CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

She woke slowly, and then all at once. Light flared into her vision, starling her out of sleep's last tender caresses. Colours slowly filtered in around her, until at last Fogpaw was able to blink her surroundings into focus. Her head hurt like nothing she had felt before, not even the torture. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper against her parched palette. Dots of light swam in front of her eyes as the she-cat tried to pull herself to her feet.

Fogpaw was in a small den, hewed from rock walls, most likely carved naturally by flowing water. Indeed, a stream ran through the other side of the cave, trickling merrily with no concern for the pain which ran through her body like a shrill arpeggio. Moss lined the walls, and the front opened up to show a snow-covered field, dotted with elms and oaks. The surroundings were not familiar, but they didn't remind her of WindClan either. She sighted a fence in the distance and realized she was no longer on Clan territory.

Scenting the air, she caught a mix of various smells, none of which were familiar to her. There was no putrid stench here, no hint of the foul darkness which ran through the blood of the WindClan warriors. She felt safe here, though she still didn't know where here was. The last thing Fogpaw remembered was falling into the ice-cold lake, while strong jaws attempted to pull her out. The rest was black.

The pounding in her head was too much to bear and Fogpaw paced across the den toward the trickling water. She lowered her head to drink, savouring the cold taste on her tongue. WindClan had kept her hydrated by soaking moss and dripping it into her mouth. This, this was so much better. And then the realization dawned on her – she was free!

She was no longer a captive of WindClan. Once she figured out where she was – and how she had been brought her – she could return home to her family! They would be glad to see her, she was sure. Fogpaw hoped they hadn't given her up for dead.

And yet, though she was no longer a prisoner, she still felt pain coursing through her veins as hints of the darkness hummed down her bloodstream. WindClan had changed her; she would never be the same. Her body was thinner, harder, and as she gazed at her reflection in the water, she saw her face had transformed as well. Her skin was sunken, her eyes gaunt and haunted. There was a painful ugliness to her face; her kit fat was gone and only the stark outline of her bones remained.

She felt both weaker and stronger at once, and knew that the two moons she had spent below the ground had changed her irrevocably. The names she had whispered like a prayer into the dark came flashing back to her: Reedthroat, Morningstep, Rainpaw, Whitestream. Her father, mother, brother and mentor. Her family. But Fogpaw was different now, and even if she returned, she knew she would always be different. She would walk among her family, and yet not be part of them.

The implications were heavy.

She had just lifted her muzzle from the water when she heard footsteps behind her. Someone was entering the den. Fogpaw whipped around to face the newcomer, her eyes narrowed and fangs bared. She must have been an unattractive sight, but her visitor didn't so much as flinch. He regarded her calmly and then dropped a rabbit from his jaws. "For you."

He was a large tom, with thick dark ginger fur and heavy eyes. His muscles were plain underneath his unruly pelt, and his walk bespoke a certain authority. He looked familiar to Fogpaw, though she couldn't place his scent. Yet she was sure she had seen him before, that she knew him, but the memory was only a blur in her mind, reduced to mere outlines by the torture she had endured.

Keeping her eyes on the tom, Fogpaw padded over to the rabbit. "Thank you," she said, voice rusty, and took a bite, her gaze never leaving his face. It would be unwise to let her guard down – she had learned that with Stripedpaw. The grey she-cat no longer knew whom she could trust, and the skinny tom's betrayal still burned within her, a thorn wedged tightly in her heart.

The ginger tom sat down and curled his tail neatly around his paws. "So you're awake."

Fogpaw was bursting with questions, though she tried to contain herself. "How long was I out?"

"I found you yesterday, passed out," he replied. "You were by the WindClan border, just outside of it, on unclaimed territory. I couldn't leave you – I brought you here and have been checking on you when I can."

That made no sense. Why had WindClan left her body out? Why not just kill her – unless they thought she was already dead? "But I was breathing when you found me," she asked.

The question seemed to puzzle him, and he frowned. "Of course."

Fogpaw found herself staring at him, at his burnished pelt and dark green eyes. He was so familiar, and he knew about the Clans, but the scent... the scent was foreign. Before the torture, he might have recognized him. "Do I know you?" she asked.

He hesitated, seemed to weigh the decision in his mind, and then nodded. "Yes. I used to be an apprentice of RiverClan."

Oh. Everything made sense then; his ginger fur, the way he hesitated to tell her the truth, how he knew of the Clans but didn't live in them anymore. She recognized him them, recognized how she had once tumbled over his paws without a care in the world. And then she remembered why he had left RiverClan, why Toadstar had banished him. "You're Russetpaw."

"Yes." His voice was clipped. "And you must be Fogpaw by now."

"Yes..." Fogpaw mewed, trailing off and then shaking her head. "I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"It's a long story," he mewed, and then changed the subject. "How are you feeling? Are you well enough to travel?"

"Travel?" Her head was spinning. Everything was happening too fast. "Travel where?"

"Back to the Clans," he said, with a frown, as if it was the most obvious answer in the whole world. There was disdain in his eyes, though it didn't seem to be directed at her, but at everything around them, as if Russetpaw had declared the entire lake territory his enemy. "It's Russet now," he added. Fogpaw nodded. Of course.

"Not to WindClan," she mewed, hoping he couldn't sense the desperation in her voice, the hint of weakness. She needed to be strong right now. Fogpaw took another bite of the rabbit, going over everything in her mind. It would be so easy to go home!

"No, not to WindClan," he agreed. "I'll bring you to the ThunderClan border. They'll take you home from there."

"You know about WindClan." Her voice was flat. He had agreed too easily; Russet must know something about what was happening, or at least be aware of it.

"Not in details," Russet said. "But we know there's something wrong."

That caught her attention. "We?" Fogpaw asked, tilting her head. She was curious to know what Russet was doing out here; a known criminal, so to speak, wandering close to Clan borders – and he evidently wasn't alone.

"It's not important," he said, in a tone that indicated it certainly was important, and looked away. Fogpaw wondered if she saw guilt there, embarrassment at his situation, or if his closed-off nature was merely a product of the arrogance he had always carried, even as a RiverClan apprentice.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked, and her voice was softer now, and she saw it reach him as he turned back toward her. "You could have left me for dead, but you didn't. You rescued me. You're a traitor, Russet, I don't understand."

He was silent for a very long time. Fogpaw watched him, eating the rest of the rabbit as she waited for a response. Eventually the muscular tom let out a long sigh and looked away, gazing out over the snowy highlands. "How much do you know about what I did?" he asked at last.

"Not much," she admitted. She had only been a kit, after all. "You were helping Falconswoop, the warrior who tried to take over ShadowClan."

Russet sighed again, and when he spoke, his voice was low. "Falconswoop would have come after RiverClan next. I anticipated that. I helped him because I knew it was the only way to protect my Clan, to protect the cats I cared about. But Toadstripe didn't understand."

"It wasn't the only way," insisted Fogpaw, but his words rang true with her, and she realized there was more to him than the elder's horror stories could convey. "Why didn't you just tell Toadstripe the truth? Come clean?"

He scoffed, a horrible, bitter sound. "Who would have believed me?"

"I would have," she said, but they both knew she didn't mean it. She had only been a kit then, oblivious to the pains of the world.

"You would have believed I was a ghost if I'd rolled around in enough snow," Russet told her, and for a moment she was transported back to a time when they had been friends and he had brought her and Rainkit plump, juicy prey. She had pounced on his tail and declared herself Fogstar, ruler of all that lay before her.

That had been a very long time ago.

"And now you're back. Why?" asked Fogpaw. The vulnerability had faded from her voice as the reality of the situation sunk back in. Despite being banished from the Clans, Russet was back, lurking around the borders – and he wasn't alone. "Do you mean the Clans harm?"

The tom hesitated. "Not RiverClan," he said.

Fogpaw flinched as though she had been hit. "What's going on?" she demanded, anger causing her voice to rise. Whatever she had been expecting after falling into the lake, this was not it. Here she was, thrust into the middle of yet another perilous situation. Russet was offering to help her get home, but that didn't matter if he was just going to attack her home afterwards.

His green eyes were cool. "I went to start a new life and it brought me back here. I don't need to explain myself to you."

"You're going to attack one of the Clans," she said. It wasn't a question.

"We gave them a choice. They brought it upon themselves." He was almost snarling now, his fur bristling and his lips drawn back to reveal gleaming fangs.

"I don't understand," said Fogpaw, trying to calm herself. Russet's posture softened slightly as her voice quieted. "You save me, but you're a killer. You made a deal with the devil – Falconswoop – in order to protect your Clan, but now you're going to deliberately attack another one."

Russet let out what she could only described as a tortured laugh. He looked like someone caught between two worlds, between the desire to be recognized and the need to do the right thing, between steadfast arrogance and a troubled conscience. When he did speak, his voice was low and grave. "There is more than one devil, Fogpaw."

She had no reply for that.

The ginger tom got to his paws. "Ready to go to ThunderClan?"

Fogpaw nodded and lumbered to her feet, body still quite sore. Russet turned and headed out onto the snowy plains, and she followed, relieved when a blast of cold air hit her face. There was something so refreshing about being outside, in the open air, birdsong wafting by her ears. The world around them was beautiful, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She had missed so much, stuck in a den and removed from the world.

"It's this way," said Russet, and they turned. In the distance, the hill they were on lowered into a small vale, and a thick line of trees rose up in the distance. Her heart leapt. ThunderClan.

Fogpaw took a moment just to stand there, letting the world wash around her, enveloping her and captivating her sense. She could scent the freshness of the air, the brisk scent of frost-tinged wood, and she could feel the wind and the sun on her fur. She could hear a nearby mouse, unlucky enough to be outside, scrabbling through the crusted snow, and she could hear the steady sound of Russet's breathing, and the thoughts which scuttled around like ants in his head.

"Who's Baron?" she asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He flinched. "What?"

"Baron..." Fogpaw trailed off. Everything made sense to her then – Stripedpaw's startled reaction when she had heard far-off conversations, how WindClan had mistaken her for dead, how she could sense what was on Russet's mind just by listening. The darkness hadn't just hurt her, it had molded her.

"I have to go," she told Russet, who was still staring at her, dumbstruck.

"Where are you going?" he asked, voice gruff, and it was clear that he was trying to regain some of his composure.

"WindClan," she mewed. "There's something I have to do." She thought of Stripedpaw, of all the pain he had endured, and something in her mind hummed. She would save him, and then she would think about forgiving him later. Well, if there was a later. Fogpaw padded up to Russet and met his curious gaze. She could feel the goodness deep within him, entrenched in the depths of his mind. It was a strange sensation, and it made her queasy. But she had to do something with it, had to grace her knowledge with the proper words. "Whatever's happening – you're better than this." She pressed her muzzle to his shoulder in appreciation. "Thank you for saving me."

And then she ran.

.

It wasn't too far to the WindClan border, and Fogpaw crossed over after taking a second to sweep her mind around and make sure that patrols were on their way through the area. She slipped into the cover of a heather bush, and was now in the process of picking her way across their territory, taking care to stay undercover. If she had one advantage, it was that WindClan would have difficulty scenting her underneath their own acrid smell.

She tried to comprehend the gravity of what had just happened. Instead of killing her or turning her into another succubi, the darkness had merely made her stronger. Her sense of hearing was now unparalleled. Stripedpaw had known this; he had sensed it immediately, had been able to tell that something was wrong. Fogpaw wondered if he had told the rest of his Clan, or whatever dark spirits possessed them. It was a terrifying side-effect – she wasn't sure whether to call it a gift or a curse – but she couldn't waste it.

She had to save him, even if he had betrayed her. Besides, if they were to return to RiverClan with information, Stripedpaw knew more about WindClan's situation than Fogpaw did. He would be invaluable. And yet she knew that others would call her mouse-brained for what she was doing. Stripedpaw didn't deserve her help. If it weren't for him, she would be in RiverClan right now, reunited with her family. Fogpaw couldn't explain it, but she had to help him.

She arrived at WindClan's camp just as the sun was beginning to set, stopping as close to entrance as she could risk. Fogpaw made sure to stay hidden between a gorse bush and a large boulder as she let her mind wander out. She found a guard sitting by the trail into camp and gleaned his name: Rootfur. Tucking that aside as a mental note, she cast her attuned sense of hearing down into camp, where she ran into a noisy mixture of thought and speech that sent her recoiling. Clearly, this new skill was still sensitive.

Fogpaw listened again, this time identifying cats: Frostpool spoke to Cedarpelt about her kits, Cloudstorm shared tongues with Tansyfur, and Stripedpaw sat alone, speaking to no one but allowing his thoughts to whirl around in his head like a hurricane.

Fogpaw took the risk, reached out, and touched his mind. Something slid into place with a quiet but firm thud, and suddenly all the other noise vanished. It was just her and Stripedpaw, and she could feel his mind vibrate as he sat, unawares of the connection she had just forged.

Stripedpaw.

She felt him start, clearly surprised and rattled by her voice. Think back to me, Fogpaw told him.

Fogpaw? His voice was incredulous. You're dead. They carried your body out.

This only confirmed the feeling of trepidation that had been growing inside of her. Somehow her body had shut down long enough to convince WindClan that she was dead, only to restart when they were gone. Fogpaw felt her legs tremble but knew she couldn't show weakness. Neat trick, huh?

She took perverse pleasure in knowing that Stripedpaw was unnerved, though it was soon replaced by guilt. The young tabby was traumatized; he was coping the best he could. But Fogpaw had been traumatized too, and she hadn't thought to betray one of her allies. Anger flashed through her mind and she could tell that Stripedpaw felt it, for his mind shook next to hers.

Why did you come back? How did you do this? Stripedpaw sent.

You know how it happened. Whatever they did with the darkness, it changed me. It gave me... abilities. No resentment burned in her voice, only ferocity. I came back to rescue you.

He stiffened. I betrayed you.

I didn't say that I had forgiven you, Fogpaw pointed out. We'll worry about that later. In the meantime, it would be wrong of me to leave you behind.

They were beginning to suspect me, he explained, I had to. I didn't think you would die – or almost die – or whatever.

You should have come with me, she said.

Stripedpaw hesitated. I know, he said at last. I was scared.

Come with me now, Fogpaw urged him. Leave camp, make whatever excuse you want. Meet me by the boulder. When he hesitated, she added: if you go to tell anyone, I'll know.

Thornfur died, you know, Stripedpaw said unexpectedly. In the lake. Swiftfang is deputy now.

I'm sorry, said Fogpaw. Underneath the darkness, she was sure that Thornfur had been a good warrior. She felt only sadness for his death; and an overwhelming knowledge that it had been her fault. An image of the tom's lifeless eyes flashed before her face and she winced.

I want to stop this, this darkness. I don't want anyone else to die. His words were filled with more emotion than she had witnessed from him before, and the sadness touched her mind and caused her to tremble even more. This sharing of pain – it wasn't easy.

Then come with me, Fogpaw told him, wishing she could promise him they would end the darkness.

He hesitated for a moment, and then – I'll be right there.

.

They met at the boulder as Fogpaw had specified. Stripedpaw was skinnier than she had remembered, his face gaunt, but his eyes held something new, a hint of hope that had previously been extinguished. His skinny legs were trembling, but he met her with his chin held high. She didn't say anything to him. She didn't need to.

When Stripedpaw assured her that there was no one around, the two of them began to trek across the moorland, making sure to stay close to cover. Fogpaw kept herself on high alert. She couldn't discount the possibility that Stripedpaw had somehow covertly alerted the others to her scheme. But something compelled her to trust the tom this time, something about the raw honesty of his mind.

"What's RiverClan like?" he asked as they stood on top of a hill, watching the sun set over the glittering lake.

Fogpaw looked at the horizon and smiled for the first time in two moons. "It's home."

XX XX XX XX XX

A/N: Funny story. I've had this chapter written for ages and I just... never... updated? Yeah. Wow. I know, I'm mad at me too. Anyway, I have another chapter fully written as well, which will be uploaded hopefully in a couple of days (depending on reviews, heh). It's about twice as long as this one and it's heavy. As in really heavy. Something big will be revealed. It's a split Russet/Kite POV.

Alright, wow, there are a lot of things to go over. I'll start with the most obvious: the link between Fogpaw and Stripedpaw is different than what Sootclaw and Dawnpaw have. Dawnpaw and Sootclaw share a more profound connection: pieces of their soul were swapped. Fogpaw, on the other hand, has been gifted with extraordinary senses. She can feel Stripedpaw's mind and connect to it, and I suspect that connection would be maintained as long as they were relatively close to each other, but Fogpaw could also disconnect at will. Though between Fogpaw's power and Grainstar's revelation, mind-links are not as rare as you might have thought. More will be revealed in later chapters – and next book! Have I released the title yet? I totally forget.

Thanks for all the reviews! Since it's been so long I won't address them all individually but just make a couple of broad points. First of all, Thickfur. He's the best. Agreed 100%. I tend to write a lot of angsty, slightly older characters. I've been doing NaNoWriMo for the past few years and I always have an MC that's something thirty-something steely, angst-ridden detective. I should really stop.

The rogue that looks like Lilystream has no relation, but as for Mistkit... it's not an impossible theory, so you'll just have to stay tuned! Everyone who was worried about Fogpaw... here you go! As for those worried about Dawnpaw, hate to say this, but there's still a while to go until she gets out.

Thanks for reading and please review!

- PV :)