PUSHING through the sawgrass, Sedgestrike let it scrape her face and body, not wincing or flinching. She hissed, breaking into a brisk pace until she splashed into the marsh. The heat bore into her dark brown fur, causing her black stripes to gleam. She stared at her reflection in the shallow, murky water, seeing a young warrior with pain in her eyes and anger in her expression.

"What do you want from me?" she cried out. "What…" She bowed her head, sobbing softly. "What do you want?"

"Maybe for you to calm down?" Batface's familiar husky rasp sounded from behind her.

Numb, Sedgestrike refused to turn around and face him. She noticed the water around her begin to ripple as he stepped closer, splashing softly through the marsh. Glancing sideways at him, she noticed mud smeared against his black fur up to his chest. He was a mess. She raised her head to gaze at him. Did he run to her?

"Sedgestrike," he rumbled. His scarred muzzle was not wrinkled with disappointment or frustration. Instead, in his orange eyes he held the one emotion she craved: understanding. "What are you doing?" he asked softly.

"I--I don't know," she admitted. "I… just needed air."

Batface nodded. "I can see why."

"Why did you come?" she asked, sniffling. "To keep me in check?" Sedgestrike managed a grin, her laugh weak.

Batface chuckled. "Those moons are over." He shook his head, nudging her broad shoulder with his nose. "I came to teach you how to weave."

Sedgestrike's ears perked. "You mean… the promise wreath?"

"Of course. I can't have you looking a fool during the festival; if you're going to propose, you have to do it the right way."

Sedgestrike's eyes gleamed. "Thank you, Batface."

Rolling his eyes, he flicked his tail under her chin as he passed. "Follow me. I'll show you how it's done."

Trailing after the old warrior, Sedgestrike slowly felt her spirits lift again. They waded through the marsh in silence. A gentle fluttering noise drew Sedgestrike's attention to the clusters of duckpotato and reeds that grew alongside them; within, she could see a flock of scarlet ibises scouring the mud for prey. Their bright feathers shone like fire, and from their hooked beaks dripped clumps of peat as they sought bugs buried in the murk. As they drew closer, the flock took to the sky, wings shining like rays from the sun.

Arriving on the sandy bank that rested just outside the path to the Starlit Springs, Sedgestrike watched as Batface stretched his legs with a grunt. The slightest slouch to his posture and the softest wheeze as he breathed reminded Sedgestrike of his age; her heart sank. She was his last apprentice. It would not be long before he would retire and become an elder… and then… Sedgestrike lowered her head, not wanting to ponder the inevitable. Instead, her thoughts wandered to something more pressing, more mysterious: the Order of the Destined Paragons.

Her mind begged to ask the questions: what made you a paragon? Why did you join? She kicked the sand thoughtfully, trying to map out her wording.

"I know it's been on your mind," Batface mewed. "You saw me at Father's Fang. You know I'm a paragon as well."

Sedgestrike nodded. She refused to believe her past mentor was like the other members of the Order; to her, they all seemed devious and self-centered… not to mention harboring a questionable agenda. Batface was the exception to the rule, and she desperately wanted it to stay that way.

"I joined when Pikestar was still in power," Batface explained. "I was exceptionally skilled in combat, and my loyalty spoke moons of my integrity. When I became an honor graduate alongside my partner, Talloak, I had no idea what I was in for--much like every honor graduate."

Sedgestrike's heart fell to her stomach when Batface uttered the name "Talloak." She stared at him, bewildered. "You…. knew my grandfather?"

Batface blinked slowly, not returning her stare. "I did."

"What was he like?"

"He… was a very proud warrior. He loved his job." Batface's eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. "He was headstrong, and his temper was infamous."

"Shaleheart never talks about him," Sedgepaw mewed. "I don't really know anything about Talloak."

"Your father never got along with him, but Talloak was also a hard tom to get along with."

"How did he pass?"

Batface stared ahead, contemplative. When he spoke again, the rasp in his voice was jaded. "He died in a pool of blood; he got into a scuffle with one of the Fallen, and he continued to fight despite being severely injured. I like to believe he would've lived a long life had he not fought so recklessly that day." He shook his head, brows furrowed. "It's a damn shame."

Hearing of her kin's bloody fate chilled Sedgestrike. She gazed up, finding the pale blue sky in-between the branches, and she wondered what possessed her grandfather to fight the way he did… and if she inherited his reckless abandon. She decided she did not want to think about Talloak anymore and changed the subject.

"So… the night you became a paragon… what happened? Did you…" She couldn't stand the thought of uttering the crux of the "initiation." Her paws ached at the memory.

Batface nodded slowly, tilting up his paw to show his soft palm; the pad was calloused and cracked, but it did not disguise the distinct scar that slashed across it. "We all have a destiny. I accepted mine just as you did yours. We musn't regret the path we've chosen; we were fated to be what we've become." His voice was husky as he spoke, thoughtful.

The talk of destiny weighed heavy on Sedgestrike's heart. She avoided Batface's stare, shuffling her paws. "I don't want my destiny," she admitted. The prophecy whispered to her repetitively, taunting her. She was born to be this way, to serve the Place of Eternal Night. But if that was true, why did it feel so wrong?

"You don't have to want it," Batface assured her coarsely. "It's yours regardless; you must make of it what you can." He quirked a brow. "Do you at least remember what I told you?"

Cracking a smirk, Sedgestrike nodded slowly. "Never give up."

"Right." His voice held a smile.

"So… You don't regret it?" she ventured to wonder, treading carefully.

"Whether I regret my choices or not… is a mute point." Batface stared ahead, his eyes filled with emotions Sedgestrike did not recognize. His words held a tempest, which churned and rumbled with a tumultuous past. "I've carried out the will of my leader and the Place of Eternal Night, as I was destined to do." His voice lowered an octave. "There's no room for regret."

Sedgestrike did not realize they were walking along the dusty path until after they stopped talking. Her brain felt ready to explode as it was filled with the mystery of the cosmos. Destiny's fickle . Batface veered off the trail, coming upon a willow that was swarmed with ivy at its pale gray roots. The drooping branches swayed down on the cats, brushing against their faces welcomingly.

"The ivy here is the softest and greenest," Batface told her, approaching the tree slowly. "Go anywhere else and you'll find soggy or blackened leaves."

Sedgestrike admired the ivy vines, for they spiralled gracefully up the gray willow bark like a tabby's stripes. The sweet scent of willow bark and jasmine filtered through the air, delightfully intoxicating. As Batface dexterously combed through the spiraling ivy vines, Sedgestrike watched with wide eyes. His eyes were half-shut as he pulled the long, thin vines, and they clung to his claws, hanging like unraveled yawn.

Never before had she seen the old tom look so peaceful. There was even a faint smile on his grizzled muzzle, causing his scars to rumple. She found herself smiling too. His artful motions, comb and pull, comb and pull, reminded Sedgestrike of the ebb and flow of the river water along the bank. A tranquil sigh escaped her lips as she sat beside him.

"The key is to be gentle but precise." As Batface collected more of the vines, he wrapped them neatly around his wrist. The star-shaped ivy leaves hung limply from the stems like accessories on a bracelet. "Whether you want to keep the leaves or pluck them is up to you. Just keep in mind they may wilt if you allow them to remain."

Sedgestrike nodded slowly, eyes glistening.

"Alright," he grunted, chuckling softly. "Stop staring. You need to do it too."

"O-oh, right!" Sedgestrike blustered, ears feeling hot. Hesitantly, she stretched out her paw, claws unsheathed, and raked at the vines. Her whiskers drooped when she heard an unsettling snap as the vines were torn, breaking in half. The remains dangled from her claws like stray hairs.

"Patience," Batface hissed. "And do not be so forceful. The vines do not need to be yanked free, just guide them toward you."

"Okay, okay," Sedgestrike rumbled, face burning with embarrassment. Her mind wandered back to their first moon as mentor and apprentice, when Sedgestrike recklessly discarded and cleaned the elders' bedding. She laughed softly.

"What is it?" Batface rumbled.

"I was thinking of the first time you sent me to clean the elders' bedding…"

"Ah, and you had that sodden moss strewn all over camp… It reeked." Batface shook his head, clearly not pleased by the memory.

Sedgestrike only laughed at his scowl. "I was so mad. I wanted to get a tour of the territory like the others… but nooo, I had a 'duty' to my elders."

"And they liked you better for it too," Batface asserted. "Once you were able to do it properly."

Sedgestrike smiled fondly, nodding. "I guess all that annoying stuff you made me do was worth it in the end."

"Ah, so you finally realize my tactics."

"It still sucked though," Sedgestrike deadpanned, laughing as Batface grunted.

While she reminisced with Batface, she did not realize her paws were working through the vines effortlessly. Once she was cognizant of her actions, she hesitated. The ivy was wrapped neatly around her paw, leaves dangling, but there was nowhere near enough to begin weaving a wreath.

"Don't think about it," Batface murmured. "Go with the motion."

Sedgestrike continued slowly, a smile growing on her muzzle as the vines came easier to her. More of the pale willow bark could be seen, gleaming like a silver star. She breathed calmly, feeling her nerves relax as the rhythm soothed her soul. She wished she could bottle this peace and keep it tucked in her heart forever. Maybe then, she would no longer be haunted by her destiny.

"That should be enough ivy," Batface rasped.

Sedgestrike nodded, patiently waiting as the older warrior worked at the vines, twisted and threading them together with his claws. He was able to loop and bind them so effortlessly, and Sedgestrike grew nervous at the thought of imitating him.

"You… proposed to someone?" Sedgestrike asked. Batface never mentioned having a mate nor any kin. She felt a pang of sympathy for him. Was he alone?

"A long time ago, yes."

"What did they say?"

Batface chuckled, his orange eyes glinting with humor. "Curious as always, Sedgestrike." He continued to intertwine the ivy as he spoke. "She said yes."

"She?" Sedgestrike smiled, eager to learn more about him. He rarely spoke of his past with her, or anyone, it seemed. She jumped at the opportunity to hear his story. "What was her name? What was she like?"

"Her name was Wisteriapetal." Batface's smile faded, and his eyes held sorrow.

Sedgestrike noticed his use of "was" and her heart sank. Maybe she shouldn't have asked. "I'm sorry you lost her."

"Death is inevitable," Batface growled. "But that doesn't keep me from wishing that I could stop it."

"What happened?"

Batface shook his head. "Enough questions, young warrior."

Sedgestrike bowed her head, feeling rotten for ever asking the question. She watched as Batface finished weaving the wreath, seeing the initial joy vanish in his eyes. It was replaced by a dismal glow. He was grieving. Whatever, or whoever, took Wisteriapetal from him… It still tortured him to this day. Sedgestrike lowered her gaze. If Blueflower died, she was not sure she would ever recover. The mere sight of her ignited such happiness in her; to think if she was gone, that light would never spark again…

"It's your turn, young warrior," Batface murmured.

Grappling at the ivy, Sedgestrike gingerly worked at the vines. She hissed softly when the stems got entangled in her claws, snagging. How did he make it look so easy? As she wrapped the vines in a messy weave, her frustration grew.

"Watch that temper," Batface warned gruffly. "You don't want negative emotions going into your work."

Sedgestrike nodded, grumbling to herself. She tried to think less about the weaving and more about who it was for. She imagined Blueflower's beautiful face, smiling shyly at her as she was presented with a perfect wreath; her voice, gentle as a dayflower's petal, uttering the one word Sedgestrike longed for: "yes."

Her reverie ended when she no longer had vines to twine. Gazing down at her paws, she beheld a wreath; while it was nowhere near as perfect as the wreath in her imagination, it was sturdy enough to withstand the journey to the orange grove. She smiled faintly.

"A job well done," Batface praised, purring.

"I hope she likes it," Sedgestrike mewed, voice shaking with nerves already.

"She will," Batface assured her. "In the end, it's not the wreath that matters, but the promise it symbolizes. If you two are serious about this relationship, the promise you make will withstand the tests of time and life."

"Thank you," Sedgestrike whispered.

Overwhelmed by emotion, she rushed to the old warrior, pressing her head beneath his chin with a loud purr. At first, Batface felt stiff, but soon he was purring with her, and rested his chin on her head as she nuzzled into his chest in a warm embrace.

"Alright," Batface rumbled. "Let's not get too sentimental."

Sedgestrike nodded, sniffling with a smile. "Yeah, yeah."

As Batface led the way back to the marsh, Sedgestrike followed behind with her wreath in tow in her jaws. She smiled contentedly. For once, she felt… at peace. The Place of Eternal Night felt like it was eons away as the sun shone brightly in the pale blue sky. The coldness of Whitestar's amber eyes was a distant memory as light warmed her fur. All she needed was a moment of tranquility, and the comforting presence of Batface. Finally, Sedgestrike had the confidence to tell herself that "everything would be okay."