When we left the gorge, Milkwhisker showed us out all the way. Well, not all the way. She accompanied us so far as to the stream between ThunderClan and ShadowClan.

Friskfields, uncharacteristically timid, had asked her if she wanted to come with us to camp: tearful reunions with her old clanmates, awkward yet earnest unions with the inquiring rubbernecks that were new to her, and her, equally new to them. Milkwhisker had reclined on her heels, looking up at the empty sky, before declining quietly; another relic of her past in ThunderClan. "Two paths, yet to coincide," she had said. For a heartbeat, her eyes had almost looked as empty, as vacant, as the expanse overhead, before she smiled and conjured up sentences for us to hear and for her to ramble through with a stiff upper lip.

"The kits are waiting," She had said. "I should be heading back, or I reckon that I'll be up for a blubber of sob stories and tears to the brim." She had laughed. "Stream would deny, but she'd be blubbering and she won't even know it. She's a proud cat, like her father."

Friskfields had grinned. "Tell Stream and the other kits goodbye for us, would you?"

"Of course. And tell her dear father," Milkwhisker had said, winking at us, "that his mewling progeny, according to their overcooked nanny's best attempts at translation, are sending him their best wishes."

She had walked away, cocky and jocose to the end, but had she been really? Maybe I should have asked her, prodded her for the truth. Maybe I should have comforted her, as much as I hated it when emotions ran high. I should have said: "Milkwhisker, Rainkit will be watching you from StarClan, proud of the family life you have made and happy that you are finally free. And damn, it isn't an understatement when I say I'm happy for you too." I tried to tell myself that Milkwhisker's feelings were hidden fathoms deep, thus would have made my reassurances cut no ice, but erode and pollute the fragile stonework that she had built to forget her past, not hark back to it. Wasn't I doing her a deed?

After Milkwhisker left, forever imposed as an one-of-many murder victim to our clanmates, we silently strolled along the stream, side by side. There was no definite thought in my head. Killing Beechshade – robbing him of that stupid smile for good – didn't seem so much a delicious prospect anymore. I'm not sure why, it just did.

I was so vacuous, almost as blank as Aspenstar's mind itself, that I did not notice Friskfields switching places with me so I wouldn't have to walk on the edge of the stream, or him trying to make conversation with me and utterly failing to do so, because it takes one to interact with the other. I didn't notice his limp, either. It wasn't pronounced, but now that I look back on it, it definitely wasn't a normal gait; him flying about noisily in my vicinity, or even the time when he'd cut a little celebratory caper after he'd gotten his apprentice name… that was a normal gait.

I didn't notice, I didn't care. In the end, I paid grimly for it.

Karma collects debt.

By the time we came across a log and was tittering our way to ThunderClan's side of the shore, the sun was tittering with us on the peak of a far-off Highstone, soon to conceal itself behind it. I could catch snippets of the lake behind densely planted fir trees, the twisted limbs and charred, slender trunks graciously forbidding me from a view that was too apt to arouse once-golden, now less-than-fond memories I'd had with…

With…

"Stormcloud?" Friskfields said, and suddenly I was bursting through the fir branches and its foliage, which was lessened by leafbare and had once been so thick, so gloriously tinted, so wonderfully lush and vibrant and gemmed with dewdrops, back in that long-ago newleaf when I'd woken from a nightmare and Hollowheart had taken me to the lake and everything had been beautiful, almost to the point of perfect, even. Back in that long-ago newleaf, so far away from now, not only in terms of time but also in terms of who I am. Back then, I had known to value the little things in life. I had been more innocent, more carefree, more domestically abundant. Now, I had nothing to value. Innocence was plucked first, carefreeness was a long-lost thing. Hollowheart was gone. Now, I was just trying to understand my existence.

"Why did you bring me here, Hollowheart?" I asked to the lake. "Why bring me here to this brood of strangers only to abandon me, leave me alone?"

Only later did I realize that I might as well as be talking with Hollowheart had he gotten his desire fulfilled; he'd wanted his corpse disposed in the lake. I'd fought on this matter with Lilacpond before. Lilacpond had wanted Hollowheart's body buried, as were all corpses in ThunderClan (as long as the corpse could be retrieved), and I too had wanted it buried, just… not in the ground. Lilacpond had, of course, won. She was his long-time mate, and I was his bastard son. She had authority, and I had none.

Petalfur and Losttrail were the ones who buried Hollowheart, but she was the one who had trapped him under a heap of soil.

"Stormcloud?" Friskfields said now. "Stormcloud, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I snarled, "Nothing, Friskfields, please, just… just leave me alone. Go back to camp."

"If I leave you alone," Friskfields said gently, "I bet you'd be visiting the lake back to back. Only next time, you'd be screeching my name instead of Hollowheart's."

Why bring me to this brood of strangers only to abandon me, leave me alone?

I sighed. "Friskfields… won't your clanmates worry about you? You've been rambling on and off about them nonstop, I know you think that way, too."

"Our."

"What?" I said, confused.

"Not your clanmates, our clanmates. And-" Friskfields shrugged, "Who cares if we have them worry just a little? I'd like to see them demented on my behalf – and yours, especially." He grinned, as though the very prospect delighted him. "It would be so satisfying to see them lose their shit over you."

"Your clanmates have lost their shit over me before, Friskfields. Dozens of times." I said, eyes fixed on the icy lake. I remembered how it had been abound with fish when I'd last come with Hollowheart, and wondered what had happened to them. Were they frozen among its depths? Like Hollowheart, frozen in the depths of time and lost in the range of history? Why had I turned so mellow on Beechshade? He deserved all that I was planning to rain on him. "But not in the way you're suggesting now."

Friskfields made a sound that I later realized was a laugh. "You know," he said, "I have a long list of occasions where I lost my shit over you, too. I tried to count; it's countless. You-" He paused, and inhaled, as though he were working up the courage to keep talking. "You don't get to choose who you meet, or when you meet them. However, you do get to choose whether you'll hold on, and despite all that's happened, all that we did to each other, I desperately wish I had. Stormcloud, I… I'm speaking from the heart right now."

I pushed him into the lake. "Hearts don't talk." I said, but even as I was talking, I knew that I was messed up. I had no reason to doubt Friskfields' genuineness, his sincerity, but here I was, doing it all the time. Why?

Friskfields looked up at me, ginger fur clinging to his willowy body, wet at every pore as a drowned rat would be. He didn't say anything, but as he slowly trudged towards me, I had a sudden foreboding sense that he was going to do something. I wasn't sure what; maybe he'd flick his claws at me, or push me as I'd pushed him, or hold my head under the water. I know the very notion of it was crazy, arrogant, ungracious in the light of his heart of gold.

But I knew who I was. I was a "loose cannon with a bad attitude." I was "intrusive and irreverent, shameful to my clanmates and distasteful to all others." I was also, according to Leopardstrike, a "major jerk."

Wasn't this expected? I asked myself, as Friskfields stood before me, and for a moment he remained in his position, and I in my scared and panicky state. Wasn't it possible, someone as horrible as me pushing someone as wondrous as himinto this inevitability? Wasn't it greedy, to actually want to become friends with Friskfields again after what I'd done to him, and to go even more far as to wish that maybe – just maybe, we could stretch our relationship into something bigger than that? Wasn't it silly, to now see Petalfur, and then Lilacpond, and then that blasted rogue from my dreams, flashing through my mind like a pulse, as much as I tried to tell myself that Friskfields was not like them, Friskfields was different?

"Friskfields," I begun, but lost the moment to finish as a ginger rag, limp and sagging, was thrust into my face. It bristled, and kinked sadly, before puffing up, without preamble or warning, into several times its initial size.

Water splashed onto my face.

My nostrils were one of the biggest victims, perhaps only second to my open mouth.

Friskfields dropped his tail and turned to look at me, grinning. "What do you think? More lake water to freshen you up?"

"I think," I said, spitting out water and savoring the breathtaking relief, and the happiness that came with it, with a hearty, unhinged laugh. "Your mouth should really stop frisking."

Later, just before the battle, we'd had a conversation about it, my laugh. "But when I heard that laugh, the first laugh I'd heard in moons," Friskfields had said, on his face a smile; not his signature one, but a small, flitting one that made it seem as though he were smiling to himself about fond kithood memories. "I knew, that very instant, that you meant it."

"What do you mean?" I had asked.

"Well," Friskfields had said, stroking my tail absentmindedly, "It had been one of those genuine laughs, the kind of laugh where you use muscles surrounding both the eyes and the mouth – it was rare, maybe that's what made it so… well, remarkable for me. I don't know, it was like… finally seeing you again, the real you, and that's the Storm I became friends with.

"Don't call me Storm," I had muttered, begrumpled. "Look, why are you even telling me this?"

"Because you're still my best friend, and I'll never stop loving you." Friskfields had said, pausing midstroke and locking eyes with me. He looked embarrassed, I could tell, but nor did he look regretful of anything, either. "I know you wouldn't understand, not with your emotional maturity of a hedgehog, but it's a way of showing affection. Giving you my heart's content."

I had merely looked at him. His beet-red nose seemed even redder than mine when in a species of shame, or a leafbare flush.

"Oh, come on! You're leaving me hanging here!" Friskfields had exclaimed, and as much as I want to deny it, I had basked in his indignation. To me, someone showing me their affection, and in recompense, expecting me to show them mine, seemed to be how a true relationship would function; to give and to take, to share and to reciprocate. Hollowheart, however, had said otherwise. He had been telling me about how he'd proposed to Lilacpond, and the conversation had gradually shifted topics.

"Will you doggone marry me or will you doggone not?" This was Hollowheart, quoting his own quote. "That's what I said. I didn't expect her to doggone marry me, though. She never hinted her love."

"Well, maybe she accepted because she was just intimidated by your oath-strung proposal." I muttered. "Relationships don't work when they're one-sided, you know."

A strange look passed over Hollowheart's face. "I wish you were right, but you're not." When I stared at him, he said, "That's just how the world operates, kid. Which is why you should be careful with your relationships – domestic, romantic, friendly, co-operative, or however you want to define it – they all hold a mingy packet of poison in them, however pure, however clean it may seem on the outside."

"I bet this is your way of saying that our relationship is just a poisonous substance, and you're gonna have Lilacpond single-parent me as a pretext."

"No, that's absurd, I'm not going to have that excuse of a cat mother you." Hollowheart snapped, and I almost laughed, we'd been discussing him courting Lilacpond just a few moments ago. "But, Stormpaw, just you remember, carefulness isn't the only factor in a relationship. When you… when the time comes, and you think you're ready, you should know… Sometimes, all it takes to love is the guts to try."

I remembered Hollowheart's words.

It took one to interact with the other, and this time, one was going to pluck up his guts and try.

This time, Friskfields won't be the only one talking.

…

"You found the murderer? But… but… just how?"

"Why are you so surprised, Aspenstar? You told me that the murderer was ShadowClan; after that, all I had to do was pick the suspicious one. Although there wasn't a single cat in ShadowClan that was unworthy of suspicion, which did make things a tad more complicated."

"It was impossible, Stormcloud, there was absolutely no way you would have been able to… are you sure that you aren't picking at the guiltless?"

"I'm quite sure, Aspenstar. Now, have you considered my suggestion?"

"I have, but your clanmates… would they relish the idea of storming a whole clan for the sake of a single cat?"

"No, but they would relish the idea of storming ShadowClan for the sake of their own personal fury and resentment towards it, disguising the attack as vengeance for their clanmate. They did not like Hollowheart, but I think they'd like the prospect of doing this under his name. It makes things sound like justice."

"Stormcloud."

"What?"

"ThunderClan does not hate ShadowClan, not anymore. During Flamestar's leadership, their hatred was reasonably at peak, ShadowClan constantly charging the camp and complaining over boundaries and Flamestar going for the unsatisfying way; peace by terms. I stepped up as leader and soothed their hatred, and, as noble and generous as they were, ThunderClan let themselves be soothed. Stormcloud, I hope you keep in mind that we are doing this for your father. ThunderClan is perfect, fury and resentment does not consume them anymore."

"Well, if fury and resentment doesn't consume them anymore, maybe I could. Chewing my clanmates into pieces would be fun."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"By the way, Stormcloud, where in StarClan have you and Friskfields been? I sent patrols looking all over for him."

"Nowhere. Aspenstar, can I have a mint? You know, like the one you have in your mouth?"

"No, you may not, Stormcloud."

"Fine, so be it, Aspenstar."

A dispute that we called a conversation was what settled matters. We were going to charge ShadowClan tomorrow.