"Here, Stormpaw. This is for Hollowheart." Lynxspots spit out a crow that he had been holding carefully by the tail feather. It was a bloody mess. Lynxspots had probably caught it in one of his raging fits, the only thing palpable a band of scars that encircled its neck. Probably where Lynxspots had given it the death bite.

I wrinkled my nose. "What would you give this to Hollowheart for?"

"A peace offering." Lynxspots said hopefully. "I… I still feel bad about what happened last time, when it was obvious that Hollowheart wasn't trying to be difficult. It was wrong of me."

"If you were to offer peace," I muttered, "You should have caught a dove in this crow's stead."

"Oops. Do you suppose this is too obvious?"

"As a peace offering? Well, no. It's about as vague as it could get." I heaved the corpse in my jaw. StarClan. This is utterly disgusting.

"Be careful with it!" Lynxspots yelped. "I want Hollowheart to know what he's receiving, okay?"

"I don't think he'd be able to tell if this is a crow or a raven or a blackbird." I mumbled through the feathers.

"That doesn't matter- ah, don't grate it with your teeth! For StarClan's sake, don't eat it!"

Sometimes my mentor could be annoying.

But wow, was he sweet-hearted.

I walked towards Hollowheart, who was sitting near the camp entrance, his usual spot. Hollowheart always preferred to sit close to the entrance, which nobody questioned because it wasn't so bad to have someone on the lookout towards the outer woods.

"Hi, Hollowheart." I said.

Hollowheart let out a rusty growl, acknowledging my presence. That was probably the closest I could get from him to a purr.

"I've got something for you. It's from Lynxspots." I dropped the crow in front of my father, and turned my head. Lynxspots was talking with Mossjumble and Snakeshriek, or at least pretending to. He kept looking towards us now and then, his eyes imbued with hope. This was going to pain him.

Hollowheart frowned and leaned down to sniff the bird. He poked at it.

"Stop, what are you doing?" I hissed, glancing towards Lynxspots. "This is very impolite."

"There could be something inside this. I've… I've undergone many death threats from my own clanmates before, and this could be no different."

"Hollowheart, are you ill?"

"Haven't contracted anything that I know of."

"Just eat the damn thing!"

"You're even more annoying than a mosquito, Stormpaw, are you aware of that?"

"Seriously? A mosquito? …Why?" I fiddled with the crow's wing, steering it up and down, up and down. The bird was flying. The bird was alive…

"I can kill a mosquito, but I can't kill you." Hollowheart swatted my paw off the crow harshly, leaving it dead to the world once more.

I scowled at him. "If you're not gonna try it, shouldn't I get a bite?" The longer Hollowheart left the crow hanging, the longer Lynxspots would stall in apprehension.

"Paws off, it's mine." Apparently Hollowheart had finished his inspection. He dug his face into the flesh.

"How is it?" I asked.

Hollowheart lifted his head and looked at me. "This is one complete hocky of a raven."

"It's a crow."

Hollowheart walked out camp with the crow, apparently having felt the need to discard it.

Wow, was my father a big fat bastard.

"…a perfectly fine piece of prey he wasted. If he wasn't going to eat it, putting it back to the fresh-kill pile would have sufficed." Snakeshriek was muttering disapprovingly. "That cat must have led a life of luxury with the rogues, stealing the prey that he wanted to eat, killing those who he wanted to drink blood from."

"Someone needs to tell that cat that we don't throw prey around here." Mossjumble was staring at Hollowheart's disappearing form, eyes squinted and brows wrinkled.

"Please, everyone, let's not jump to conclusions." Lynxspots said desperately. "Rogue-borns may be unaware of the rules of decorum, but that doesn't mean that we should be the same as th-"

Snakeshriek and Mossjumble stared at Lynxspots.

"Catering to Hollowheart's whims, are you?"

This was the first time I understood Featherdrift, and why she had abandoned me.

Because if I had to go through the same treatment as Lynxspots had gone through just now, and for six whole moons at that, I would have done the same thing as her.

…

"Don't we look just like mates, a herd of kits under our wing?" Friskfields said excitedly, lifting off two squealing kits on a slightly strenuous, ear-catchingly backbreaking badger ride.

"Yeah." I said offhandedly, trying to tear off the demon that gnawed at my ear without smothering it. "Clanmates."

You'd probably want to know what's happening.

In truth, I'm not quite sure either.

I woke up at a pervasive smell of damp, the full-on humidity of the marshland governing the surrounding airs and my unexpecting nostrils. I sat up with a moan, at which Friskfields instantly came running to my side, eyes bright with relief and bloodshot with fatigue.

"Stormcloud, are you okay?" He asked frantically, running over me through and through as he were an unduly worried mother who'd get their bowels in an uproar when it came to a matter of their son. "Who was it? The rogue? Our clanmates? Lilacpond?"

"None of those, I'm afraid." I groused. "Heck, Friskfields, it's not like I get oppressed by a nightmare every single night."

"Sure. And it's not like I bob up at the capacity of your screams every single night." Friskfields said sarcastically. "And it's not like I get guilt-ridden for not being there for you when you need me the most, because obviously, every single night of our days is not a testament to your pain and my inability, you big fat bastard."

"Bastard? Well, that's where you get one thing right." I muttered, rendering scores on the soggy ground.

"We're all bastards in one way or another." Friskfields sniffed.

"Ah, I see that you're awake." A familiar voice said. "About time, too. I know that sleep varies from cat to cat, but a whole day of shut-eye was wont to scare your friend out of his wits."

"Scared? Me? Ha, never!" Friskfields snorted. "But it was disconcerting, seeing Stormcloud in unbroken sleep…" His voice broke and with that he glared around, as if to say "That meant nothing!"

The owner of the voice stepped forward, white pelt shining in the leaf-bare sunlight and accentuating brilliant blue eyes. Her smile was carefree and easygoing, nothing like the sad strain that I'd seen on her lips when she'd quarreled with her mate many moons ago.

"I don't quite think we've said our proper greetings, given the circumstances." Milkwhisker mewed. "Hello, Stormpaw. Good to see you again."

"…Ur, hi?"

"Dirty dog had quite a spill." Milkwhisker nodded towards a bulging lump outside the den. "Cracked its skull and bit the dust. Pity it didn't do it fast enough, a queer little thing, considering it was so quick to bite those throats of yours. We had to watch the slimy ballsack spill goo in clumps, eyes rolling in the back of its head. Not a pleasant sight, mind you. Ripple vomited. He's always been the squeamish one of the group."

"…Ur?" I said, not able to connect the Milkwhisker I'd known to the strange cat that was standing before me now.

Milkwhisker seemed to have caught my confusion. "The whole lot of us," She said, "Been living in this gorge for moons. Used to be a river, but it dried up. You noticed, I assume?

Speechless, I nodded.

"Dog came falling into our habitat, all blood and bones. We thought something was up. I, being the responsible single parent matriarch I am," Milkwhisker gave me a playful look in the eyes- "Walked forward. Saw Friskpaw cradling boyo as though a life line. Thought you were a goner for a heartbeat."

"It's Friskfields now." Owner of said name grumbled. "And 'boyo' is Stormcloud." He seemed to be in a bad mood, although I couldn't tell why.

"Sorry 'bout that, it's just… you two have grown up so darn fast!" Milkwhisker bombarded us in a passionate hug, a sudden gesture that I was a bit uncomfortable with but altogether didn't feel so bad about. Something alien had creeped into my heart, insistent as a plague of greencough, and I wished it would stay.

Stay, would you? There's enough space for the two of us. If things get tight, I could always squeeze out. Then, you could leave me and my problems behind, lie back, and just have a good time. Banish all troubles from your careworn mind. You'd become a privileged cat without ever being granted privileges. No other cat in your clan, no principle of the warrior code would be able to force you into a province of discrimination. You could get back together with Friskfields, and share a life with him, share here's to future happiness with him, one morsel against another. You could visit Hollowheart's grave without being given the hairy eyeball with each cat you pass by. You'd be privileged with happiness, and hey, that'll be one hell of a privilege, don't you think? Don't you wish? Hell, haven't you been wishing for moons and moons?

But no. When Milkwhisker pulled back from the hug after what seemed like a mere heartbeat (although dripping with regret), the foreigner walked away as soon as they had come; and with them, away subsided the onrush of warmth and hope. I was left stranded. My heart had bloated and then exploded.

Which was why I never exercised heat upon it in the first place. It was dangerous, and it gave me too much to dream of.

This is who you are. Lonely then, lonely now, lonely for life. A nameless loner for a mommy and the most "loving" cat of the world for a daddy, and oopsie-daisy, here's a shitstorm to blow them all away – whoosh, whoosh! There they go! And here you are, dirt-kneed and parentless. All that of a heritage your artificers have left you is, uh oh, double oopsie-daisy – a lousy temperament and a tag on the neck reading: "Non-clan related- thus a boor. Indulge it with offensive dispositions; break its teeth and kick its balls!"

"You wouldn't care for a light pogue, would you?" Milkwhisker asked, grinning slyly, interrupting my thoughts with inadvertent mercy.

Friskfields, who had been struggling to shraggle out from the embrace just earlier, frowned at her with distaste. "Shite, no. Why are you like this?" His question was innocent enough, but his eyes seemed to say different. What about Mossjumble? Your mate – or more so like, your ex-mate?

I could say the same. What about Mossjumble… and Hollowheart? Your ex-mate and your one-night lover? Milkwhisker would most likely have no idea that, after her leave, Mossjumble had fallen into a sorrow stupor (although he had been quick to take another mate) and Hollowheart… well… had become food for worms. She probably wouldn't know that her once-clanmates thought that she had become food for worms, either.

Speaking of Hollowheart.

Shouldn't I fill her in? About Hollowheart's death?

She ought to know. She and Hollowheart had been… intimate enough.

Milkwhisker gave a short bark of laughter, but it sounded like falsehood. "It's just a joke, kids. I was never wet for toms anyway – especially ones that are a mile younger than me. Some cats in ThunderClan ought to learn."

Age gaps had always been an issue among the clans. One would have been a warrior while the other was a kit, but when the kit came of age, they were both regarded as the same deal. I suddenly wondered if Hollowheart and Lilacpond had an age-gap relationship as well. Hollowheart had always looked old as far as I remembered him; gray whiskers, furrowed brow, charcoal black fur that swallowed jutting bones akin to an elder. Meanwhile, Lilacpond was all beauty and grace, as long as she retained from cussing at me- "Shut your mouse hole, bastard!"

But she was constantly telling Hollowheart that he was old-looking, and should pray to StarClan to divulge him the secret of baby-faces. So yeah. Maybe that was just a slight contretemps in Hollowheart's series of life struggles.

However, that was a surmise. I knew nothing about my father. Nothing of his early kithood, nothing of his rogue life, nothing of why he acted out of sorts sometimes. It only made sense that I had no idea how old he had been when he'd died. Buried with him, never to be pulled out again, was a pawful of secrets and an infinitesimal legacy.

"You had Mossjumble." I told Milkwhisker. And Hollowheart.

Milkwhisker looked at me. "Yes, I did." She said, her voice a soft murmur. "I had Mossjumble, and back then, he was all I had. I accommodated myself to circumstances, as I thought would my kits, and my kit's kits, and so far on as to generations to span. Some of my descendants would be killed while battle, in the name of honor. Others would see the flaws in the warrior code and act on it – soon to be ostracized for making their own decisions, in the name of justice. Putting your life on line isn't honor, it's stupidity. Stripping a cat from their rights isn't justice, it's a stranglehold. I saw that. And I came here. Now, I may not have a mate, but I have lodgings, food, water, freedom, and a naughty brood of rascals, my beloveds. What is more to ask for?"

"Milkwhisker," Friskfields said quietly, addressing the she-cat, but looking at me, "Do you have happiness?"

No.

"Yes," Milkwhisker said promptly. She pawed at the ground, only she wasn't rendering scores in it like me, but holes. Small, round ones. "A little sadness there–" She bore a depression in one corner, "A wee bit of regret there–" Another pothole in the opposite corner, "But what is there does not change what is here. Here, I have a life. And I am happy."

"I'm glad. All this time we thought you were dead, and well… " Friskfields was still staring at me. "Here you are."

I turned away from him.

"Here I am." Milkwhisker said carefully, looking back and forth at us. "Thanks to your lad's father. He saved my life."

"My lad?" Friskfields muttered.

"Yes. By that I mean Stormcloud." Milkwhisker was eyeing us strangely now. "Look, I'm sorry if I misunderstood, but I assumed that-"

"Milkwhisker," Friskfields cut in, polite yet firm with both feet, "It's just me."

Let two talk, I'm never in for it. I thought dully, but my mind was running on wheels.

Milkwhisker had said that Hollowheart had saved her life.

More like he saved you a reputation as a two-mate holder.

But really… what did Milkwhisker mean by "saved my life"? Was she for real? Hollowheart didn't save lives.

I needed to talk with her. There was that topic about Hollowheart's death that I needed to tell her anyway. She'd grieve. I was never comfortable with watching cats grieve, and maybe I could ask her not to grieve, but she'd do it anyway. Milkwhisker wasn't like the rest of my clanmates; just because Hollowheart was a peevish, ill-mannered cat didn't mean that she would be lost to pity.

As should have been the rest of my clanmates.

"Milkwhisker? I need to talk with you." I said shortly.

"Sure." Milkwhisker said breezily, just as an shrill yowl split from outside the den. "Just give me a moment – STREAM, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO QUIT PICKING ON YOUR BROTHER?"

"But Ripple was being a mouse-heart!" Stream yelled back.

"Be kind to your brother!"

"But I told you, Ripple was being a-"

"Let's go, Stormcloud." Milkwhisker said. "Friskfields, would you look after the kits for me? You can amuse Stream and Ripple if you want, but the younger three should stay in their nest. Keep them from wandering near the cliffs!"

Five kits in total. I thought spitefully. Milkwhisker only had three kits; Streamkit, Ripplekit, and Rainkit. Could the "younger three" be my siblings?

Friskfields beamed. He loved kits, and knew his way around them. I was a nervous mess around kits. "Okay, Milkwhisker. I'll try not to excite them too much."

We walked out the den and into the gorge. Now that we were outside, I noticed that we'd been in a cliff cavity. In fact, the whole cliffside was dotted with holes, a ruddy great hole here, oh look, a whacking crater over there. Milkwhisker walked straight past the holes, staring decidedly at the front of her.

If all this is Milkwhisker's work, then ThunderClan missed out on a high-caliber talent, that's for certain. How could have they not seen her skills?

They were apt to miss out on it, Stormcloud. A voice whispered. Milkwhisker was a permanent queen, meant to produce kits and cultivate future warriors with her belly for her whole damn life. What did you expect? Why do you suppose she left?

We passed the dog's corpse, spread-eagled and head-busted. Milkwhisker had been right. The dog had quite a spill. Friskfields had also been right. The riverbed had been damn well dry. It had also been occupied with a herd of innocent kits and a she-cat who had escaped clan life because she couldn't bear to see the blood anymore. Guilt twisted in my belly. Did I have to push that stupid dog off the stupid cliff? Sure, it was a stupid dog, but it had a life…

But its death had been, if nothing else, a spur of the moment. Quick and fast. Hollowheart had died a slow, painful death, one of an excessive bleeding. Hollowheart had suffered, and compared to him, the dog had distorted itself to its heart's content. Only, now, it couldn't really do as it liked to its heart anymore. And that was justice.

Milkwhisker stopped at the dead end of the gorge. From the far end, I could hear gales of laughter from the kits that came with a segment from a story on Friskfields' part – "Went to his grave without them, poor sod!"

Milkwhisker was looking questionably at me. I took a deep breath and uttered the words.

"Hollowheart is dead."

The conversation we had after that is still stamped indelibly on my memory.