CHAPTER TWENTY

After his conversation with Dawncloud, Elmheart found himself walking circles though the tunnels as he gathered the courage to confront Chantelle. Confront. He hated that word. It shouldn't have to be a fight. He just wanted to understand why she had done this to him. Accepting the betrayal now wasn't even the hardest part. It was the implication that she had lied to him the entire time. He had left ThunderClan based on the lie of her pregnancy. He had been so happy, so excited for their future together, and the whole time it had been a lie.

I wanted to leave ThunderClan, he thought. The pregnancy had been a convenient excuse. He frowned. Didn't I? It was hard to remember his state of mind, besides his anguish over Nettleclaw's death and Dawnpaw's coma. It was true that he had felt faded beforehand. Unimportant. Another warrior, another body, with no one close to him. Did I love my Clan?

He shook the thoughts off. They didn't matter now. He had to talk to Chantelle, even though it scared him. She would be wondering why he hadn't visited yet. Surely she had to know about his suspicions. How had she thought to keep it a secret forever? Not with Squall visiting so often.

Squall. The tom's name wrenched his gut. But it wasn't Squall's fault – he couldn't lay the blame elsewhere. This was between Elmheart and Chantelle.

The sun was setting by the time he went to the kit-mother's den, though he hardly paid any attention to the sunset. He had spent many an evening with Chantelle watching it smoulder behind the mountains, and he did not want that reminder now. Instead he took several deep breaths, letting his claws glide in and out of their sheaths, trying to use the rhythmic actions to calm himself.

She didn't notice him as he entered, and so he was treated to the vignette of her at rest, peacefully watching over the kits so soundly nestled against her belly. Her kits. Their kits. Even knowing the truth he found he could not love them less. Not when they were so precious, not when they had been named so lovingly.

"Hi," he said at last, fighting to keep his voice calm.

Chantelle looked up and purred. "Hi there."

Her voice was so warm and rich as it melted through him that for a moment he could have forgotten why he was here. She looked at him with so much love. How could it have been a lie?

No. He had to be strong.

"They're not mine," Elmheart said, and as soon as the words left his mouth he felt infinitely lighter. It was in the open now. No need to be in anguish over it any longer. "They're Squall's."

If Chantelle had denied it, if she had cried and pleaded and begged for his forgiveness, then he might have just turned around and left. Instead she took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. "They are his biologically, yes. But they are still ours."

How can they be ours now? he thought as he approached, looking down on the nestled forms. Nettle squeaked and yawned as he stretched out. "Why?"

"I lied," she said, so blatantly, pressing her nose ever-so-gently against his leg as he walked over. It was a light touch; enough to show companionship but not heavy enough to be cloying or patronizing. "I wanted us to leave the Clans together and start a new life, so I lied."

"Because of Alder?"

Chantelle flinched. "Because we were both unhappy. I saw how much it pained you to be there once Nettleclaw had died, and because I had finally realized there was more to life than following Alder and Beck around, endlessly hoping for something more."

You don't get to make that decision for me, he thought, but he let her continue.

"It was a lie, but I wanted it to be true so badly, and we tried, but it just wasn't working. So I asked Squall. I don't love him, Elmheart. I've never felt anything for him. I just wanted us to have a family, and he was able to help."

"Except now he wants part of it," growled Elmheart.

"He says he didn't know how attached he would feel. How much he'd want to see them."

Elmheart's gut wrenched. He looked at the kits and he loved them, would always love them and care for them, but he also knew that Squall would love them too, that they would belong to three parents. That had to be dangerous, right? Not just for him, but for the kits, if they knew, or if they didn't and later found out.

"What do you want?" he asked, in a hoarse whisper.

Their relationship had been fast, chaotic, build on unsteady foundation. But even within the Clan, in the short time there, she had been the one to listen to him and seek to understand him in a way no other cats had, to hold him when he had been empty and aching and raw. And in their last few moons in the Tribe, away from the pressures of the Clan, he had come to truly, undoubtedly, love her.

"I want us to be a family," she said, "that's what I've always wanted."

"That's what I wanted too," he said, pained. "But Chantelle… I would have been your family anyway, without the kits. You didn't need to lie. You already had me. You had all of me."

She bowed her head in shame, her ears folding down against her head, and as she sighed a wave of sadness came with it. "I know that now," Chantelle said. "But I didn't, at the time. I was scared. Growing up where I did, how I did… the only cat that was constant in my life was Alder, and you know he didn't want me. I was terrified you would leave me."

"That's the risk," he said, even as his heart ached for her. "That's always the risk, with love."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Why not tell me the truth, when you reached the Tribe?"

"Would you have stayed?"

"I…." After Slatestar's coldness, after Nettleclaw's death, being let down by Chantelle… that would have been too much for him. He would have felt utterly alone in the world. Where would he have gone? "No. Probably not. But that doesn't make what you did right."

"No. It doesn't."

They fell silent. Chantelle watched him with so much pain and care in her eyes. She hated to have hurt him; she didn't need to say it again. Elmheart hated that she had done so, but even more, he hated that he didn't know what to do next. He loved her.

"Will you stay now?" she asked.

"I don't know."

Another long pause.

"No matter what – no more secrets," Elmheart said.

"Elmheart, there were never any other secrets."

He sat, finally, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, a soft and sweet touch. Endless Hunters help me, he thought. StarClan too. What a terrible situation.

He had left his life based on a lie. Had he really wanted to go? It was so hard to remember.

"I need to know," he murmured. "I need to know for certain that ThunderClan isn't my home."

X

Kitetail sat in the ShadowClan medicine cat's den, breathing in the familiar scents of loam and pine and herbs. It had been moons since he had been here last. This den had been a refuge during his apprenticeship, then a place of occasional tutelage when he came back to learn from Birchcloud, and then eventually a painful reminder of what he had lost. He was just thankful that Birchcloud was currently doing a rotation in the ThunderClan camp with the warriors on guard duty. Instead, Kitetail and Stormtail were in charge of the den here, though Stormtail was out gathering herbs. Rootfur too was stretching his legs, though he was ordered to stay close to camp. It left Kitetail alone. Not really alone, he thought. My ghosts are here too.

They were not just in the den, but the entire camp. He could hardly look out at the clearing without seeing Falconswoop striding across. When he walked through the shaded camp, he remembered feeling small and powerless. He remembered Flowerpaw's pity, Birchcloud's frustration, and Sootpaw's disdain. The thick pines crowded the sky and made him feel trapped. He hadn't realized just how accustomed he had become to ThunderClan's open sky. StarClan, he preferred it now. It had truly become his home.

But that had to wait, because he had a job here – to look after the others. Cats from all four Clans crowded the camp, sharing dens, even sharing tongues as they waited. The anxiety was the worst part, the knowledge that the Dark Forest was out there, but not the knowledge of when they would strike. There would be a battle soon and yet all they could do was bide their time.

At least it wasn't being wasted. Apprentices were out doing fight training with the available warriors. Once again, all the Clans mingled. Kitetail had seen Whitestream explaining RiverClan grappling techniques to Cloudstorm, Cedarpelt teaching Hailpaw and Mothpaw how to sprint, Auburnfur teaching Tanheart how to attack from the tree-tops. It no longer mattered that these techniques might one day be used against each other; right now, it was acknowledged that any of them might be necessary in the upcoming fight.

Kitetail watched it happen in wonder. If it weren't for the threat of impending doom, he would have been happy to see all the Clans coming together. StarClan says there always has to be four Clans… but StarClan got them into this nightmare in the first place, so what did they know?

He paused and blinked. I've really been doubting StarClan lately. But what else could he do, knowing the truth, and knowing how they had abandoned him? We have to do this on our own.

"Kitetail!" Beechclaw crossed the clearing and approached him. The lean brown tom walked with clear discomfort in the ShadowClan camp, constantly looking over his shoulder and shrinking away from the pine trees. Of all the cats, Beechclaw seemed the least likely to handle the transition with grace; yet even he had been doing his best to be civil and helpful.

"Hello, Beechclaw."

"Are you ready?" Beechclaw's tail flicked impatiently.

"Oh," said Kitetail. He had hardly noticed that it was sunhigh – their agreed-upon time to train. "Yes, of course."

"Great," said Beechclaw, in a tone that didn't match, but he gave Kitetail a nod anyway. "Let's get going, then."

.

They went out into the woods, where the evidence of the last night's rain still remained in the form of droplets clinging to the pine boughs. The damp needles on the forest floor made Kitetail's pads itch. Beechclaw looked on edge as well, twitching away when the branches brushed his fur or when something scuttled by in the underbrush.

"It's the scent," Beechclaw growled at last, wrinkling his nose. "The pine needles. The stench."

"There's a time I would have said the same thing about ThunderClan," Kitetail replied mildly, not looking for an argument. He didn't point out that RiverClan had adjusted, or that they had no other option. Beechclaw knew these things already; he just needed to express his discomfort.

Beechclaw grunted. "But it's your home now," he said.

Kitetail thought that was the nicest thing that Beechclaw had ever said to him.

They did not go to the training hollow, where Kitetail had spent many a day being battered and beaten by Falconswoop. Not only did it bring back bad memories, but he was also worried that there would be other cats out training, and he was honestly a little embarrassed to be seen learning how to fight. No one will think less of you, he tried to tell himself, but it wouldn't stick. He thought it again, this time in Alder's voice, and felt slightly better.

When will they come back? It was hard to wait, not knowing if they were okay, if they were successful, or when they would be returning. Kitetail cast a nervous glance through the trees. His biggest fear was that they would be too late – they would arrive from the mountains with an army only to find the Clans devastated by the wraiths.

So far, the wraiths had not crossed over the ThunderClan border. Kitetail was privy to the reports that from the other camp that were being relayed to this one. The Clan cats were patrolling in large groups, chasing off the smoky forms when they found them lingering by the trees. No one had died. No one else, he thought. Yet. But Clan cats were patrolling even now. Sootclaw was out there, even now. Every moment that passed was a moment they could have another Rootfur, or worse… another Mouseheart. Kitetail shuddered.

They reached a small clearing in the woods, where the pine trees backed away from a dip in the land, and the bed of needles thinned out to bare loam. Beechclaw nodded approvingly. "This will do," he decided. He turned to face Kitetail and adopted a fighting stance. "How much have you learned already?"

"Not much," Kitetail admitted. "I was a warrior apprentice for several moons but… I was never good at fighting. I haven't had to fight in a long time."

Beechclaw made a disapproving noise. "Well. You're going to be defending patients – you're never going to be on the front lines. I'll teach you how to respond if someone is attacking you; how to read their movement, how to dodge, how to take blows without faltering, and how to look for opportunities to strike back. It's not about throwing yourself at them. It's about waiting for your opponent to make a mistake."

Kitetail marvelled at how easily Beechclaw became a mentor in the moment. The words flowed so freely from him, as if he had said them a hundred times. There was no more animosity, no disdain toward his charge. He was calm and rational as he broke down the different elements of the training and explained to Kitetail the best practices. For the first time, Kitetail thought he saw in the tom what Auburnfur did: a different, more thoughtful side. It was very unlike Beechclaw. It was also, thankfully, very unlike Falconswoop.

"Let's try some practical exercises," said Beechclaw. "I'll come forward and I want you to dodge. Watch my paws and predict which way I'll lunge. You need to keep your eyes moving; being able to pay attention to all these details at once is what makes a good fighter."

Kitetail nodded and braced himself, his eyes focused on Beechclaw's paws. The light brown warrior lunged forward and Kitetail, having seen the movement beforehand, jumped out of the way just in time.

"Good," said Beechclaw. They ran it a few more times, with Kitetail managing to dodge each of the warrior's attacks. Then they went again, and this time Beechclaw's paws indicated he was moving left. When he sprung, Kitetail jumped to the right – only to collide with the warrior, who easily bowled him over. Beechclaw had switched direction at the last moment.

"You need to watch my eyes too," said Beechclaw, not unkindly as he let Kitetail back up. "They would have given my plan away."

"Pay attention to all the details at once," Kitetail remembered. "Got it."

"It's tough, at first," Beechclaw acknowledged. "You need to get your brain used to it. Let's try again."

Indeed, it did take Kitetail many more tries, but eventually he was able to get the hang of it, letting his gaze move quickly between Beechclaw's paws and face before the tom lunged, and by the end of the session he was predicting the tom's movement over half the time. But the work was exhausting, not just on his muscles, but on his mind. Having to spend that much focus learning something knew… his head was swimming by the end of it.

"Now we want to try counter-attacking," Beechclaw said.

"I need a moment," Kitetail said, between ragged breaths.

As it turned out, he would get a rest from fighting, but no time to let his mind recover, as Galestorm pelted through the trees toward them, eyes wide and fur on end. He skidded to a stop in front of them, sending pine needles flying.

"Wraiths?" asked Kitetail, immediately on edge. But Galestorm had been in the ShadowClan camp, not in the ThunderClan camp on patrol. Could the wraiths be here? Could Sootclaw have been wrong?

Was someone dead?

"No," Galestorm breathed. "No wraiths – it's Breezepaw, and... it's worse than ever."

.

They rushed back to camp, Kitetail conscious of the fact that Galestorm and Beechclaw were much faster than him but were still trying to let him keep up. It was obviously causing Beechclaw immense stress to wait for the medicine cat; his jaw was twitching and tail lashing through the air as they entered ShadowClan camp. But he waited for Kitetail nevertheless.

"We moved him to your – um, the medicine cat's den," said Galestorm. "Well. Auburnfur did."

The reddish-brown she-cat was already in the den, by Breezepaw's side. Beechclaw joined her, pressing his pelt against hers, and she pressed her muzzle to his shoulder, murmuring comforting words.

Breezepaw lay in a nest in front of them, body convulsing. His eyes were slightly open, but they were glossy. His paws kicked and his tail lashed. It hurt to see the black tom like this. He had grown so much, become so capable, but as he twitched in the nest he looked so small and fragile. Kitetail had fought hard over the last few moons to keep the seizures to a minimum so Breezepaw could continue his training.

Fought hard? he thought bitterly. What did I even do? Just tried different herbs and hoped? Maybe all I did was delay.

They all knew the seizures would always be a problem for Breezepaw; it was just a matter of keeping them to a minimum. But this was worse than Kitetail had seen the apprentice in moons.

"Beechclaw, get some wet moss, we need to make sure he stays hydrated," said Kitetail, finally snapping into action as he entered the den. "I'll get the herbs."

He mixed together the customary blend of chamomile, thyme, and poppy seeds that they had been using to relax Breezepaw. It worked in calming the tom when he was in one of his episodes. If only there was a way to prevent them instead. He had asked the other medicine cats in previous moons – and his stomach sank when he thought of Patchnose, RiverClan's former medicine cat, who died in the crash – and none of them had known anything like this.

To Beechclaw's credit, he followed instructions without animosity, but when he came back to drip the water into Breezepaw's mouth, his eyes met Kitetail's. The message there was not cruel, but it was clear: I helped you, were the words shining in his eyes. Now help me. Make my son better.

I wish I could, Kitetail thought, scrambling to assemble the herbs. If he could cure Breezepaw, if he could help the black tom become a strong warrior, maybe he would finally feel like he was helping ThunderClan. Maybe I wouldn't think about Nettleclaw anymore.

There was more paws at the front of the den and a new scent wafted in. RiverClan. Then – Kitetail wrinkled his nose – something a hundred times more foul.

The darkness.

He looked up to see Reedthroat escorting Whitestream into the den. There was a long slash down her shoulder and foreleg that glistened with something dark. A pus, oozing on the edges of the wound, and if Kitetail peered closely he swore that he could see tiny tendrils of smoke curling into the air.

"You ran into wraiths," said Kitetail. Neither of them needed to say anything; he knew Whitestream had been on patrol in the other camp. They all knew that this was going to happen sooner or later.

"There's more," said Whitestream. Though she did her best to hide it, Kitetail could tell she was in pain. "We chased these ones off, but, there's more. They're starting to gather."

It was beginning.

Or maybe it was the beginning of the end.

X

A/N: Hey I've been writing, I promise! I've been working from home and it has picked up lately so I have deadlines again, plus trails and parks are open so I've been getting outside a lot more, meaning less writing time.

The Soot and Dawn conversation is next chapter, sorry for the wait! I wanted to give Sootclaw a full chapter instead of a split POV which is why this chapter is coming first. I have an ending in mind for Elmheart, but he needs to make his way there, whatever he decides has to feel real. It's too hard for him to forgive Chantelle right now, but it's not realistic for him to just up and leave her either.

Thanks to everyone who has added this story to their follows or favourites – it looks like I have a few new readers!

Thanks for reading and please review!

- PV :)