, close enough to share his warmth but not touching the other tom. Flamepaw bounded over and curled up next to them.
The atmosphere was comfortable, homely, even though this wasn't RiverClan and Cloudtuft had only known these cats for less than a quarter moon. He was perfectly happy to close his eyes and relax, knowing that the others were close by.
I guess hanging around with anyone will get you at ease around them, he thought drowsily. This is... nice. Even Stonefall's started talking more, hasn't he?
Then his mind trailed off, and he sank easily into a dark, welcoming slumber.
...
Cloudtuft was in a forest.
It was a strange one, cozy and quaint, full of needle-leaved evergreens spread sparsely across cheerfully light soil. ShadowClan trees, but not so densely packed; ThunderClan soil, but not so dark or rich; WindClan breeze, but not so dry; he turned and then there was a river, like that of his own Clan but wider, shallower, not to mention brighter, sparkling with the reflection of the sun.
And in the forest it was serene, peaceful, a blue-sky greenleaf day.
Cloudtuft didn't question it; not why he was here, nor how he came to be there. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, as if he had always been in this forest, and he did not think of other cats or the Moon Tunnels or the blizzard. The white tom opened his jaws to taste the air and scented sharp pine sap, musty leaf litter, and what seemed like a trace of salmon. The smell brought back memories of RiverClan's leaf-fall celebration, memories of joy and everything-is-wonderful, and it drew him closer, a burning temptation and desire. That plus the ever-present pit on hunger in his stomach made the idea of food, especially his favorite, impossible to give up.
He closed his eyes briefly and let it guide his paws. Soon, he found himself in front of a huge boulder, with a gaping maw that suggested there was a cave within. Cloudtuft hesitated at the edge, torn between his desire to find the salmon and his wariness of the dark unknown.
He did not have to dither for very long.
A cat was making her way out from the boulder, old and tattered but still poised in her age. She was so fragile, so pale, it was as if the breeze might blow her away— or as if she was ethereal, and not really here at all. Cloudtuft blinked, staring at the elderly she-cat, who met his gaze evenly with hazel eyes.
"Who are you?" Cloudtuft asked.
"I am the keeper of magic and messenger of dreams. My name, it is irrelevant."
The word dreams seemed to hit Cloudtuft with a physical strength, sending him reeling although his feet stayed right where they were. This was a dream, he realized, and suddenly remembered everything— where he was supposed to be, in a fox den in a strange and snowy land.
"Why am I here?" Ask the most sensible questions first. He supposed he could play along with the dream; once he awakened, he'd still feel rested, anyway. The tom was rather curious to see where this would go.
"You are here because I have called you to me," said the she-cat. "The messenger of dreams, she has a message for you— I have a message for you."
He stopped his whiskers from twitching, then felt stupid for doing it, since did it really matter what he did? This was a dream, and a funny one at that. "All right, go on."
"The message, it is from the cats Grassfur and Maplepool. Your brother and your friend."
Cloudtuft's heart nearabout stopped for a split second before he started laughing inwardly. A wishful dream, really? That was what his subconscious decided to come up with while he was sleeping?
And why in the world would it —would I— call Maplepool a friend? That's painfully optimistic. We knew each other for what, a day? He might feel desperate sometimes, but not that desperate.
"Listen to me," the old cat said sharply, like she knew exactly what Cloudtuft thought of this whole dream business, and she was having none of it. "They are alive."
"I wish," he said with fake cheerfulness. It was easy, doing that devil-may-care kind of voice; he'd come to that conclusion a long time ago. He'd accepted it already.
"They are alive, and—" She waved her tail in a sweeping gesture towards the forest. "Here. Where are you?"
"...Here. Right now, that is, in my dream." He looked at her strangely.
The orange-and-white cat made an impatient noise and suddenly the forest flickered, disappeared and was replaced with a snowy, barren land. She narrowed her hazel eyes and for a moment and it seemed like her gaze was tufning him transparent and she was seeing right through him— or right into him.
"So you are there. Tomorrow morning, head northeast until you meet the curve of a river. Follow the river to find them."
"Nice story," Cloudtuft said dismissively. "Can I wake up now?"
She stepped closer, muzzle stretched so closely that he could feel her breath. "Are you so arrogant that you believe your mind has the power to create me from nothing?"
He took a step back, alarmed.
"Do not be foolish. When I leave, you will awaken. I will visit Flamepaw and Stonefall in turn, and deliver the same message. Northwest to the river— there it is you will find your lost cats."
The things the elder was saying... they made sense, in some way. Cloudtuft felt torn between she's right, she's real, this is some insane thing with a logical explanation that I cam't come up with and clearly, the only logical explanation is this is just a meaningless dream.
"I don't believe you," he ended up saying. "They can't be alive."
Her response was serene but had an assertiveness that made him listen to every word. "You think yourself superior, invincible to the burden of pain that comes with what we call hope, but your refusal to see only blinds you."
"I see everything there is in front of me," Cloudtuft said. "I can only trust my eyes, and they saw Grassfur and Maplepool get tossed away into a blizzard by wind."
"So will you believe in this, once your eyes and ears show that you are not the only one receiving this dream tonight?"
"Sure, why not."
"Stay true to your word, Cloudtuft," the she-cat warned. A pause, then— "Is there anything you wish to say to them?"
I already decided to humor myself. Might as well go the whole way. There were, in fact, many things he'd like to say to them, Grassfur especially, things he'd never get to say. "I want to tell Grassfur I'm sorry," he said, a little impulsively. "That he's my brother and he was more important than... what we were arguing about."
He closed his muzzle and closed up like a mussel, refusing to elaborate, refusing to be vulnerable. He didn't have time for that. His brother was dead, and moping over it would not help matters.
The old cat blinked slowly, dipped her head, and faded away, growing paler and translucent until she wasn't there at all.
Then the ground dropped below his paws, and Cloudtuft awakened to silence.
...
Flamepaw was gazing around at a forest.
Her mouth was slightly open, both in awe and to catch the many warm scents that engulfed her. It was beautiful and comforting, the familiar sharp bite of pine sap mixed with the slightest hint of forest-floor dampness, plus an enticing dash of prey, real live prey creatures that must be scuttling about. A crisp, fresh odor of plants and mud and reeds came from the river— the river! The water sparkled and burbled and splashed, and it seemed so completely just... nice. Welcoming.
She bounded over to the river, enjoying the sun's warmth on her back as she left the shade of the trees, and dipped her muzzle to touch the cool water. It licked cheerfully at her nose as she drank and the drink seemed to strengthen her, filling her from her toes to her ears with energy.
This river has fish, too! I want to see what fish tastes like. I wonder if I could catch one.
Actually, it looks shallow enough to swim in. She was incredibly tempted to dive in there, knowing that she could just stand up if anything went awry.
Or I could explore the forest! Distracted by a breeze, Flamepaw turned her head back towards the forest. All of these different opportunities! This was exactly what she wanted...
Oh, hey, what's that? The apprentice blinked as she saw something from the edge of her vision and spun around. It was a huge rock, with a wide hole carved into it, so dark that she couldn't see inside.
Flamepaw stepped closer, squinting at it curiously.
Was that movement?
Yes, it was, and it was growing clearer by the moment. Before she knew it, Flamepaw was facing a white she-cat with orange tabby patches.
"Oh! Is that your den?" She bounced backwards a few steps. "I don't mean any harm, I promise!" The blue-gray apprentice beamed earnestly at the very old cat, who twitched one ear.
"Flamepaw. I'm glad you made it here."
"Did I make it?" Flamepaw frowned, thinking. She did not recall exactly what had brought her to this place, but she didn't worry too much about that. It was wonderful— did it matter how she got here if she was here? "Wait, hold up, how do you know my name?" She tilted her head at the she-cat. "Actually, more important, what's your name? And nice to meet you! I kind of forgot all of my manners since I wasn't expecting you!"
The cat grinned at her, a striking change from her previously serious face, but sincere and bright. "Not to worry." There was a hint of amusement in her voice. "There are cats with much worse manners. Now, your questions, they will be answered if you listen."
"I'm listening!" The apprentice settled down on the ground, matching the mysterious strangee's grin. She liked this cat.
"My name, it is of no importance," the cat began. "I am the keeper of magic and messenger of dreams, and I have called you to me. This dream, it is a passageway for communication, when the distance in the physical realm proves too great an obstacle. I come with a message."
Flamepaw's paws tingled, her thoughts racing at top speed. A message? From who, and why? Keeper of magic? Messenger of dreams? This is all super cool and I only understand about half of it! She could fill in the blanks, if she did't think too hard about it.
"Grassfur and Maplepool, they are alive and here," said the orange-and-white cat, gesturing with a paw towards the cave. "You all must travel northeast, until you meet the bend of a river. Follow the river to find them."
"They're alive!" Flamepaw yelped, leaping back to her paws. "I knew it! Cloudtuft kept trying to hint that maybe they hadn't shown up because they couldn't show up, and I was like 'well if they can't make it why can't we come to them,' and he was acting super sketchy about it until Stonefall told me that Cloudtuft thought they were dead." She vividly remembered this slightly one-sided conversation, in which she'd mentioned how incredibly weird the white tom had been acting, and Stonefall had blurted out the words (looking quite regretful afterwards).
Evidently, from the lack of confusion on her face, the other cat knew what Flamepaw was talking about— or, at least, enough to make sense of it. She knew Grassfur and Maplepool, after all; they'd probably tell her about everything. That must be why the cat knew her name, and if she knew one name, she should know them all.
"I have visited Cloudtuft and delivered this same message," the tabby said, confirming Flamepaw's hypothesis. He must be so happy to finally be sure that they're alive! "He is awake and waiting, I presume. After you, Stonefall will be called."
"Thank you, thank you so much," Flamepaw meowed fervently, reaching out to gently nudge the old cat with her muzzle in a gesture of affection. "Northeast. River. Got it. I'll... see you soon? 'Cause you're with Maplepool and Grassfur?"
The cat dipped her head and began to fade away.
"Wait," said the apprentice. The fading seemed to halt, the cat hovering in a state of translucence where Flamepaw could see the ground behind her. "I... I think your name is important."
For a moment, the she-cat looked almost surprised, the expression flitting across her face before disappearing. "Sapere," she said with a small smile. "My name, it is Sapere."
"Sapere," Flamepaw echoed. "Oh, that's a lovely name." It rolled off her tongue like mist, light and cool.
Sapere reached out to rest her muzzle on the blue-gray apprentice's head. The touch was so light she could hardly feel it. "The spirit, it is strong in you. Cherish it always, Flamepaw, and nuture it."
"I will," she promised. "And thank you again, Sapere." Flamepaw suspected she could continue to say thank you many times more, but Sapere was fading away again, blinking once in a friendly farewell. She was gone—
—then the forest fell away, and Flamepaw blinked open her eyes.
...
Stonefall was tracking down a scent through a forest.
The soil beneath his paws was peaty and packed, making his paws stick a little every time he placed them down, but he was far away enough from the source of the smell that he wouldn't scare it away. He was wholly focused on squirrel, there's a squirrel! and didn't notice much of his surroundings until the scent trail brought him to the mouth of a cave.
The gray tabby backed up several cautious steps and saw that it was a very big stone that opened up into a cave. His eyes widened. Do I really want to go in there?
But there was a squirrel! He was all right at catching those— better than he was at most things, really. A squirrel had been his first catch, although by that time Dawnpaw had caught many squirrels.
Look, if I go in there and catch that squirrel, we'll have fresh food for the first time in days. Flamepaw and Cloudtuft would be impressed, wouldn't they? I've got to get it.
Not just to impress Fl— them. To get any food, in general. But he couldn't deny that the imaginary scenario panning out in front of him was pretty great: Stonefall the hunter, returning triumphant with a huge squirrel in his jaws, enough for them all to have a full meal.
Before Stonefall could come to a decision, he saw something coming out from the cave— not a squirrel, a cat. His nose twitched. Why hadn't he smelled her?
"Stonefall," the cat said when he didn't speak, busy trying to figure everything out. When she came into the light, the she-cat looked very old and fragile, almost birdlike. He tried not to stare, glancing briefly over her white and orange pelt before ducking his head. His thoughts raced like rabbits across open land. How does she know my name? What else does she know about me? Are they good things or bad things? Does she think I'm weird for dilly-dallying around a cave— her cave? Wait, am I supposed to say something?
"The squirrel, it worked to call you here. I'm glad."
He should intercept, say something friendly like oh, squirrel is my favorite food, so yeah, because he felt a burst of respect for this cat and he wanted her to like him. But he felt unsure and clumsy and he had no idea when to say the thing, so he just nodded rather awkwardly instead.
"It seems Maplepool guessed right on your favorite food."
Maplepool! What did she mean, Maplepool? Was Maplepool here? He looked around, then realized he probably looked very silly, and froze his head in place. "I, uh, Maple— Maplepool?" he managed, wincing inwardly at how his voice croaked from lack of use at the start and came up to a higher pitch at the end.
"That may have been premature... Let us start from the beginning," the old she-cat said idly. Stonefall realized too late that he could have said something in response to "favorite food" like it is my favorite, since it was my first catch. Then he thought maybe he was lucky he didn't, since that might have been overshading. Then he realized that the cat was talking and hurriedly tuned in.
"—am the keeper of magic and messenger of dreams. I come with a message from Grassfur and Maplepool— who are, yes, alive."
So they are alive! Stonefall was surpised by how joyful he felt at that. He was also surprised that the first thing to pop into his head was how happy Flamepaw would be to hear. If I tell her— which I should, I definitely should, so we can reunite, but from what I can tell, with the "messenger of dreams" thing, this is a dream, so maybe she and Cloudtuft would think I'm insane. Why am I getting this message? I'm completely the wring cat for this. I'll fail them, I'll fail this cat, I'll fail Grassfur and Maplepool.
"They are here, in this forest," the she-cat continued. "From where you are, head northeast until you meet the bend of a river. Follow the river to reach this place." She nodded to something behind him, and Stonefall twisted around to see a wide, bubbling river. He turned back to face the other cat, shifting his paws.
"Cloudtuft and Flamepaw have already been sent this message," the cat informed him.
Oh, thank StarClan, Stonefall thought, pushing aside a new tremor of does it mean anything that I'm the last cat to get the message because that has negative connotations?
He was terribly curious about this she-cat— who she was, how she did this, everything. But if she was here, and she'd met Maplepool and Grassfur, then she'd be there once he arrived with Flamepaw and Cloudtuft. Two braver cats who can actually ask questions.
The gray tabby nodded once again, with the same level of awkwardness as the first, only with an additional mumbled "okay"that he suspected was borderline inaudible. Was that all, then? He wanted to say something and had no idea what.
The elderly cat's hazel eyes softened. "When you awaken, they will be waiting," she said. "Cloudtuft is skeptical, at best— speak to him. Make him see."
He didn't feel comfortable with that sort of responsibility. There was Flamepaw; Flamepaw could do it.
"A quiet cat, he will be listened to most of all others when he speaks."
Stonefall got the slightest sense of déjà vu. Darkstar had said that once, the comforting words still easy for him to remember: Cat of few words? That's fine. It'll only make others listen more carefully...
But can I really?
The past few days had made him more comfortable around the other two cats, yes, but... convincing someone to do something without making a mess of it all... could he? Did he even have a hope of a sliver of a chance? But her explanation made sense. Stonefall suspected Cloudtuft rarely truly listened to the things Flamepaw said; the white tom had been obviously dead set on the opinion that Grassfur and Maplepool were gone forever, even if he didn't say it out loud. If he was still skeptical after even this dream, what could Stonefall do about it?
But he felt his head being drawn upwards to meet the mysterious she-cat's hazel eyes, and he realized exactly what he wanted to say, even if he thought it wasn't possible. He wouldn't be Cloudtuft. He'd hang onto that little spark of hope.
"I'll try," he said, voice cringing away inside his throat.
She smiled at him. "Tell me you will." When he considered protesting, as if she saw his intentions on hos face, she shook her head and repeated herself more forcefully. "You will."
And the convinction in her voice made him say "I will" back, a little stronger.
The cat dipped her head to him and began to fade away. Stonefall blinked, alarmed, as she vanished.
Then the soil beneath him vanished as well, and he woke up two waiting pairs of eyes.
...
Grassfur was trapped in the same torment he always was.
He was too tired; the fight had been all but sucked out of him, and when he'd found himself in the horribly familiar moorland, all its heat and blinding sunshine and scraping blades of grass, he simply collapsed. Though his paws were forcefully rooted in place, his legs bent, and his head hit the dry soil with a thump. He closed his eyes.
The she-cat would come soon. Then the coyote. Then death.
Briefly he wondered why it hurt him so horribly every time, seeing or hearing or feeling this unknown cat die when he was helpless to stop it. She was nothing to him, she meant nothing to him, and yet... it was agony, absolute agony, and half the time he felt tears forming in his eyes.
Which probably meant that she was something to him, come to think of it.
Ah, there it was; pawsteps. But wait, why were they so slow? Why were they growing louder and sounding like they came from behind him? The russet tom could not or perhaps didn't want to move, and he let the mystery go unsolved.
Then there was the familiar light sound of the she-cat's running, frenzied, so fast that each paw on the ground made only a small noise, and all the noises blended together to sound like a flurry of soft skids, a frightened fluttering of steps and brushing aginst moor-grass.
But not fast enough. Never fast enough.
He heard the usual hard thumps as the coyote reached its prey, the resulting snap of bone, the fur-raising howl-bark. The breeze, at his back— or was that breathing?
"Grassfur."
His name, a voice. He did not rise or turn.
"I'm sorry."
It's not your fault, he considered saying. Didn't he hate when cats apologized for things they didn't cause? But he wasn't angry. Almost as if there was something to the apology, something real. "It's not your fault." He said the words out loud, his throat strianing against the invisible force that tried to hold it closed.
He heard light footsteps and finally opened his eyes and there was a cat in front of him, old and tired and sad, white-pelted but splashed with orange like someone had taken that color from the moor and poured it over her.
"Do you know who I am?" asked the cat, and slowly he shook his head no.
She was silent, looking pensive, as if she was having many thoughts just then. Then she told him her name and it stirred something in the depths of his mind that he could not quite place his paw on. "Should I know... who you are?" His voice was slow, raspy.
"That question, it is complicated. Any other cat would— but this is not something unique. A disconnect between the cat of dreams and its living counterpart. And I am helpless... I'm sorry," she said again, but it didn't sound like she was sorry for being helpless, but something else. Slowly, her orange-and-white figure began to fade, shimmering in the sunlight like she was an illusion.
"Stop," he said, a question forcing itself through his throat even when he didn't understand it, didn't know why he was asking it. There was a plaintive tone to his meow. "Do you hate me?"
He didn't know this cat and he didn't know how a stranger could hate him and he didn't know why it mattered, but for that one moment it was the only thing that mattered. His stomach burned and twisted, desiring the answer.
"Oh, Grassfur. Is that why you—? No. I don't hate you."
"You said I was... the worst." Had she? When was this? He didn't remember it, but there were the words. They couldn't have come from no where.
"That you may be at your worst," she corrected gently. "But though you are so, it doesn't make you a bad cat, or one not worth liking. It means I know you can be better. That there is better in you, if you will find it, if you want to find it. Do you understand?"
Her voice was calm and the calm bled over into him, and he felt himself at a sort of peace even though he was in the moorland of his nightmares. There was something warm and bright flooding through him and he sensed that he was relieved this cat didn't hate him, for some explicible reason. He exhaled softly.
My whole life, I didn't care.
I didn't care what cats thought of me, because I thought that being myself was the most important. That I couldn't go wrong because I was following my heart and that other opinions weren't necessarily right, that those other opinions just didn't understand me.
But if there's a version of myself that's better than I am now—
Is it really better, or is it just what one cat thinks is better?
But if this cat understands me because she doesn't hate who I am, and yet she says—
If I live my life based on other cats want, what sort of a life would that be?
But if this is what I want as well—
He stopped short and chose to go where his heart told him one more time, a compromise between the Grassfur who thought it could never be misguided or imperfect and this Grassfur who was starting to question everything.
Do you understand?
"I can't explain it, but I think I do."