One time, I had been showing Hollowheart my moves, the ones that I'd learned from my mentor Lynxspots. It had been nothing special, really, just a high roundhouse kick that had me twisting in the air with great style. Well, before I lost balance and made a right-angle nosedive to the ground. Hollowheart had been gaping at me, and not because his son had just narrowly escaped death throes.

"What's wrong?" I had asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Then, my heart aflutter in somewhat of an anticipation, "Oh, StarClan bless me. I've finally set my old chap on his heels, haven't I?"

Something that I had said made Hollowheart snap out from his brownstudy and, scowling, chuck what sport he had caught that day into my face. "Dream on. I was just worr-" He abruptly paused midsentence, and cuffed me rough at the ear. "… I swear, sometimes you dolts need to think before you choose to break your back in two."

Too late. "Worried for me?" I chortled, and even in that fleeting moment with Hollowheart, him making a slip-up and me overanalyzing it, there had been happiness. "You're setting a record for yourself."

That was the day that I realized that I, as much as I wanted to deny it, thrived on overt affection. It was rare, but each time was as delicious as the next.

Now, as I walked to Hollowheart's grave to visit him before we charged ShadowClan, I saw Lilacpond stretched out over the mound, cradling it like she'd cradled Breezehowl when he was a little kit. I was about to turn back when she retrieved herself from her uncourtly posture and beckoned me.

"I'm sorry… for intruding." I said, walking towards her. The words came out instinctively, and I mentally cursed myself for being a mouse-heart.

"Please." Lilacpond said, and I could tell that she was trying her best to keep her voice level. "Don't bother." Hollowheart's death was what made him a topic that behooved peace. There was no quarrel between me and Lilacpond – at least, not where he was concerned.

I looked at the neglected grave; how it was choked up with weeds and ran riot with shrubs. No one had cared to bestow a wreath, offer up flowers. The only thing that marked the grave as my father's was rank grass and Lilacpond's grizzled, white-speckled pelt besieging it.

All these moons, I thought, standing tails away from the graveside because I could only study Lilacpond from so afar. All these moons of disparagement and name-calling each other, and where has that led us to?

Lilacpond's elderly earmarks – gnarliness in expense of grace – were testimony to the lifetime of opportunities we'd let pass by; moon after moon, season after season, we had been unable to shake off whatever that marked us stranger instead of family.

Seize opportunity when they're within clutch, Hollowheart had said once. Before they fly off and leave you in regret.

"He loved you." Lilacpond said suddenly.

"What?"

"He loved you." She repeated. "More than he loved us, I think. And to think that– " She peeled herself off the hillock and looked at me. Had I imagined the sadness in her eyes? "He favored his bastard son over his own kin."

That isn't true. I thought. Most times, Hollowheart tolerated my presence with a distant coldness. He didn't get out of his way to act father. He'd been cuffing my ears for decades of moons, my kithood crying having been what aroused his habit. He didn't treat me like a son. It may be just me, but I'd always thought that he treated me more like a friend, for all the quarrels we'd shared, but for which we'd never have qualms over.

I groped for words that wouldn't set Lilacpond off, but when I finally settled on one of the few choices that met terms, she was gone. Wobbling her way back to camp.

I watched her leave. I'd always thrived on overt affection, but now I wondered. Would I have thrived on motherly love as well? Would I have found it as delicious as every other moment of love, of endearment? Would I have enjoyed it?

Was I craving it now?

Standing by the graveside, I mourned not only my father, but the countless chances that I'd lost in the widening gulf of haves and have-nots.

Friskfields was an unfortunate combination of inquisitive and talkative. And I, being his best friend, was bombarded by a battery of quick-fire questions more often than not.

"Why are plants green?" he had asked one day, as we were raiding a common hideout of mice; the shrubbery that grew along the edge of our camp.

"Only nature knows." I said, eyes following a small pink tail as it swished behind the green-veined frond of a fern. This probably sounded either mysteriously cryptic or hilariously lame.

"Plants reflect light." said Friskfields, staring at a clover patch as if every blade in it was full of secrets, "But why reflect green in particular?"

"Well, we all have a favorite color."

Friskfields laughed as he leaned backwards, staring at the sky. The weather was green-leaf hot, but a little more bearable, owing to a light, grateful breeze that came down from the lake. "If I were a plant," he said. "I'd be black. Then I could absorb all colors of light. I could absorb the rainbow range."

All his life Friskfields shunned the depths; he was a good-time cat and was by no means a sobersides. But I knew that his questions were meant to be responded with gravity. So I tried. No pat answers, no simple yes-or-nos. Besides, I hated the idea of failing my friend, disappointing him.

Now, I am freezing my butt on the cold plains of ShadowClan territory and my head is full with Friskfields. Lynxspots is beside me.

ShadowClan camp is a shallow dip in the ground, overhung by a girdle of white-topped trees and encircled by a serried rank of brambles, which we had chosen as our place of stakeout. That's really all that I can say about it, because otherwise, it isn't much to look at. I'd always expected ShadowClan to live in filth, and although this was far from it, it wasn't nearly as good a camp as ThunderClan's.

The atmosphere is tense. And not that it has anything to do with the cats in the dip; they are, surprisingly, not a whole lot different than my own clanmates. They live their life, they carry on their duties. It's the knowledge of what they will be going through later this day that heavies the air.

Aspenstar had sent me to ShadowClan camp to beguile my time and keep surveillance on the ShadowClan cats. He'd told me to come back when I was sure that ShadowClan was unsuspecting of our attack and the camp was occupied with a low number. It was a cheap shot, I know, but Aspenstar himself was a cheap shot. Besides, who cared if ShadowClan thought mendacious dirtbags of us? They were correct, and there was no reason to try and prove otherwise.

Lynxspots had volunteered to come with me. Aspenstar was not pleased, but reluctantly gave assent. He'd been meaning to send me alone, and I don't think I need to explain why. That was a cheap shot, too.

Aspenstar, however, was the least of my worries.

There had been a sudden change in Friskfields' behavior. An overnight event, it seemed. But then again, I had no way of telling. Once, I had known Friskfields as well as I'd known myself. The blank space between our kithood friendship and our recent reconciliation made sure it changed that.

He'd tried to broach a conversation with me a few times, only to desist after a word, nose red and whiskers quivering. He had a look on his face that begged a question, but for whatever reason, didn't voice it. He was quiet and distant, and this new and unwelcome change in him was what dampened an otherwise bright personality to the point of where he'd become a shadow of his former self.

This pricked something under my skin, maybe a thorn, or a thistle, or the prickly stem of the rose that Friskfields had given me at Milkwhisker's gorge. I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to, but it does, and it hurts.

I wanted to tell Friskfields that there's always a willing ear that would listen to his troubles, but now, all that I can do is wait until he is ready to talk to me, for Friskfields always talked to me… eventually.

Somebody tapped me on my shoulder, making me jump. It was Lynxspots.

"You idiot! I almost crapped myself." I said, a bit too loudly.

"That's quite a way to inform ShadowClan of our presence." Lynxspots said. "What's going on?"

The trees were throwing long shadows across the dip, and the hullabaloo of clan life had disappeared in its gloom. "I'm mulling over how long I'm going to have to spend frittering away my time in this blizzard."

"Same here. But I didn't mean it like that… I want to know what's troubling you, Stormcloud."

I hesitated. This was Lynxspots I was talking to. I didn't need to hide anything from him… did I? "Have you noticed anything strange about Friskfields lately?"

"If you're talking about that extra tail-length of height his legs racked up, I don't know where it came from either. That kid's whole life is a growth spurt. At this rate, it won't take long until he's towering over Mossjumble."

"No, I'm talking about his behavior."

"Huh, behavior?" Lynxspots said, looking thoughtful. "For all I know, he was never short from his usual happy-go-lucky self… but then again," he shrugged, "I don't know him very well, so who am I to judge? He's a good guy, but quite detached from his clanmates."

What reason would Friskfields have for keeping secrets like this unless I wasn't good enough a friend to him than I thought I was?

How could I even think myself a friend to him, after what I'd done and what I was doing now?

"I think I've really messed up."

"You haven't messed up." Lynxspots said. "And if you want to blame yourself, you've got to blame the whole clan too, for not noticing. Don't beat yourself up, kid. Whatever way is it that Friskfields is behaving, it's hardly your fault." He stood up from his place and stretched his limbs. "The count's dwindled. I'll head over and bring the clan, you stay here and keep watch."

I watched Lynxspots, forever the mentor, stalk off until he is out of sight. Maybe I could talk to Friskfields after the battle. As long as he's up for conversation.

It's the least that I could do.

I doze off without meaning to, exhausted by my thoughts. Time creeps and moments leaden, and when I finally wake up, all the shadows have died away, and my ears are flooded with screams.