Sandpaw's grief sits like an adder in her stomach, coiled and dangerous and ready to strike. Sometimes she can send it to sleep, but its scales are cold and its fangs are sharp, and it is only ever a matter of time until she finds that coldness again.

And time and time again, it's that kittypet that leads her to it.

ThunderClan is not so large that she can escape him easily. Avoidance is never an option, not even when she rushes out of camp so early and pushes her paws to stay out so late that her nest barely smells of her any more. She is always catching orange fur in the corner of her eye, and his scent alone lingering in the air is enough to make her nostrils flare. Somehow he is everywhere, and it means she cannot escape.

Thoughts of her father come unbidden. Firepaw's fur in the sun; Ravenpaw's wide, red-lined eyes; the body of her father wearing the mud of a whole territory and smelling less of him than of the ground. She cannot train. She cannot think. She cannot even sleep without the scent of kittypet sending her stomach lurching back to that day.

She's falling behind- and she knows it's because of him.

"The gathering is probably ending about now," Dustpaw mews, for once subdued as he picks at the feathers of a starling.

Sandpaw nods. "Probably."

"I'll bet it was boring."

Offering a half hearted smile, Sandpaw lays her head on her paws. "Maybe. Gatherings normally are. It's all just news."

"Not like when we went to the gathering," Dustpaw urges. "It was so exciting! And I thought Riverclan was going to start tearing up the grass, they were clawing the ground so much when Bluestar called them out-"

"Yeah, it was great." Sandpaw cuts him off to stand, leaving an untouched mouse behind. "I'm going to bring this to the elders."

"I'm sorry- I didn't mean to...you know."

Sandpaw's stomach gives a growl, but she ignores it. "I haven't done enough hunting recently. You know the rules, elders and kits eat first."

"But they have eaten- it's Greenleaf, Sandpaw!"

Dustpaw calls after her, but she's already gone. She hasn't felt hungry- really hungry, in a while. And she's not lying, either. She's hunted like a badger recently, plodding around the woods on paws so heavy they could weigh down the sky.

She hadn't deserved to go to this gathering, and even Bluestar knew it- that's why their leader had selected the new apprentice trio over her and Dustpaw. Her life is cobweb dashed by rain, and she cannot bring herself to reweave it.

The gathering cats file into the camp. Sandpaw drops her mouse by the edge of the elder's den and starts towards her nest. They have nothing to say that interests her. Harsh voices, mistrustful, call some treason or other- but Sandpaw focus instead on her paws.

What would it take, she wonders, to go back to the way things were? To run through the forest with bounds that would but a rabbit to shame, and hunt in brilliant boldness? Maybe she could still turn things around, become a good warrior- maybe even deputy some day, like her father had been.

But these paws are sore, and her father's body is cold. She could run or fight like she had in the days she now longs for- her body has not grown weak in her wanderings-but the one thing she cannot bring herself to do is care.

Still, her ears prick when Bluestar leaps up to Highrock. It's habit.

And her eyes jump to that orange pelt at the base of it. Another habit, and this one harder to break.

"It is time we discussed the real threat to our Clan: Brokenstar," Bluestar declares. "We have already begun to prepare for an attack by ShadowClan. WindClan has gone. RiverClan has given hunting rights to ShadowClan warriors. ThunderClan stands alone."

The clan ripples with discomfort.

Sandpaw, on the other head, finds her ears tilting forward in interest.

"I shall travel to the Moonstone tomorrow," Bluestar announced. "The warriors of StarClan will give me the strength I need to lead ThunderClan through this dark time."

Bluestar mutters a word to Lionheart and pads into her den.

"Moonstone!" Dustpaw sidles up to her again, untenable in his attempts to cheer her up. "Every apprentice travels there before they become a warrior. Maybe we'll get to go with her!"

His eyes, springing bright with hope, drop in a moment to dejection. Sandpaw follows his gaze and the adder in her stomach writhes: Lionheart speaking to Firepaw and Graypaw both, and she can just make out the word 'moonstone.'

"I don't think we'll be going," Sandpaw says.

And suddenly she finds herself craving ferocity.

If the attack on Shadowclan becomes reality, then she will push with all her might to be allowed to fight; and if she is not, she will find a way. She does not need to prove herself to a clan that does not want her- but she will reveal the facade of Firepaw's loyalty. He might have the leader's favor for now, but he will never fight like a clanborn cat.

He does not know what it means to love a Clan. His blood means nothing to the forest. And Sandpaw will remind everyone of the lie that they have harbored in their clan- he will be gone, and she will be allowed to forget. She would rip each strand of fur from the backs of Shadowclan one by one if that's what it will take.

Sandpaw's claws flex into the ground. She turns to Dustpaw.

"I'm going to practice my fighting moves. Are you in?"

He gapes at her. "But it's past moonhigh."

"Doesn't matter to Shadowclan. Doesn't matter to me." She stalks off once more, this time with a new beast writhing in her- and it feels like grief, but it tastes like revenge, hot and fierce and hungry. Perhaps one day it will taste like forgiveness. "Are you coming?"