a/n;; i'm posting this purely because i want to make sure that ffnet is properly tracking my wordcount oKAy so this may not make that much sense if you're randomly picking this up and reading it just straight off the archive ? these are rp characters in an au if that helps.

i wrote this for a friend for christmas! thank you for the sick prompt, storm! also thanks to minty minty mintflight for editing this you rock

trigger warnings for;; descriptions of gore, child abuse, emotionally abusive relationship, homophobia, mentioned transphobia, mild suggestiveness and canon-typical battle cat violence.

make sure you kiss your knuckles (before you punch me in the face)

a silkstar au

The leader of Fallenclan is asleep in her den. She's sleeping peacefully, curled into herself snugly, eyes shut lightly. As the white tom watches, she stirs in her sleep. Rolls over. Opens a single eye, groggy, before sliding back into a dreamless peace.

He lingers over her. His paw traces the gentle curve of her swanlike neck, and he unsheathes a single claw. He holds it over her, feeling the steady beat of her pulse, and wonders what the blood would feel like, beading beneath his paw. Wonders if it would stain his white fur, turn the den crimson.

If he was a different cat, if this was a different time, he would press his claws forward, and take out her throat. It seems so easy - a slash, and it would be done. She would be out of the picture. He could run out the den, claim it was a loner, or a stray fox, and he could become the leader within a season.

But he doesn't. It's too risky. There's a thousand other outcomes for that tiny motion forward. A thousand different lifetimes that could spiral out of control.

So instead, he steps away, and leaves the den. There's another way around this. He's sure of it.

He bypasses the hustle and the bustle of the ever-moving clan with a spring in his step, as an idea grows and blossoms in the mess of his mind. Echostar trusts him. Trusts him like she would any other clanmate. She's soft. Soft-bellied, soft-willed.

She'll take whatever he gives her.

He darts forward, sneaking into the medicine cat's den. It's blissfully empty, tanging faintly of dried herbs, and dead silent.

With a sharp-eyed gaze, he picks out the deathberries easily, and extracts two of the round berries from the pile. He hooks them carefully onto a claw, and bundles them with fat dandelion leaves. With his prize hidden away, he leaves the den again.

This time, he stalks to the fresh-kill pile, where he picks out a mouse, and stuffs the berries inside, leaving the leaves discarded on the side.

With a cunning smile, he picks the mouse up, and carries it to Echostar's den.

The leader is awake now. Ashsoar nods at him as he enters. He returns his sister's greeting evenly, and drops the mouse before his leader.

"Morning, Echostar." He says, bows respectfully, and gets ready to go.

Echostar dips her head to take a bite of the mouse. She looks back up, and he meets her gaze.

"Thank you, Silksong." She says, and he smiles.

It doesn't take long to work.

He gives her a mouse every few days. Not often enough to cause suspicion, but often enough that the sick days blur into one, and she wakes up every morning with the taste of bile burning her throat, and her vision spinning.

He only ever adds one or two deathberries. Too many would kill her, and he can't be having that. Not so early in his plan.

He thinks that his sister suspects something is up. And if not her, his friend - maybe, maybe not - Turtlespots does. He's an astute tom, as sharp with his mind as he is with his tongue. Silksong thinks that he doesn't suspect him of any foul-play, but he knows he must suspect something. The tortoiseshell gives him a certain look when Silksong goes to visit Echostar, and shuffles away slightly when they sit together in the evening.

He's decided not to dwell on it. They're not mates, not yet, though he has the feeling that it's in their future. And Turtlespots, despite his cunning, despite his loyalty to the clan, would not accuse him of anything, nor cut him off without proof.

And he's very, very careful that there's no proof.

He only ever gathers his deathberries when Clearstone is nowhere near the den. And if he doesn't steal the medicine cat's slowly depleting supplies, he takes them from the woods, sneaking them back into camp, hidden among bouquets of hastily gathered flowers, and blood-tufted feathers, wrenched from pigeon's wings.

Nobody ever asks questions. So he continues.

Day by day, Echostar grows weaker and weaker. He walks in one morning, and watches her rise from her nest., Ashsoar is stooped behind her, a haunted expression dusting her narrow features.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, and Ashsoar solemnly shakes her head.

"She's lost a life," She replies, in a hushed whisper. "The sickness is getting worse."

He bows his head to that. "I'm sure Starclan will act mercifully." He says, and Ashsoar goes to reply, but Echostar interrupts her.

"Ashsoar," She says, her voice raspy. "And… and you, too, Silksong." She takes a long pause for breath. Her chest rattles. "This-this is my last life. When…" His glee bubbles silently beneath the surface, because he knows, he knows that the next stage of his plan is only a short while away now. "When… when I go, I want you both to take care of this clan."

Ashsoar is fighting back tears. Silksong feels like he should be doing the same, so he swallows hard, and sharply, and screws his eyes shut until they water. "We will." He says, and he isn't lying. It's all he does want to do. Take care of the clan.

He just knows that a few cats wouldn't like the way he wishes to go about doing it.

She's dead three days later. All it had taken was four deathberries in a bloated rabbit, and by the time he'd next visited her, she'd been sprawled out in her nest, body already stiff with death.

Ashsoar looks stricken while they bury her body. Silksong is grimly aware that she hasn't said a word to him since they'd discovered Echostar.

He's not expecting her to pull him to the side. He's not expecting her to ask him a question he's waited moons to hear.

"Silksong." She says. Her voice is tired, but determined. It's how she's always been. "I want you to be deputy."

He blinks at her, surprised. He is surprised. He was expecting this, but not so soon. He was expecting to have to take out some other cat before this was his future, before he was offered what he's wanted for as long as he's been a member of Fallenclan.

"You do?" He asks. He tries to seem humble.

She gives him a long, hard look, a trace of grief still present in her gaze. Scrutinizing. He wilts somewhat, and waits for her to find her answer for the unasked question.

"Yes." She replies finally. "I do. You care, Silksong, and that's- that's what the clan needs." Her voice crumples as she finishes talking, and he pats her firmly on the shoulder, hopes he can provide some false comfort.

"I'll be deputy, if you'll have me." He says, stooping low into a bow.

She doesn't look like she's going to reply, fixing him with another long look, amber eyes sharp as flint. He waits, holds his breath for a heartbeat, and turns to leave, but his sister stops him with a tail on his shoulder.

"Thank you." She whispers, and pads away.

He watches her go, and swallows back a muffled sound of triumph.

Turtlespots is rarely a jealous cat.

He finds that jealousy can twist a cat. Shape their ambition into something unsavoury, something almost cruel. He saves his jealousy for the little things, things he can dismiss in passing.

The fact that his two best friends are at the very head of the clan isn't a good reason for being jealous. He's not jealous. He's pleased for them. And while he wishes, sometimes, that he could be standing up on the ledge beside them, he doesn't wish them any harm.

It's a perk, really. He never gets given any early morning patrols. Silksong has quite the soft spot for him.

(Really, he knows that the deputies' affections for him run deeper than that, but he's waiting for the other tom to make a move.)

And Ashstar's promised him an apprentice soon, any day now, and he can hardly wait. He feels like becoming a mentor will be the final sign that he's fully accepted within the clan, that he's a honoured and valuable member.

All in all, he's content.

He ducks out of the warrior's den, and glances around the camp before making his way to the fresh-kill pile. As he picks out a magpie, he listens to Silksong arrange the morning's patrols, blissful in the knowledge that his name won't be included.

"And Tigerfang, I'd like you to head out with Fernshard and Whitemist. Just head to the river and back, see if you can pick up any prey. Brightwing, Pinelight, and… Ivyleaf, you can check on the rats." Silksong pauses for breath, before carrying on. "Don't engage, remember, just watch them."

"Alright," Ivyleaf says, the senior warrior taking control of his patrol. "You got that?" He says, turning to the other cats on the patrol.

Turtlespots watches Pinelight roll her eyes. "Don't fight rats." She says. "Got it."

The patrol leaves shortly after that, and Silksong hops down from the ledge, making his way towards Turtlespots. Turtlespots shifts slightly to the side, leaving a space for the cream-coloured tom to slip beside him, but Silksong takes a detour.

He picks up a rabbit, and darts up to Ashstar's den, pausing briefly to grab something - Turtlespots squints, but he can't work out what it is - from a nook in the crooked wooden wall of the camp. He fiddles with the rabbit, flicking at it with a paw, before ducking into the shadowy opening of Ashstar's den.

Turtlespots blinks after him, curious. He's seen Silksong get prey for his sister before - seen him do it plenty of times. He did this once upon a time for Echostar. Silksong does it often enough for him, too, depositing a fat vole or sparrow (his favourite) by his paws for the pair of them to share. It's strange, though, he doesn't often hesitate before dragging the prey into the den.

He supposes it was just an unusually heavy rabbit.

He waits for Silksong, copper eyes narrowed as the air grows still where Silksong brushed into the den, shifting from side to side on his haunches so he doesn't grow stiff. It's cold out now, and he gets aches and pains from the chill easily.

Eventually, his friend (that word doesn't quite seem to fit anymore) slinks back down from the leader's den. Turtlespots gives him a slight nod, and twitches his tail to gesture to the empty spot beside him.

"Morning," He greets. "Have you been out yet today?" He asks, and Silksong looks at him like he's spat in his prey.

"Have you seen outside of camp?" He replies. "No. No, I have not. It's freezing, and it's raining. It'll ruin my fur."

Turtlespots chuckles softly. "And that's more important than making sure the territory is safe for the clan?" He teases, and winces at the tone of his voice. He sounds too - he doesn't even know, but he doesn't like it.

"Well, of course not." Silksong says, puffing his chest out, self-important. "But my fur is also important."

He looks just slightly ridiculous, preening like that. Turtlespots would tell him so, but he decides against it, and settles for flicking Silksong in the side with his tail.

"Whatever you say." He says. Silksong narrows his eyes at him, but doesn't say anything more for a few moments.

"Have you eaten?" He eventually asks instead, already stretching to get up. Turtlespots shakes his head.

"Not just yet," He paws gently at his magpie. "I was waiting for you. Would you like to share?" He pushes the black-and-white feathered body towards Silksong, and the cream tom looks almost startled, before nodding.

"Yes." Blue eyes narrow, before Silksong seems to remember something, and swallows thickly. "Please, I mean. Thank you."

Turtlespots finds himself chuckling to himself again, and hides his amusement by diving into the magpie, feeling the crunch of brittle bones and feathers beneath his jaws.

"So, are you busy today?" He asks, swiping a sandpaper tongue around his muzzle to clear away the faint traces of the magpie. He's always eaten quickly. Silksong eats with neat little bites, careful not to spill a slither of bird-flesh.

"I am." Silksong seems put-out by this fact. "Ashstar wants me to go and look at the Stone Pools after that patrol gets back. And then there's more patrols to run, and…" He sighs, and Turtlespots blinks at him, sympathy clear in his copper gaze.

"Sounds tiring." He says simply.

"It is," Silksong agrees. "And it means we can't go hunting or anything later. I feel like we haven't done that in agesssss…" He draws the word out. Turtlespots feels like he shouldn't find it as enduring as he does. "And I miss it. I miss you."

There's something in the way he says it that makes Turtlespots pause. Silksong has shared this sentiment with him a dozen times, in a dozen different ways, but there's- there's a tone in his voice, and a quiet look in his eyes, and Turtlespots can't help but ask himself if this is really going to happen here, and now.

"Yeah, I miss you too." He admits, and nudges Silksong in the shoulder. "Tell you what… Do you have time before that rat patrol gets back?"

Silksong narrows his eyes. Hope flashes in them. "Yeah, I should."

Turtlespots stands up. Lifts his chin. "Race you out of camp, then." He challenges, and starts to run. Silksong follows right behind him.

He doesn't think he's going to win, but he doesn't really care.

His sister was impossibly smart. She could lead the clan through times of crisis, holding her head high against the pressing tide, using nothing more than her will and her words to fix things.

But Starclan…

She was stupid.

Silksong couldn't believe he'd been able to pull this off for so long. The careful stuffing of Ashstar's morning or evening prey with plump berries, the fact that she hadn't questioned her continued sickness. Recently, he'd taken to adding poppy-seeds to the berries. It left her clumsy and disoriented. Cats were beginning to lose trust in her; he'd heard them murmuring behind her back, when they thought he couldn't hear them.

Sometimes, he felt bad about it. Felt ashamed that he was weakening the clan in such a way, that if something happened, it would be his fault.

But he consoles himself with the knowledge that his clan deserves greatness, and he's the only cat who can really provide that. Everyone else seems to pale in comparison, even the soft glow of his sister.

So when she wakes up one morning with a croaking cough, unable to leave the den, having been sapped of another life in her sleep, he knows that this is his chance.

"Ashstar," He asks quietly, and she still winces. She's plagued with headaches, now, vicious migraines that seem to bite into her mind. "Do you want to go hunting?" He's careful to speak slowly. Clearly.

Still, she's straining to hear him. It takes her a few moments before her sleepy mind connects the dots, and she nods, rising shakily to her paws.

She looks like she's not fit to leave her den, let alone camp.

It's perfect.

"Where… where were you thinking of going?" She asks. On her way out, she manages to dip her head to the warriors, milling around the center of camp. Turtlespots raises a questioning brow in Silksong's direction, which he shrugs back at.

His mate can believe this was Ashstar's idea. It'll be easier that way, he thinks.

"Oh, just to the Stone-Pools." He says, and her eyes stay dim. She doesn't recognize the name.

"Alright." She replies, stretches, and starts to pad out of camp.

He follows after her, hiding his slowly spreading smile.

It's a wonder they end up at the Stone-Pools. Ashstar doesn't look like she knows where she's going. At one point, she takes a sharp turn towards the tumbling waterfall, and he has to guide her back on the path with his tail.

When they arrive, he stops.

This is the part that he feels is going to be a bit trickier. He needs to actually persuade her to enter the Stone-Pools, to duck into the foreboding crumbling entrance-way. He has difficulty getting even the most battle-hardened warriors to patrol around the area. He doubts he'll get his sick sister to enter the large den with ease.

To his surprise, she steps in front of him. She's unsteady on her paws, swaying from side-to-side, like she's had one too many leaves of catmint. Still, she jerks her head towards the Stone-Pools, a quizzical look present in her gaze.

"Aren't you going inside?" She asks, and he pauses, before nodding.

"Yeah, just… after you." He explains, somewhat lamely. She doesn't question it, and pads inside. She's still graceful, somehow, even if her gait is stumbling. Her tail swishes out, disturbing the orange fallen leaves behind her.

He lingers in the entrance, and waits for… something. He knows why he's here, but he knows that the rats won't appear without being forced out.

It's completely silent. He could hear a rat's heartbeat in the quiet.

Then, she coughs.

And then all hell breaks loose, and he can barely get himself out of the Stone-Pools in time, a fat rat nipping at his tail as he sprints away.

Behind him, he can hear his sister's shocked cries. She's just that - shocked - at first, but he knows that it'll change soon enough. Once the rats stop just tasting her and really go in for the kill.

He can't leave them to it, though. On the off chance that his weakened, sick sister manages to fight the rats off, he'll need to finish the job. He doesn't want to - he'd never wanted to hurt her, nor hurt Echostar, but it's all for the good of the clan.

She lets out a scream, then, and he turns on his heels to watch.

In the dim light of the Stone-Pools, he can see Ashstar, body swollen under the weight of a few dozen rats. They cover her, head to toe, fangs sunk into her slim body. He watches a particularly big one knock her head back, and go in for her throat.

She doesn't die straight away. It's painful to watch - she sinks down quickly, unable to stop fighting, but the rats don't stop. They just gnaw into her, like a dog with a bone.

She rises again after a brief while, and he realises, with a quiet thrill, that she's lost a life. She's lost a life, and she surely, surely doesn't have many left to go, because his mischief with the berries has sapped her of them over the moons.

He watches her rise, and fall again, and this time, she doesn't get up.

The rats matt over her, covering her body again, and he lowers his head, deciding to leave them to it.

One of his eyes tears up, and he leans into it, forcing tears. He needs to play this next part perfectly. Return to camp sobbing, tell them Ashstar fool-hardedly went off to fight a battalion of rats without waiting for him, and that there was nothing he could do. Show them the last remains of his sister.

Return back to camp, and then head back to the Stone-Pools to finally, finally be crowned as leader.

Even as tears stream down his cheeks, he triumphantly smiles, and lifts his head to the sky.

Silkstar, he thinks, has a nice ring to it.

Turtlespots is proud.

Of course he is. How could he not be? His mate - because they'd managed to sort that out, find a quiet interlude between them - was leader. It was all Silkstar had ever spoken about as an apprentice, and even more so as a warrior. His ideas of grandeur had slowly dried up as the tom became a deputy, Turtlespots suspected that it was because he didn't want Ashstar to feel as though her leadership was on a time-limit, but he also knew Silkstar had still wanted it.

His mate had all he had ever wanted and more, and Turtlespots was proud of him. So, so proud, but-

But for some reason, things felt like they'd shifted.

It wasn't just Ashstar's absence in their group, as much as she was sorely missed by the clan, Silkstar's leadership went in a similar direction. He focused on hunting in training, with a few combat training sessions scattered here and there. He was tough on the borders, though he'd allowed a few loners and kittypets to join if they'd proved themselves.

Turtlespots can't work it out.

He decides it isn't worth worrying about. If he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong… well, there was probably nothing wrong at all. It was just him, and his paranoia, guiding his misjudgements and suspicions.

He almost certainly is being overly concerned about nothing. If anything, Silkstar's leadership had been better than Ashstar's. He had only been leader for two seasons, but the cream-white tom had made significant efforts to make the clan a safer place to live.

Everything seemed closer-knit. Silkstar asked his senior warriors to report to him about going-ons in the clan every evening, and patrols were expected to report to the leader, now, instead of the deputy. While Silverwing was still trusted to organise patrols, Silkstar managed to decipher the day's news better.

Turtlespots knew that life was better.

But still, he feels unsettled.

As he leaves the warrior's den, facing the early morning sun, he looks around. Everything in camp seems normal.

A barrage of kits skitters past him, and he dodges them, just barely. They're big kits, he thinks they must almost be apprentices. One of them spins back around, amber eyes wide with something akin to fear.

"Sorry!" He squeaks. Turtlespots shrugs him off.

"It's fine," He says. The kit still seems scared. He's Tigerfang and Fernshard's kit, Turtlespots recalls. He still misses Fernshard, no cat had ever worked out how her death had happened, but Silkstar had solemnly promised that no cat would ever die like that again.

Pebblekit - Turtlespots remembers that that's his name - gulps, and starts to say something, but Turtlespots brushes him off. "Really, it's fine. Get back to playing with your friends, kid."

Pebblekit doesn't say anything more, just nods sharply, and starts sprinting to catch up with the other two kits, one brown, one a pale white.

Turtlespots shakes his head, and carries on through camp. He spots his apprentice, Lilypaw, at the fresh-kill pile. She's talking to Blazepaw. (He's noticed that happening rather a lot.)

"We're going out hunting at noon." He tells her, and carries on walking. She flicks her pointed tail in acknowledgement, carrying on with her conversation.

Around camp, cats slowly begin to wake up. Silkstar is still asleep in his nest. Turtlespots knows this, he'd snuck out of there to make his way to the warrior's den before the rest of the camp could wake up. They're not officially paired yet. Some older warriors found the sharing of dens between unpaired cats somewhat scandalous, and Turtlespots didn't like to cause trouble. (Somehow, trouble always finds him anyway.)

He steps out of the way to allow Snowpaw and Shadowpaw past. The grey tom is explaining something in slow, methodical signage, letting Snowpaw follow his every move. The white tom's eyes are wide as he takes in the signage, clearly trying to memorise the slight dips and changes in Shadowpaw's slow movements.

Turtlespots thinks that signage would be something good for the whole clan to learn, and he decides to mention that idea to Silkstar. If only to make Shadowpaw feel more comfortable with the way he communicates.

He pads out of camp, heading to the river. He finds the river peaceful. Especially when it's like this - slow-flowing, and shallow, so he can trace a paw into its murky depths.

Taking a seat by the bank of the river, he closes his eyes for a brief moment, taking in a lungful of air, crisp with the flow of water. It tastes fresh on his tongue.

His peace is shattered by a different scent becoming known to his senses. He pauses, and opens his eyes, standing up with a low grunt.

"Hello?" He calls out. No response. He wasn't expecting one, trespassers rarely announce their presence. "Who's there?"

There's a slight rustle in the bushes, and he unsheathes his claws, sneaking forward with a determined expression. Whatever it is - he's going to chase it out.

When he grows closer to the bushes, he finds the source of the noise.

It's just a cat.

A tom, he thinks, striped with black and brown. His amber eyes glinter in the dim of the undergrowth. He doesn't look scared, not how Turtlespots would have expected him to look. He knows that some of the younger apprentices in camp can sometimes find him intimidating, and so far, that had extended to loners and strays he'd run into.

"You're trespassing." He tells the tom sternly. "This is Fallenclan territory. Didn't you smell the scent markers?"

"Oh, that's what they were?" The tom asked, nose wrinkled. "I thought some fox had died."

Turtlespots blinks at him, affronted.

"No." He says, slowly. "No, a fox didn't die. They're how we mark our territory." He pauses. "If you scented them, why did you cross them?"

"I was chasing after a mouse." The other tom says. "Is that a crime?"

"It is if it's a Fallenclan mouse."

"That doesn't make sense." The tom snaps. "How was I supposed to know that?"

Turtlespots is tired of this already. He wriggles his haunches, getting ready to give chase, and remove this cat from his territory. "Because of the scent markers?"

"We've already established - they smell like dead fox." The tom said bluntly. "Besides, I've crossed them like, a thousand times before, and nobody has ever said anything." There's a moment of quiet, where Turtlespots ponders over if this tom has given up. Clearly, he doesn't have any such luck. "Then again, they don't see me."

"You shouldn't be sneaking onto our territory." Turtlespots scolds. He frowns, tilting his head to the side. "How don't they see you? I scented you from a badger-length off."

"You Fallen-whatsits seem to be preoccupied." The tom explains. "The cat that I saw a while ago seemed too busy with leaving some poor soul to these rats."

Turtlespots blinks at him, narrowing his eyes into thin slits with suspicion. "What cat?" He asks. "And what rats?"

The tom takes a seat, plonking himself down into the grass like he's been given an invitation. "So, I was chasing after this rabbit. I smelled that weird dead-fox scent, and ignored it, because the rabbit was close."

Turtlespots huffs with frustration. This cat clearly had a point, but Turtlespots just wants him to get to it. "Right. Got it."

"Anyways, I caught the rabbit." The tom continues, like Turtlespots hadn't interrupted him. "It was an easy catch. Your rabbits are slow."

"Get on with it." Turtlespots instructs. He wants to get back to camp, now, he knows he has an afternoon of hunting to get back to.

The tom blinks at him, slowly, and sleepy-eyed. "I can just leave. This is your Fallenthingy."

"Clan," Turtlespots corrects him quietly. "But… sorry, I suppose. Go on."

"I ate my rabbit." The tom goes on, licking his lips to demonstrate. "And I was about to bury the bones and leave, but I hear voices, and hide behind a bush." He flicks his tail towards the bush he's crouched in now. Turtlespots wonders if it's that much of a common occurrence. "There's these two cats. One of them look like she's completely pissed, if you don't mind me saying-"

"You're fine." Turtlespots grunts. "Carry on."

"Yeah, so, she's going from side-to-side, and he waits for her in front of this old building. Proper run-down place, I've seen way nicer meeting spots in my time." This comment causes him to pause for a few moments, eyes growing glazed over. Turtlespots is about to startle him out of it, but the tom seems to get there first. "Anyways, she goes in, and he follows after her. And then she just starts screaming, and he comes running out, covered in rats. He shakes them off, and then he just… he does nothing."

Turtlespots blinks at him, because that doesn't sound right, and all of a sudden there's a heavy ball of dread plummeting in his stomach, because dear Starclan he can't be talking about- surely not?

"He does… he does nothing?" He manages to get out.

"That's right, ma'am-"

Turtlespots cuts him off with a repressed shudder.

"That's sir, if we're going by formalities." He says, fighting to keep his voice from shaking, because this story sounds awfully familiar, and he wants to rip his skin off if the tom is talking about what he thinks he's talking about. "Though you can just call me Turtlespots."

"Ah." The tom nods at him. "Think I'll do that. And I'm Puzzle." The tom - Puzzle - gives him a little half-nod, which Turtlespots returns, janky.

"Right." He swallows thickly, trying to phase his next question. "Did the cat… did he go for help? Or anything?"

Puzzle looks like he's thinking for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, he didn't." He tells Turtlespots. "Not until she'd stopped screaming. Or moving. Then he headed off." He looks down at his paws. "He started crying, then. But he was… he looked happy?"

Turtlespots frowns, trying to digest that. "Could you tell me what the cat looked like?"

"Sure I can." Puzzle replies. "He was this creamy white colour. And he had eyes the colour of this river."

Turtlespots blinks at him, and shakes his head, mostly to himself. "Right. Thanks." His mind races. That description matches exactly, and yet-

And yet, it can't be right. Puzzle must have been mistaken. Must have seen Silkstar (because that's the only cat it could be) do something else entirely.

"Are you alright-" Puzzle starts to ask.

"Yes." Turtlespots cuts him off. He doesn't know how to answer that question. And he doesn't want to confront it with someone who is essentially a stranger. "Thanks, Puzzle." He forces out. "You can catch a piece of prey before you leave the territory." He says, and gets up, and walks away.

Puzzle calls something after him, but he doesn't hear it.

He just starts walking, and thinking. It couldn't have been Silkstar. Silkstar wouldn't kill his sister. Silkstar wouldn't, couldn't have, it just wasn't like him-

Turtlespots thinks he's having a breakdown. The realisation, strangely, manages to calm him.

He's not going to make any rash decisions. He's going to sit tight in camp, and hunt with his apprentice like he usually does, and keep a careful eye out for any strange behaviour from his mate. He's certain he's just overly paranoid. It wouldn't surprise him.

He's spent most of his life being tossed to the side by his clan. He feels like it's only natural that his mind has drawn him to this conclusion.

With that, he turns to walk back to camp.

Silkstar didn't kill Ashstar. He's almost certain of it.

But that 'almost' is going to haunt him until he knows for sure.

Silkstar established within the first few moons of being leader that it was not an easy task.

It was hard. He felt like the balance he was expected to find was a very, very narrow precipet, and with one wrong decision -

Well, everything would go tumbling at his paws.

But he'd managed to find that balance. For the most part. There were one or two things that had cropped up over the seasons, decisions that made some of his clanmates question his authority. They were just little things, though, small decisions, like making an apprentice clean out the elder's den for leaving camp without approval. The same kind of punishments Ashstar, and Echostar before her, would have handed out.

As he nears his fifth season as leader, he finds that everything seems harder to hang on to.

It's not like he's losing the clan's respect. He's not. He's still well-liked. He's still seen as a good leader, skilled, and sharp.

He just…

He doesn't want his power to slip. He doesn't want to suddenly become complacent, and suddenly find that he's not listened to. He doesn't want to find out that his word isn't respected.

So he changes things.

Just slightly. Not enough to cause panic, or raise suspicion. He just comes down harder on rule-breakers. Sends them out alone in the forest for a night, instead of making them clean out a den. He feels like it's harsh, but if he has a good reason for it, it isn't questioned.

Turtlespots confronts him about it, the day after he sends Pebblepaw out to sleep in the woods. It was at his father's request, and Silkstar likes to listen to his senior warriors. Tigerfang is a good warrior. He did a good job with Ivyfrost, and Silkstar sees no reason to ignore his concerns.

"Why'd you do that?" Turtlespots asks. They're lazing in the leader's den. They've started doing that more and more often. Silkstar doesn't see the den as some sacred ground, unable to be touched by any cat other than him.

Silkstar sits up, looks at him. "What?" He gets out from behind a yawn. "Babe, you're going to have to be more specific-"

Something passes over Turtlespots' expression. It's an echo of annoyance, and Silkstar bites his lip. He doesn't like arguments with his mate - they rarely happen, but when they do, they make him feel sour on the inside. Bitter. Rotten, almost. Torn up internally.

Not because he's upset Turtlespots. But because he feels like he's losing control.

"Why'd you listen to Tigerfang." Turtlespots says. It's an accusation. "You and I both know he's bad news. Have you heard how he talks to his kits?"

Silkstar swallows. "I think he's just strict." He defends himself, frowning. "And Silverwing also told me he'd gotten distracted again, and missed his catch, so it's not like Tigerfang was lying-"

"But really?" Turtlespots cuts in. "Sending an apprentice to sleep in the woods?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine." He says, lamely. "How else is he going to learn discipline?"

His mate narrows his eyes, then. He looks worn. Tired. "Not like that, Silkstar." He says slowly. "Not like that. Maybe just… have Silverwing teach him some other tactic?"

That suggestion leaves a bad taste on his tongue. "I did ask that." He confesses quietly. "He still couldn't catch anything, so…" He trails off, and Turtlespots looks dangerous when their eyes meet again.

"So?" Turtlespots challenges, jutting his chin out.

"So I took matters into my own paws." Silkstar explained. "It's for his own good. Anything I do is, he's not going to learn if he doesn't feel like he has to-" Abruptly, he stops.

He doesn't have to explain himself. Not to Silverwing, who had crumpled like a moth in the rain when he'd reminded her that her position as deputy was temporary. Not to his mate, as close as they are, as long as they've been together.

"He'll learn." He says, and rolls over, facing away from Turtlespots.

He's expecting that to be the end of the conversation. He's expecting Turtlespots to mumble something under his breath, and shut up, and sleep.

Instead, he hears the ruffling of moss, and feels something poke into his back as the nest shifts.

Turtlespots stands over him, copper eyes glittering like stars in the quiet dark of the den.

"I'll see you in the morning." The tortoiseshell tells him, and strides out of the den.

Silkstar rolls onto his back, and stares up at the roof of the den, wondering how he can find the right balance again.

He wonders if he's lost it for good.

They do speak in the morning. It's stilted, and Turtlespots seems stiff, awkward with switching into the ease of conversation, but by the end of it, things seem normal again.

"I should probably head out and hunt…" Turtlespots says, and Silkstar flicks his tail. He's pleased. He doesn't have to dramatically change anything. He can just continue on, like normal.

"Good luck," Silkstar tells him. "Catch me a vole." He teases lightly, and Turtlespots gives him a somewhat shaky smile. It's a smile, though, and he can relax.

As Turtlespots pads off, there's a sudden disturbance at the entrance of camp. A grey-spotted tom brushes through the bushes. Pebblepaw. He's dishevelled, fur all over the place, one clump missing. It reveals a harsh looking scar, tearing over his shoulder, and Silkstar's blood runs cold for a moment as he realises something.

He doesn't think about it for too long, though. Mainly because he doesn't care. Tigerfang is a good warrior. He can disciple his kits however he likes - Silkstar doesn't see it as his business.

Secondly, there's a skinny, grey she-cat following him out. She's small in stature, and she looks weak. Silkstar could count her ribs.

"I found her in the woods." Pebblepaw explains, voice shaky. At the sound of his voice, a pair of apprentices duck out of the apprentice's den, and pad up to him, flanking Pebblepaw. They look protective. And angry - Sandyskip's son (she insists he isn't, but Turtlespots has informed him multiple times that Sandyskip is just bitter) is aiming a pointed glare in his direction.

"And you brought her back here?" He questions. The she-cat doesn't look like she'd make a good warrior. There's not enough meat on her slender bones.

"Yeah?" Pebblepaw replies. "I wasn't gonna… I wasn't gonna leave her to die in the woods, so…" He pauses. "She's just a kit."

The she-cat does just look like a kit.

Still, Silkstar isn't going to give in that easily.

"Did you feed her?" He asks, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, I did. I… I, uh, caught the mouse myself." Pebblepaw looks proud at that, his chest puffing out.

The reactions of his friends are massively different. The pale she-cat - Crystalpaw - shakes her head quickly, out of sight of Pebblepaw. Kestrelpaw's eyes widen, panicked.

Silkstar curls his lip.

"You fed a loner with prey from our land?" He questions. He spots the exact moment where Pebblepaw realises he's fucked up - the tom's neck fur spikes, and he takes a stumbling step back, brushing shoulders with his friends.

"I- no!" Pebblepaw backs out quickly, but they both know the damage is done. "I didn't- I mean, I did, but she was starving, I couldn't just let her die."

"That prey could be the difference between life and death for one of your clanmates." Silkstar starts. His voice is low, dangerously so. "It's leafbare. You know what happens when the prey runs out?"

Pebblepaw hangs his head. "Sorry." He mumbles.

Silkstar thinks for a moment.

If he throws the loner out, then he'll be seen as callous, and cruel. He'll lose the approval of the clan - she is, afterall, little more than a kit.

But he can't allow Pebblepaw to get away with it. That would weaken his authority. Make him seem weak. Without a spine, without a backbone.

"She can stay." He decides. "But she'll need a name." He pauses. Sinks down to the kit's level, makes eye-contact with her. It makes his skin crawl. "What's your name, little one?" He asks, adopting the same soft voice his mate uses for the apprentices. Something caring, but rough around the edges.

"S…Stone." The she-cat answers weakly.

"Right." He nods. "You'll be known as Stonekit, then, here. Do you know how old you are?"

"Erm," She pauses, flicking her ears back. "Six… six moons, I think."

"Six moons." He repeats. "Well, you'll be an apprentice before you know it. You've just got to recover a little, first."

She nods at that, hesitant. He returns the nod, encouraging, and allows Rosebush - pregnant with her own litter - to sweep her away to the nursery.

"Now," He starts, and when he turns back towards Pebblepaw, he sees the stark fear in the tom's eyes. His friends are still crowding him. He finds it funny that they think they'll be able to stop him. "Where were we?"

"I'm… I'm really sorry." Pebblepaw manages to get out. "I'll-"

"No, no. I'm talking." Silkstar narrows his eyes. "You know, I can't think of a decent punishment for… for what you did. Nothing quite seems to match." There's a flash of relief in Pebblepaw's eyes, before Silkstar lifts his chin. "I think I'll leave that up to somebody else." He says.

Pebblepaw doesn't seem to get the message.

"I'm sure your father can think up something better than me." He finishes, and the look of abject horror on Pebblepaw's face is all that he needs for his final piece of proof.

"No!" Kestrelpaw calls out, before Pebblepaw can say anything. "That's not- c'mon, that's not fair."

Silkstar raises a brow. "No?" He asks.

Pebblepaw speaks before either of his friends can say anything else. "Guys, it's not worth it. It's fine."

"It's not fine, he knows- he must know, and he's just going to-" Kestrelpaw splutters. Silkstar's lip curls.

"I'll be fine." Pebblepaw repeats again. "I promise, like, what's- what's the worst he can do?"

Silkstar lets him bounce back and forth with his friends for a few moments before speaking again.

"If that's all," He says. "You're dismissed. Get to your duties."

He doesn't say anything more. Just turns, walks away, with the thrill of power burning a hole in his chest.

Turtlespots is scared.

Throughout his life, he's been scared of a lot of things. The dark, sometimes. A loud noise in the dead of night. The vile scent of fox when he's on a solo patrol.

He hasn't ever been scared of his clan, though. His clan is safe. It's a quiet place of refuge, filled with the cats he loves, and cared for.

It was safe. Once.

It doesn't feel safe anymore.

Something snapped in Silkstar. There's no other explanation for it.

It hadn't been sudden. The cruelty and fear had been, but Silkstar's thirst for control had been present throughout his leadership. It had snuck up on Turtlespots, secretive but blatant, like a serpent hidden in the undergrowth.

He had always known that his mate was ambitious. But he'd never thought that Silkstar's ambition would lead to corruption of the clan.

The first warning signs - the additional punishments for wayward apprentices, the longer patrols - they started almost a season-cycle ago. In the moons since, the clan has only become more twisted. It doesn't quite resemble the clan it once was.

And strangely, Turtlespots is the only one who seems to notice it. Every other one of his clanmates is complacent. They let the days pass by, not questioning the fact that Silkstar suddenly seems to have an intimate knowledge of every cat's thoughts. Their fears. Their insecurities. Their private defeats and triumphs.

It's not only that. He's harsh. He lashes out without reason. When Stonewhisper arrived, it had started a trend. Silkstar turns around more kittypets and loners than he doesn't. As of late, he's only allowed the younger cats to join, the ones he can shape into something of his own liking.

Turtlespots likes most of his new clanmates. He likes Patchpaw, and the tom's gentle wit, and quiet intelligence. He likes Troutpaw's silent determination to prove himself as something more than what he is, what he was.

He doubts they'll stay for long. Patchpaw looks jumpy every time Silkstar comes prowling over to him. He's certain that Cedarpaw is the only thing keeping him tied down to the clan. Troutpaw, despite having blood in the clan, seems to be disliked by his denmates. He has half a mind to have a word with Beepaw about bullying, but that behaviour seems to be encouraged by Silkstar, now.

Silkstar had decided that the clan's mantra was survival of the fittest. It turned Turtlespots' stomach to see the way things had changed. All of a sudden, queens and elders were no longer fed first, no longer seen as the priority. All of a sudden, you could eat whilst on patrol if you were a warrior.

All of a sudden, things were spiralling out of control, and Turtlespots seemed to be the only cat noticing it happening.

He spends most of his days the same. This one is no different.

He rises with the sun, leaves the leader's den as quietly as he can manage. Still, on his way out, he knocks over a propped up branch, and holds his breath, waiting for Silkstar to wake.

Thankfully, the white tom stays asleep. Turtlespots takes a moment. Looks at him. Wonders how someone who looks so innocent in sleep could be so different when the sun is up. He shakes that thought off, and leaves Silkstar to rest.

The camp is deserted as he leaves. All apart from the nightwatch, who wave at him sleepily as he passes. Moonstorm and Pebblestep are on watch together, which makes him wince. Moonstorm's kits are barely four moons old. She shouldn't be made to sit out all night, waiting for some invisible invader to enter camp.

Strangely, she's the one out of the two properly awake, sitting up straight with her tail wrapped neatly around her forepaws. Her brow is furrowed, and she doesn't speak to Turtlespots as he passes.

Pebblestep seems to be fast asleep.

Turtlespots stifles a slight chuckle at that, before sombering. If Silkstar found out…

Well, he doesn't want to find out what might happen.

He narrows his eyes at Moonstorm. She stares back at him, gaze empty. He wonders if she ever notices that he's here.

Until she frowns, and stoops, wrapping her tail around one of her kits, waiting by her side.

He blinks at her, and inches slightly closer to the queen.

"You shouldn't have-" He pauses. Lowers his voice, attempts to dampen some of the gruffness of his tone. The kit by her side is Acornkit, he thinks. "You shouldn't have Acornkit out here. Not at night, it's too cold."

"She doesn't sleep well without me." Moonstorm explains. "And Silkstar's put me on nightwatch for the past three days, so… she's pretty tired."

Acornkit yawns, almost to prove Moonstorm's point, and shifts against her mother's side. Her eyes open, just a crack, and she nestles closer against Moonstorm. "Wanna sleep in the nest," The little she-cat says, surprisingly undisturbed by his presence. "It's cold, here, and I want moss."

Turtlespots chuckles softly at that. "Look, Moonstorm," He starts. "If you wake your brother up, you and Acornkit can go into the nursery. Look, the sun's up. The first patrol will be heading out soon, I'm sure Silkstar will be fine with you leaving now." He pauses, and flicks his ears back. "I'll talk to him when he wakes up, anyway, and tell him I let you."

Moonstorm nods at him, looking almost grateful. "Right," She says, and stirs Acornkit to her paws. "Thank you." She waits for a few moments, and twists to the side, jabbing Pebblestep in the side.

Pebblestep wakes up with a groan, head lashing from side-to-side, before he realises where he is. He nods sleepily at Moonstorm, and clambers to his paws. "I'm awake, I'm awake…" He says, groggy, head already slipping down to his chest again.

Moonstorm rolls her eyes. "You need to finish the nightwatch." She instructs. "I'm going to sleep." She stretches her words out, spells them out slowly.

"Gotcha." Pebblestep says, shuffling on his haunches, and Turtlespots takes it as his cue to leave.

He makes his way through the territory, side-stepping fallen branches, and clogged pathways, eyes sharp in the morning light. He's planning to head down to the river. See if he can catch some fish, fill up some hungry bellies. Just one large fish can feed the elders, he knows that.

He crouches at the riverbank. Sand and small pebbles lodge into his paws, and he raises a heavy paw, shaking the excess off.

It's not bright enough for shadows yet. He can fish without being too concerned about that.

He dips a paw in, shanking his claws towards some poor trout or pike. He misses the silver-scaled creature by a vole-length, and swears under his breath.

"Having trouble?" A voice calls from across the river.

He looks up, hackles rising, before relaxing. The figure across the river is friendly.

"No." He replies, shortly. "Besides, what advice are you going to give me? You've never mentioned being much of a fisher."

Puzzle gives him a look. They've barely spoken. Turtlespots doesn't know why that subject would come up, aside from the fact most of their conversations take place besides the quickly flowing river.

He's barely seen Puzzle since the day when his world seemed to spin on its axis. Occasionally, they brush shoulders on the border. Turtlespots will tell him to stop stealing prey. Puzzle will make a quip back about how prey isn't technically his property. They'll pad off, Turtlespots feeling like he should have asked more questions about what Puzzle saw that day, so many moons ago.

"I'm not." Puzzle says. "But you seem like even less of one."

"The fish are just being stubborn today," He counters, flicking a paw forward again, and bringing a glimmering bass to the surface. It thrashes under his loose grip, and he tightens his paws, digging his claws into the fish's throat. It dies within his grasp, gasping out for air. "Not this one, though."

"Mind sharing that catch?" Puzzle asks. Turtlespots wonders if he's joking. "I haven't eaten yet today."

"Neither have our elders." Turtlespots tells him gruffly. There's a look of sympathy on Puzzle's face, plain to see.

He wades into the river, water coming up to his belly. "Why not?" He questions as he scrambles up the side of the bank. When he stops by Turtlespots, he shakes off his wet pelt, sending dots of sparkling water all over the tortoiseshell. Turtlespots only grunts with displeasure.

"Change in the rules." Turtlespots answers, and leaves it at that.

Puzzle, however, doesn't. "That's not cool, man." He says. "Elders… they're like older folk, right? Grandads and Grans."

"Well, if you put it that way… yes." He nods, stiffly. "They can't exactly hunt on their own. Not in the middle of leafbare."

Puzzle looks blankly at him. His jaw is slack with confusion, head tilted to the side. "Leaf-what?" He repeats, something in Turtlespots' manner of speaking throwing him.

"Leafbare." Turtlespots says, slowly. Just in case Puzzle hadn't heard him. "When it's cold. And there's no leaves on the trees." He adds, as an explanation. He thinks that surely 'leafbare' has an obvious meaning.

"Oh." Puzzle says, eyes closing briefly, as if in thought. "Huh. You clan cats have funny words."

"Like you're any better." Turtlespots points out. "What, exactly, is a hoo-man?"

Puzzle tuts, shaking his head. "Y'know what, I can't be bothered to debate this with you again." He pauses. "Anyways… are you okay?" There's a real expression of concern echoed on the tom's face, something etched into the curves of his brows and the slope of his downturned mouth.

"I'm fine." He responds stiffly. "Just… I've been thinking lately."

"There's a change." Puzzle butts in. Turtlespots thinks it's an unfair comment - he sees himself as a smart cat, not the most intelligent, but he comes up with a clever idea every once in a while.

"Thanks." He grunts. "I mean… over something you said. A while ago."

Puzzle's demeanor changes subtly. He shifts where he's sitting, shuffling so he's not as close to Turtlespots, so they're not quite breathing the same air. His brow creases more. He looks worried.

"Is this about the rats?" He says.

Turtlespots nods.

"Yeah," He says, fighting to keep his voice steady. "It is. I mean. Not just about the rats, exactly, but what happened that day." He pauses. When he speaks again, his voice trembles, shaky, and uncertain. "I think you saw what you thought you saw."

"You believe me?" Puzzle asks. "Because I didn't think you did. Not when I first told you."

"I needed proof," Turtlespots explains. "And for a while, that… the cat you saw, doing that, it just… it didn't make any sense." He stops talking, for a moment. Just to reassess his thought process, to slow down. He doesn't like speaking and having his words come out jumbled, smattered with pauses. "He's… the white cat you saw. His name is Silkstar."

"Silk…star." Puzzle murmurs. "That means he's the leader, yeah?"

"Yeah." Turtlespots sighs. "And he's my mate. And for a while, I thought he'd… he'd never, ever do anything like that. Not to Ashstar. Not to anyone." He swallows. Sucks in a breath. "Ashstar is… I mean, was, his sister."

"He left his sister to the rats?" Puzzle asks, eyes growing wide. "What? Why- what?"

Turtlespots just shrugs. "I don't have a fucking clue." He says, his voice bitter, and harsh. He feels heavy. Like a sinking stone. Nothing makes sense, and he feels sick, and he half wants to leap into the river, and stay there. Hold his head underneath and pray that when he came up for air, the world had rightened itself.

"Yikes." Puzzle says, and whilst it's banal, it's a comfort to Turtlespots. Nobody else has registered that there's something deeply, completely wrong for the past four seasons.

"Yikes." He echoes, feeble. "There's nothing I can do, though." He mutters.

"Why not?" Puzzle asks, raising an eyebrow. "Could you not… talk to him?"

"What would I say?" Turtlespots questions. He accuses, really, his tail lashing out, like some wild beast. "How could I ask him why he killed his sister? He wouldn't give me a straight answer."

Puzzle frowns, before nodding. "Yeah, that's a fair point." He mumbles. "Still, it's not exactly right, is it? That a cat could do something like that, and just… get away with it?"

"No, it isn't." Turtlespots says. He sounds numb. "I can't… I can't stop him on my own, though." He adds, and he swallows back bile at how weak he sounds.

Because he isn't a weak cat. He never has been. He's shouldered more burdens than most others in his clan, and he's withstood the loneliest fear of all - feeling equivalently pained by his existence in his own body.

Therefore, a simple conversation should be a cakewalk.

However, he knows he can't.

Silkstar is all he's ever known. From the moment the blue-eyed tom walked into the clan, and into his life, Turtlespots' solitude shrunk. Suddenly, he wasn't the only cat occupying his existence. Suddenly, he had friends. Someone to hold onto. Someone to look for. Something to live for.

He can't throw that away. Not for this. Yet that makes him feel like a traitor. A traitor to his clan, to poor, dead Ashstar, and everything she stood for.

It makes him feel like a coward.

And he's never been a coward.

He steps towards danger. He doesn't run from it.

"You don't have to." Puzzle says, cutting through his dizzying spiral of thoughts. "There must be some more cats who've noticed that something's up."

Turtlespots thinks he must be clutching at straws, but that's for the best, because he never would. "Yeahhh… maybe. I think there's one or two young warriors who don't like the way the clan works." He starts to reflect on the behaviour of the young warriors in camp. Ponders over if they've ever reflected that particular sentiment to him. Most young cats seem to have an issue with authority, though he doubts that it's a Silkstar-centric thing.

"Good." Puzzle smiles at him. One of his canines hook slightly forward, bumping up. "Ask around. See if you can get some cats on your side before you do anything."

"Yeah, good idea," Turtlespots says, and stands up. He stretches, wincing when he hears the delicate bones in his back, along the bumps and ridges of his spine, crack. He's getting old, he realises, whether he likes it or not. "Thanks, Puzzle." He dips his head to the loner, and Puzzle returns his nod.

"Don't mention it." He says, and starts to wade across the river again. Turtlespots thanks Starclan that the banks of the winding river haven't burst with water, becoming swollen from the rain.

He waits until Puzzle grows out of sight before he turns around, starting to head back to camp. He keeps the fish from earlier clamped in his jaws. It's tempting, really - he can smell the thick, heady scent of it, the rich stink of the oil, the scrape of the scales against the underside of his mouth, but he knows he can't take a bite.

His belly growls. He dismisses it. The fish belongs to the elders.

He's almost back at camp when a shadow emerges from the trees in front of him.

The cat is large. His muscles are defined, and coiled tightly. The shine in his blue eyes resembles the cruel precision of a redkite.

Silkstar stands before him, accusation written into the snarl on his face.

"So," He starts, stepping forward. Turtlespots copies his movement, stumbling backwards. Silkstar isn't that much taller than him - and Turtlespots is a large cat himself, brawny and muscular - but he looks positively monstrous, crowding Turtlespots up against a tree. "You know, then."

Turtlespots doesn't stop to question how Silkstar could have found that out so quickly. "I do." He confirms. His claws dig into the rain-softened earth before him, body wrung out with anticipation. "And you can't try and defend it or anything, you can't try and dress it up all pretty, and make it seem okay-"

Silkstar cuts him off. When he speaks, his voice rumbles. "Oh, my dear Turtlespots…" He starts, and his teeth bare into a snarl. "I wasn't going to." He finishes, and lunges forward.

Turtlespots' head hits the tree, and he doesn't get a moment to think, to process, before everything fades from his view, and he sees nothing but blank, blank, black.

He doesn't always intend to cross the scent lines.

Sometimes, they're weak. The scent doesn't carry until he's far into Fallenclan territory, and by that point, he's intent on catching his prey.

This time, he'd wanted to leave. Wanted to get away, because all of a sudden, everything seemed much less safe. He'd known that there was one twisted cat among the group, but now that Puzzle knew that the cat was the leader…

Well, he didn't want to get caught straying behind enemy lines.

He'd attempted to make his way out the long way. Whilst it made his paws ache more, made the back of his legs burn like he'd sprinted, it was quieter. There were less drifting scents, less chance of running across someone unfriendly.

He hadn't planned on getting lost.

He's a skilled traveller. He has to be. He's been travelling for moons. Once upon a time, he had company, had his sister by his side, but not anymore. From a time, he had his sister's mate, and his own mate, but he longer has that. He just has himself, and a mind full of restless memories.

He supposes he's just been thrown off. The shock from the cold water has jumbled his mind, and now he doesn't know where he is. It's confusing. Puzzling.

(Something in the back of his mind chuckles at that.)

All of the splinters in the path ahead of him look the same, and he's sure they'll wind up meeting in the middle.

With a huff of frustration, he picks a path at random. It pushes him deeper into the territory, with thick bramble bushes springing up along the fringe of the pathway. A trailing bramble loops around his paw, and he has to yank it free, the thorns digging into the softness of his skin.

There's a quiet noise up ahead, and he stops in his tracks.

It sounds like a cry. It's nearly silent; he can't work out if it's a cry of a small prey-animal in pain, or a cat.

He decides to head towards it. If it's a piece of prey, he can bag himself a free meal. If it's a cat, he can help them, and then be on his way. Hopefully, he could ask for directions, and find his way out with ease.

Stumbling, he forces his way through the brambles.

As he makes his way through to the other side, he has to pause.

Because the cat in front of him is horribly, horrifically mangled. Their stomach is gashed, soaking the ground before them with blood. Their eyes are wide, scared.

Puzzle blinks at them for a few moments, before opening his jaw, slack. The cat is Turtlespots, which is impossible - the tortoiseshell is one of the toughest cats he's ever met.

He can't stop for long. Every moment he spends gawking is another moment Turtlespots spends bleeding out on the dusty ground.

He crouches at his side, and holds a paw to the tom's abdomen. Blood gushes beneath his pawpad, and he winces at the feel of it. It's sticky, and the rich scent of ivory makes his nose twitch.

The blood isn't stopping, and Turtlespots starts panting, and Puzzle almost wants to run away.

But he isn't going to.

He's spent most of his life running away. Sometimes, he'd look at it as running forward. Running after his sister.

This time, it would be an escape.

He claws for a blackberry leaf, and shoves it roughly against Turtlespots' side. The blood starts to slow, becoming sluggish.

The relief makes his shoulders go slack.

He waits for a few more moments, and begins to nudge the tom awake. He looks up, groggy, and confused.

"Turtlespots," He starts. "You're… you were attacked. I think it was a badger, or something, but there isn't any scent-"

Turtlespots cuts him off with a rasping cough. "It wasn't a… it wasn't a badger." He huffs out. Puzzle doesn't interrupt him. Instead, he allows the Fallenclan warrior to catch his breath, get his words together. "It was… Silkstar attacked me. He heard us."

Puzzle thinks he must have misheard him at first. He could have sworn he'd heard Turtlespots say that Silkstar was his mate, and whilst his own mate (... ex-mate) had been somewhat pushy at times, he'd never, never do something like this.

"He did this?" He asks, outraged. Turtlespots nods, and almost passes out from the exhaustion of doing so.

"I think I can stand." Turtlespots tells him abruptly, and goes to stand up. Puzzle isn't surprised at all to see him almost kneel over from the pain of it, and he ducks to the tom's side to allow him to lean on his shoulder.

"Sure you can," Puzzle replies. "Let's just… let's just get out of here. And then we can decide what to do next."

Turtlespots nods. His eyelids are already beginning to close, and as Puzzle starts to walk away, he begins to wonder when he counted himself as part of a 'we'.

When he wakes up, his side aches.

Turtlespots comes to with a rasping gasp, eyes shooting open in remembered shock. He doesn't know where he is. He just knows that it isn't his nest.

He's outside of camp, he thinks. The air is fresher than the stuffy scent within the leader's den, stirred by the wind. He takes a crisp lungful, and winces, because that hurts just as much as breathing.

There's a familiar scent beside him. He can't roll over and check, though.

"Puzzle?" He asks, and he hears the cat next to him stir, and wake up.

"You're awake." Puzzle says, voice smeared with sleep.

Turtlespots nods, and decides against doing so again. "Yes." He replies croakily. "How long have I been…not awake?"

Puzzle hums thoughtfully, a thick sound in the back of his throat. "Maybe… maybe three days? Might be more."

"Three days?" Turtlespots repeats, shocked. He can't quite believe that. Three days sounds both too long and too short. "I… thank you." He murmurs.

"For what?" Puzzle asks. Turtlespots feels his ear twitch.

Turtlespots swallows. "For not letting me die." He replies, and feels his eyelids slip close with sleep again.

Things have been different for him in the past half-moon, Silkstar reflects. He's standing besides a quickly-flowing stream, paws dipping into the current. He has nothing better to do than think, and stew in his thoughts.

From the day he arrived back in camp, paws soaked with his mate's blood, he's changed his tactics. Changed his way of looking at things, changed his view of the clan, and how to run it.

He's been far, far too lenient.

He didn't think he was a cruel cat. Didn't think that he would end up enjoying doling out punishments, watching the fear on other cat's faces.

But all of a sudden, he's beginning to crave that rush.

He knows that makes him sick. Twisted. Knows his sister is rolling over in her grave, and Turtlespots is too, if he had one.

(He presumes his mate has been eaten by wild foxes. When he'd gone back to where he'd taken care of Turtlespots, the ground had been thick with fox-scent, and blood had been smeared across the tall grass, dripping off the trailing greens in a thick consistency.

That fact doesn't bother him. Very little does, nowadays. Now, he doesn't care that kits are going days without eating, or that he's freezing some sickly apprentices to death, out alone in the woods.

Nothing matters apart from the clan. And him.)

But he doesn't care that he's now seen as some cruel tyrant. Doesn't care that the sight of him makes cats spew bile. He's come to learn that nothing matters, apart from himself, and his own sense of being.

The clan has come to fear him.

He doesn't care. Fear is better than ignorance, than indifference, as being seen as yellow-bellied and weak. Fear means that he's listened to. And he makes them listen - he has a group of senior warriors to make his word known. And Silverwing. He would feel bad for her, if he could. Her mind had been muddled by a bump to the head, and ever since that moment, she'd been clay in his paws.

He finishes washing his paws in the stream, and pads back to camp. He feels like maybe his paw-washing has become a tad obsessive - he cleans them before and after every meal, every hunt, before he sleeps, even.

He can't help but feel that the scent of blood is clinging to them.

With a sigh, he puts that thought behind him, and brushes into camp. Any noise that there was instantly stops; instead, whispers begin, low, and indistinguishable.

He chuckles.

He can hear them.

He can feel them.

Siren gave him a great gift.

He pricks his ears, and smiles to himself. There's not a murmur of discontent. He can sense the thoughts of the cats milling around - Specklekit is thinking about being taken out to look for flowers, Troutpaw is anxious about something, and Pebblestep radiates fear.

It's a normal day in camp.

He struts through the mass of cats, clambering up the slopes the twolegs once crafted, and retiring to his den. As he settles down in his nest, he hears quiet talking outside, by the fresh-kill pile.

He allows it. It's irrelevant chatter, really, and none of it pertains to him.

He closes his eyes, and slips into a dreamless sleep.

He wakes up to the sound of sobbing, and Silverwing quietly informing him that a handful of kits and apprentices had been taken by a group, and that she didn't think that they were going to make it back.

The news is a surprise. He wasn't expecting the group to act so soon, at the least - he'd turned away a group of runaways a quarter-moon or so ago, and they'd told them that the Claws were bad news. He'd heard them talk about the things they'd been through, and let them go anyways. His reasoning had been that they wouldn't be much of an asset to the clan. There were only four of them - three toms, and one she-cat. They were all skinny, weak. The youngest tom didn't seem to have the capability to talk.

They would have been useless to Fallenclan.

He'd known about their existence anyways, from a pair of young apprentices who he'd allowed to join before that option had closed. They sounded like a threat at the time, but only if you bothered them first.

And he'd had no intentions to do so, so he hadn't worried too much.

He still doesn't worry now. The cats taken hadn't been senior warriors. Just apprentices. Kits. Falconkit, Acornkit, Brownpaw, Cinderpaw, and Streampaw. Nothing to worry about, really. Moonstorm and Stoneleaf would be in absolute disarray about it, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care about them.

He closes his eyes briefly in thought before leaving his den. He's got a speech to say, and he knows he needs to do it right. Do it properly, do it somberly, so his clan buys his words, his reasonings behind not sending out a search party.

If they don't buy it, he'll make them.

Pebblestep doesn't see himself as particularly brave.

He never has been. He's a shying coward, most of the time, only brave in his quiet, every-day decisions. He feels brave when he nods at his brother instead of ducking his head. Feels brave when he tells his sister to not snap at her kits. Felt brave at his warrior ceremony, and later, at his pairing ceremony, pouring his heart out beside the riverbank.

But he's never done something this brave.

It feels more foolhardy, now he's getting ready to leave. He's gathered a small patrol. A patrol to rescue the taken cats. Feathersong, Falconkit, and Acornkit are his priority, though every one of the missing cats needs to be returned to the clan. He didn't ask Silkstar for permission - mainly because he didn't think that the leader would give it. He hasn't said goodbye to his family yet, nor his friends. He hopes he'll make it back before they even really notice that he's gone.

He's stalling as he waits for Frostpaw to grab some travelling herbs from Clearstone. He feels nervous, padding back and forth by the camp entrance, attempting to act natural.

Moonstorm walks past him, Specklekit and Fernkit following after her. He feels a sharp pang in his heart as he looks at the two kits. They should have their sisters with them. Moonstorm shouldn't look so utterly downtrodden.

"Ma, where are you going?" Specklekit asks. Pebblestep takes a step back. He doesn't want to get involved.

Moonstorm doesn't even look over her shoulder when she replies. "Out." She says, voice gruff.

"She's leaving us, stupid." Fernkit snaps. "She's going to look for Falonkit and Acornkit. Again."

Specklekit's face screws up. "She's not leaving us, then, she's going to come back! And she'll bring Falconkit and Acornkit back with her-"

Moonstorm whips around suddenly, the force of it almost startling a noise out of Pebblestep. "I won't." She snarls. "I can't do that on my own. If your father was here, maybe he'd help, but he's-"

Pebblestep decides to step in. "Stoneleaf is with Briarkit and Dovekit." He says slowly. "Fernkit, Specklekit, why don't you go and join them? Just so I can have a quick word with your mom."

Fernkit sticks his tongue out at him. Pebblestep is oddly warmed by the gesture. "No! I don't want to do that, I want to help look for my littermates."

"Well, you can't." Moonstorm says bluntly. "Now. Stop bothering the grown-ups, and go to your father."

"Moonstorm…" Pebblestep warns her, voice low. "Don't talk to Fernkit like that."

"Maybe he shouldn't talk to me like that?" Moonstorm snaps at him, tail lashing. "Maybe, just maybe, he should think about cats other than himself for once? Maybe he should, you know, care about his mother?"

Pebblestep ducks his head. This isn't what- this isn't how he wanted to say goodbye. He wanted to leave without any fanfare, instead of a loud, crashing argument. "He's a kit." He says tightly. Moonstorm's words always leave him with a bad taste in his mouth.

"A kit who needs to be quiet, and listen to me." Moonstorm tells him, eyes narrowed with righteous anger. Pebblestep understands her. He gets why she's so angry, so pent up, so desperate to find a fault with anything she can find, but he also knows that Fernkit doesn't deserve it. Any of it.

"I'll go and look for them," He says. It's a bargaining chip. She thinks he must mean down by the river, where they were taken, instead of leaving camp. "You should get some rest."

Something like relief flashes in her gaze. "Fine." She spits. He didn't know why he expected her to accept the help peacefully. "I'll go and rest."

"Thank you." He murmurs, dipping his head. "You two should try and sleep, too." He tells Fernkit and Specklekit.

Specklekit nods eagerly. "Okay, uncle!" He says, voice high and chirping. With that, his nephew plods off, without another word to him or Moonstorm.

Fernkit stews in his anger for a while longer, before padding after Specklekit, paws heavy against the ground. Pebblestep watches them until they're both tucked into the nursery, before turning back to Moonstorm. She nods at him, and follows after her kits.

As he turns around again, he spots Frostpaw. The tom is carrying a bunch of herbs in his jaw, and he goes numb, because he knows it's time to leave.

This is the part he was dreading.

He drags himself out of camp. He knows he'll be fine once he's far enough away, but for now…

But for now, all he can think about is how he left without saying goodbye.

He lets that thought stew as they meet up with Logpaw and Tallpaw, and their short journey begins. He thinks about what he would have said as he pads by their sides, and half-wishes he could run home to say goodbye properly.

When he hears a voice calling after him, he thinks he must be hearing things.

"Pebblestep!" It sounds like Crystalflight.

Then, louder. "Pebs!"

His eyes, almost closed from the exhaustion of being on his paws, fly open.

He spins around, and sees Kestrelpool and Crystalflight, tearing towards him, sprinting along the side of the river.

"Guys?" He says, stepping towards them, pulling away from the patrol. "What… what are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same to you." Kestrelpool says, as they grow close enough to talk properly.

He winces at that. He shrugs towards the patrol, knowing he's not going to be able to lie to his closest friend, and his mate. "I…" He swallows, thickly. "I couldn't let them just… just take our clanmates. My family." He defends himself lamely.

"And this patrol is going to get them back?" Crystalflight says. "No offence, Pebs, but this patrol is just kits."

"Hey!" Tallpaw yelps. Pebblestep is mildly surprised that he even managed to hear.

"Frostpaw and Tallpaw are almost warriors," He points out. "And Logpaw is a really good apprentice. We'll be fine."

"But will you be?" Kestrelpool asks. There's something in his voice that makes Pebblestep pause. "I just… I don't want you to get hurt, and these cats are bad, Pebs."

"I know they're bad." Pebblestep murmurs. "They scare the shit out of me, but- I can't- they can't just get away with taking our clanmates."

Kestrelpool swallows. "What if they take you too," He starts. "And then we- I never see you again."

Pebblestep raises his chin. "I won't- that's not going to happen. Once we've got the captured cats out, it'll be…" He counts the amount of captured cats, plus the patrol. The number isn't that great, so he doesn't say it. "It'll be easier to overpower them." He says instead.

Kestrelpool gives him a long look.

"I can't stop you, can I?" He says, and Pebblestep slowly shakes his head.

"No, you can't." He whispers. "Sorry. I just- I have to do it. I have to. Or I won't be able to live with myself."

Crystalflight steps forward. Nudges him in the shoulder fondly. "Don't die." She whispers into his ear, only half-joking, and he nods as she steps away. "I'm serious!" She adds, and he winces as her eyes bead with unshed tears.

"Noted," He chokes out, and is promptly almost bowled over by his mate's embrace. He makes a soft noise as the air is forced out of his lungs, and covers it with a cough.

"Sorry," Kestrelpool apologises into his fur. "Didn't mean to do that. Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine." Pebblestep whispers. "Promise."

"Good." Kestrelpool says, and pulls back. Pebblestep meets his gaze, and forces a tight nod.

"I'll come back." He says quietly. "I'll see you again. I promise."

"You better," Kestrelpool half-jokes. The attempt falls flat. "I love you." He adds, stepping away. "See you soon."

Pebblestep swallows, and looks to the distance at the patrol waiting for him, and the winding expanse of the river.

"Love you too." He murmurs, and steps away, towards the land his heart is screaming at him to avoid.

Retrospectively, Logpaw thinks this may have been a stupid idea.

She's barely an apprentice. She still has kitten-fluff in her ears. She's soft around the edges, and so, so not ready to do this.

But they took her brother. They took her brother, and she'd only just started to believe that he wasn't going to get taken into the arms of Starclan.

It had been touch-and-go, a few moons ago. The only reason Brownpaw had survived was because Silkstar insisted on keeping catmint stocked at all times of the year, not just leafbare.

She doesn't really know what they're going up against. Someone had thrown the word 'cult' into the mix, and that's all she can think about. She doesn't know what that word is supposed to mean - just that it sounds violent.

"Cult." She says out loud to herself, testing it out on her tongue. It comes out sharp. She feels like it should make her mouth bleed.

"What was that?" A voice asks. It's the leader of their little patrol, Pebblestep. He looks like he doesn't want to be here, either, but like her, he has ties. Acornkit and Falconkit are his nieces. And Feathersong, taken just yesterday, is his brother's mate.

He has cats to rescue, and cats to get back for.

She doesn't. It's just her, now they have Brownpaw. She has her denmates, but they're nothing more than that.

She frowns down at her paws. "Nothing." She mumbles. She doesn't want to seem stranger than he may already think she is, whispering to herself.

He hums in response, clearly lost in his thoughts. Logpaw wonders what their strategy is. The group - cult - must have the captured cats hidden away somewhere. Somewhere where they can't just easily sneak in, and free them.

Still, she's quick on her feet, and as agile as a spider in a web. She's sure that once they're into the territory of the group, they'll be fine. They can scope out the area, and free her brother, and all the other cats, and be back for the sunhigh meal.

Pebblestep pauses in his quick-paced walk. His half-brother behind him stops too, and Logpaw almost stumbles into him. Tallpaw frowns at her, and she offers him an apologetic flick of his ear.

She doesn't quite know why Tallpaw is here. Frostpaw, she understands - his mate was taken, and they have a bond that she's unfortunately all-too familiar with. Her and Pebblestep are both here for their families. Tallpaw has family taken by the group, but he's never seen as close with Moonstorm's litter as Pebblestep.

She suspects he's just trying to impress Ashpaw.

With a heavy sigh, she glances around their group. Her paws are cold. She feels like it's far, far too early in the morning to be out and walking.

"I think we're almost there." Pebblestep says. "I can scent them. Well, uh, the scent from where… where the others were taken."

"Cinders said he grew up near them," Frostpaw interrupts him. He's brash, driven by his love for Cinderpaw. Logpaw wonders what it's like to love someone like that. So fiercely, in such an all-consuming manner. Frostpaw reminds her of a forest fire. "They live near those twoleg buildings. Just outside our territory."

Logpaw nods, but doesn't say anything. She doesn't have anything to offer.

"So we're just going to storm in there?" Tallpaw snaps, his tail lashing. "And… and what? Just ask for them to hand our clanmates over?"

Logpaw frowns to herself. Surely, surely, that's not the group's plan.

Because that seems like suicide.

"What?" Pebblestep wrinkles his nose. "No! Of course not, we're going to scope out the area. And then, when we've found them, we'll create a distraction, and then they can escape." He looks quite pleased with himself at his plan, Logpaw thinks.

"I can be a distraction." Frostpaw offers. He looks nervous. But decided on his suggestion.

Pebblestep blinks at him. "I don't think you'll need to do that," He says. "And besides, I'm older. I'll do it."

"You have cats to go back for, though." Frostpaw says. His voice is small, and somewhat sad. "You have a mate. Brothers, and sisters, and more relatives than I can count, I just have…" He trails off, shuffling his paws. "I just have Cinderpaw. If we don't get him out…"

(Logpaw relates to that. Being alone in the world, all except for one cat.)

"We'll get him out." Pebblestep promises softly.

There's a brief moment of silence, where the promise sinks into Frostpaw. Logpaw twitches one paw, letting the moment pass by around her.

It's broken by Tallpaw.

"Rightttt…" Tallpaw says slowly. "And then we can go home." He finishes.

"Yeah, we can go home. You can get your girl-"

"She's not my girl." Tallpaw finishes, flushing.

Logpaw shoots him a small smile. "Not yet." She says, quietly, and her companions seem surprised to hear her voice. That surprises her - she's not a chatterbox, but she's never been shy. She just doesn't see the need in talking unnecessarily.

"Not yet." Tallpaw agrees, looking hopeful, his whiskers twitching. "But yeah, I can- I'll talk to Ashpaw, and you can rescue your lame brother-"

"Tallpaw, that isn't very nice." Pebblestep says. "How would you feel if… if Cedarpaw or Bristlepaw talked about you like that?"

Tallpaw rolls his eyes. "They do that anyway. It's not much of a difference."

"Cedarpaw doesn't." Pebblestep reminds him. "But, uh, yeah, you're probably right with Bristlepaw."

Tallpaw nods, before turning to Logpaw. "Sorry." He mumbles. "For calling your brother lame."

"S'fine." Logpaw replies, with a slip of a shrug. "He's not here to hear it."

Tallpaw dips his head at her, before turning back to Pebblestep and Frostpaw.

"Anywayssss…" He begins. "Logpaw can get Brownpaw back, you-" He flicks Pebblestep on the shoulder with his tail, The spotted grey tom doesn't look particularly impressed. "You can get Feathersong out, and, uh, Nutkit?"

"Acornkit, Tallpaw." Pebblestep reminds him. "She's your niece. Well. Half-niece."

"Right. Yeah, sorry." Tallpaw's ears flatten against his head, before he goes right into talking with the same brashness again. "Anyways, you can get Acornkit and Falconkit out, and then Frostpaw here can kiss his boyfriend, and we can go back to camp."

Frostpaw flushes at that. Logpaw feels almost sorry for him - his embarrassment shows plainly on his snow-white fur. "I mean, I'll check if he's okay, first." He says with a shrug.

"Great." Tallpaw lifts his chin. "So we have a plan, then?" He asks. Logpaw sees his eyes shift to Pebblestep, searching for his half-brother's approval, craving it.

Pebblestep nods back. "I suppose so," He says. "You're missing out on the part where you get your warrior name."

Tallpaw's chest swells with pride at that. "I thought that bit was going unsaid?" He jokes, though Logpaw can tell he's pleased.

"Like you wouldn't have brought it up-" Pebblestep starts, and stops dead.

Because there's an unfamiliar, yet familiar scent creeping up on them, something dead smelling, foul. It stinks of dogs and crowfood. Logpaw's nose wrinkles.

"What's… what's that?" She whispers, and rises on her haunches to get a better look. There's nobody nearby.

She doesn't trust her eyes.

With a deep breath, she launches herself at the nearest tree, claws sinking into soft wood as she claws her way up. Her lungs scream in her chest, but she ignores the pain. She needs to see-

As she pulls her way up a branch, she hears a sharp cry of pain from below her. There's a large grey tom standing over Pebblestep, a heavy hunk of wood clenched between his paws. Pebblestep is sprawled on the ground, blood blossoming from a head-wound.

Logpaw grits her teeth.

She's many things, but she isn't a coward.

She launches herself from the tree, landing on the ground with a thud. A slippery looking tom circles her. He has a foul grin, malicious with rotting teeth.

Bile churns in her stomach, but she lashes towards him, paws flailing. He stinks up close, a sharp, violent scent. She can feel it in her eyes.

She swipes a paw towards him, striking him across his chest. Blood wells from the wound, blossoming from his dirty brown fur like rain on dust. He growls at her, and darts forward.

She dodges, but only just. She turns sharply, walking directly into another cat. A ginger tom, this time. He looks harrowed, his fur messy, eyebags prominent.

When he holds his claws to her neck, he does so mechanically. Like it's the only thing he's ever known how to do.

Her chest heaves as she glances around at her clanmates. Tallpaw is still fighting, back to back with Frostpaw, going up against the grey tom. The grey tom seems to almost be enjoying it, his green eyes sharp, and his grin vibrant.

She suppresses a shudder.

It runs through her whole body, and the ginger tom noticies. He gives her a look akin to sympathy, before tugging his claws closer.

"Stop," He orders, his voice low, but commanding. "Or I'll kill her. I mean it."

And Logpaw knows he would. Tallpaw and Frostpaw clearly think so, too, because they stop, suddenly, like a dam blocking a river.

"Thank you." The ginger tom huffs, sounding exhausted. He lets go of Logpaw, and she stumbles away, heaving for air. "Avaros, are we taking them back with us?"

The grey tom - Avaros - narrows his green eyes. "Sure." He says at last, voice measured. "The Saviour can decide what to do with them."

As Logpaw is marched away, all she can think about is how she does not like the sound of that.

The den they're shoved into is filthy.

It's filthy, and it's terrifying. There's blood crusted onto the thick brambles that hem them in. Shatters of twoleg ice stick up out of the dusty ground. Logpaw's already cut her paws on them too many times to count.

Worst of all is the corpse in the corner. It scares her to look at. She wonders if it's some kind of twisted warning of what might happen to her.

It has hollow eyes, and a snarling mouth, and the ginger tom (Logpaw believes his name is Falcon) that captured them looks so impossibly sad whenever he looks at it, Logpaw spends days wondering over what the corpse once was. Who the corpse once was, rather.

She prays to Starclan that she won't become like the corpse. That none of them will do.

Not Falconkit, nor Acornkit, who she's barely seen. They were taken in by some Claws cat, away from their uncle and half-uncle, away from their only relatives.

Not Frostpaw or Cinderpaw. The latter of the two is so badly beaten it hurts to look at him. He still smiles at her, though, through cracked and chipped teeth.

Not Pebblestep, who seems incredibly, incredibly lonely. He pulls a piece of moss to his side while he sleeps, and Logpaw can't work out why. She assumes at last that he doesn't know how to get to sleep on his own.

Not Feathersong, nor the unborn child stirring inside her.

Not Streampaw. Streampaw, who once had been bright, and bouncy, and is now a shell of that. Logpaw had once looked at her like she was the sun, some days, when she had the time to think about things like that. She still does now, but Streampaw feels more like an eclipse.

Not Tallpaw, who's stayed remarkably upbeat throughout their ordeal, but she can tell that his patience and sanity is starting to wear thin. He seems quieter. Like an empty snail shell.

Not Brownpaw. Not her small, sickly brother, who is slowly wasting away in the corner, deprived of any kind of care, or from the herbs a medicine cat could provide.

She forces her gaze away from the corpse in the corner, and down to her paws. She can look at her paws without wanting to scream, at the least.

Even her paws seem wrong, though. They're still muddied with blood from the battle - if she can even call it that - and her claws are torn.

She doesn't like it. And she just wants to get out, and breathe, finally take in some air, but she's trapped. Caught on all sides by the thick bramble walls of the den.

There's a small blessing in that she isn't alone. Though, she supposes, it's both a blessing and a curse. She isn't alone, but in being with others, her clanmates are dragged into it, too.

(Her brother is here too. He hasn't noticed her presence. He's sick, sick, too sick to even open his eyes.)

When she speaks, more often than not, she's answered, but she feels like it'd be easier to be faced with silence.

There's a quiet noise outside. Talking, she thinks. Her ears prick as she strains to hear what the voices are saying, see if she can work out who's talking. She can tell voices apart, now.

The big burly grey tom who captured them is Avaros. He speaks roughly, but his manner of speaking is familiar. Some of the older cats in the camp, back home, speak in the same way, stressing some words, and whispering the next ones.

The ginger tom's name is Falcon. He's more volatile. Logpaw had watched, a few days previously, as he'd lashed his claws across Pebblestep's face, leaving the mottled grey tom with deep scarring. He speaks differently to Avaros. He doesn't round out his words, minces them on his tongue. His voice trails off, suddenly.

And then there's the cat they call The Saviour. Logpaw hasn't seen him yet. Not face to face. She's seen glimpses, occasionally. A hint of fine white fur. A faded slash of a gleaming eye. He speaks cruelly. He speaks like a near-untouchable God.

The Saviour is talking now. She can see the faint line of his tail. It's slightly crooked at the end. It's lashing as he speaks. She wonders why he's so passionate. So heated.

Then, her blood runs cold.

"I will repeat myself," Her leader says. "Do we have a deal?"

Around her, her fellow prisoners' heads spring up, lifting from their dowy nests frantically. "Is that-" Tallpaw begins to ask, and Pebblestep promptly shushes him, straining to hear more.

"Not just yet." The Saviour says. He speaks slowly. "How many cats did you say you'd bring?"

"Four." Silkstar says. "And I'll bring them directly to you. They'll be… cats you can offer to the Stars."

"Sinners?" The Saviour asks.

"If that's what you want to call them," Silkstar says smoothly. "But in return, you won't-"

"Won't take any more cats." The Saviour finishes his sentence for him. "Don't worry. I'll stick to my end of the bargain, if you stick to yours."

Logpaw can almost hear the smile in The Saviour's voice. It chills her to the bone.

"Oh, don't worry," Silkstar says, low and smooth and sickly-sweet, and that scares Logpaw more than anything else. "I always keep my promises."

As soon as his voice fades away, as soon as they can sense that they're going to be safe to talk, Logpaw turns to the others.

"Did you… did you hear that?" She asks. Her hesitation, and the rough scrape of her voice is less about any shyness, and more about the fact she hasn't had a drop of water in days.

Cinderpaw nods grimly. He's the more pragmatic one out of their little group, more willing to dive headfirst into danger, without too much time thinking about the consequences. Logpaw knows he'll never, ever do anything to endanger his loved ones, but he cares much less about his own physical self.

"Always knew there was something up with that cat." He says. He pauses, briefly, eyes narrowed. "And my head feels much clearer now that we're not in his camp anymore."

Logpaw nods slowly. Her head feels clearer, too, though she doesn't know if that's because of Silkstar, or the sharpness of the pain in her stomach.

"So." Tallpaw clears his throat. Steps forward, lifting his chin. "What do we do?"

Cinderpaw's eyes narrow. "We warn our clan."

Logpaw frowns at him. "How are we going to do that?" She asks, looking around the den. Her gaze catches on the corpse, and she has to force her head away. It still turns her stomach every time she sees it.

"Well, we have to escape." Streampaw says. Out of the corner of her gaze, Logpaw watches Frostpaw roll his eyes.

"All of us?" Feathersong asks. She's sprawled on the floor, breathing in and out. Logpaw doesn't know how close she is to giving birth, and she doesn't want to ask.

"Yeah?" Cinderpaw glances around their little group. "We're not going to leave anyone behind, are we?"

"No, but…" Feathersong pants as she speaks, clearly in pain. "I don't know if I can stand up, so…" She trails off, with a half-shrug.

Logpaw blinks, thinking. She glances over at Streampaw. The small she-cat is clearly lost in thought, staring out at the bleak camp outside.

"Maybe one or two of us could make a run for it?" Logpaw speaks up softly. "Get out and warn the rest of the clan?"

She's not volunteering. She doesn't want to make it out, and leave her friends behind. Or, she doesn't want to try and make it out, and end up dead on the ground.

Cinderpaw seems to be considering it, though. "How?" He says.

Logpaw looks at her paws, trying to think. She hasn't really thought about how it might be managed, just that it would be easier than attempting to funnel all of the Fallenclan cats through unfamiliar territory.

Tallpaw looks up. His eyes are unusually bright, and alert. He looks cocky. Confidence brims from him. He looks like the cat that Logpaw is used to seeing, albeit with deeper eyebag, and a few extra cuts and scrapes.

"A distraction." He suggests. "I can distract them, and- and some of the smaller cats can escape round the back." He pauses. "Also, there's a hole in the brambles."

"Is there?" Cinderpaw asks.

Tallpaw nods. "Yeah. Made it myself." He raises his paws, smiling wryly. "Ripped these bad boys to shreds, but… think it was worth it."

"Tallpaw," Pebblestep says. He's been fairly quiet for much of the conversation, willing to sit back and listen. Logpaw had been unsurprised by that. Despite being the oldest out of the group of them, he's always seemed to be fairly unconfident, at least to her. "What, exactly, would this distraction be?"

Tallpaw frowns. "Uhh… I'd probably just run out, or something. Get all their eyes on me."

Pebblestep's brow furrows. "That sounds like suicide." He tells him. "You don't know how the Claws cats would react. They might just kill you."

Tallpaw shrugs wryly. "Well," He says, lifting his chin. "That's a risk I'll have to take."

"I can't let you take it." Pebblestep says, and Logpaw takes a step back, leaving it to the two half-brothers to talk. "If we come back without you, Bristlepaw will kill me."

"You won't come back without me." Tallpaw assures him. "I'm top out of all the apprentices. I'm the fastest, and I'm the best fighter-"

"Really?" Streampaw says. "Would Bristlepaw agree with that?"

Tallpaw flattens his ears. "...probably not," He mumbles. "But- I'll make it. I promise."

Pebblestep looks at him. Logpaw glances away, and when she looks back up, Pebblestep is nodding.

"Fine," He says. "Now, who's going to try and escape?"

"I could." Cinderpaw says. He glances at Frostpaw, gives the other tom a tight little nod. "I know this territory better, so…"

"Do you know where we are?" Tallpaw asks, raising a brow.

Cinderpaw shuffles his paws against the ground, and mumbles something into his neck fur.

Logpaw frowns to herself. She doesn't want to do it, even though she thinks that she's the logical choice. She's the smallest out of them, and the most lightweight. She's quick, and agile, and she knows how to be quiet. She knows how to escape unseen.

But she's not going to put herself forward for it. She'll leave it to Cinderpaw, let him be the hero.

"Let's… let's try and make this fair," Pebblestep says, glancing between all of them. He scoops a hunk of dried grass off the ground, tears into it with his claws. Clasping the grass tightly, he holds it out.

"Everyone, take a piece of grass." He instructs. "And don't look at it." With a glance over at Feathersong, he slowly shakes his head, seemingly to himself. "Not you though, Feathersong." He frowns. "Or Brownpaw."

Feathersong doesn't protest.

Brownpaw doesn't notice.

He dips into the grass, and tugs out a slither of grass.

Logpaw shrugs, and steps forward to withdraw her own grass. She doesn't know what the point of this exercise is, but she decides it'll be for the best if she just goes along with it.

Streampaw reaches past her. Their pelts brush, just slightly, and Logpaw's fur stands on edge.

She sits back, and watches everyone withdraw their blade of grass. She stares at Pebblestep's outstretched paw for a good few moments, before she puts the pieces together.

It's something to assign the cats who are going to escape. She thinks it must be the cat to draw the shortest blade of grass, or something like that.

She glances down at her own slither of grass, lying on the dusty, blood-stained floor of the den.

It's short. It's around the same length as her claw.

She gulps, and looks back up. If her hypothesis is correct…

Well, she's going to be escaping.

And she doesn't want to. She wants to leave it to someone else, and be there to clean up the scraps. She's not a coward, but she's not as brave as Cinderpaw.

"Right," Pebblestep says. "Everyone, can you hold up your bit of grass, please?"

Logpaw pinches the grass between two claws, and holds it aloft, wincing as she glances between her fellow captives.

Streampaw is the only other cat to have a blade of grass of a similar length. The other she-cat hasn't worked out what the significance of the grass is yet, she just looks mildly puzzled, an expression of confusion plain on her face.

Logpaw clears her throat.

"Me and Streampaw, right?" She says. Pebblestep blinks at her, startled. She thinks, for a moment, that her guess was way off, and Pebblestep had just decided to fling some grass at them as a distraction.

He swallows, and nods. "...yes?"

"Sorry, what?" Streampaw says. She sounds bemused. "Did I miss anything?"

"We're going to escape." Logpaw tells her. She no longer feels as scared, or petrified with fear as she had been a few moments later. Adrenaline thrums through her, and she lifts her head. "That's what the grass is about, yeah?"

"Yeah, it is. I mean, if, uh, if you and Streampaw don't want to, it's fine, I just thought that it would be more… fair." Pebblestep shrugs. "I can do it."

"You're going to be able to fit through the hole at the back?" Tallpaw asks. Logpaw stifles a chuckle, forcing it down. Laughter doesn't seem to fit here. It seems oddly hollow.

Pebblestep frowns, before shaking his head. "Probably not." He admits. Logpaw meets his gaze briefly, and he swallows. "So… are you two okay to do it?"

Logpaw thinks for a moment.

Is she? She thinks she is.

"Yes." She says. "I can do it."

Streampaw looks petrified. Her eyes are wide with panic, and her breath comes out frantically, fast-paced and sharp, but she still nods. "Me too."

With that, Tallpaw readies himself to dash out into the camp. Logpaw gulps, and tugs Streampaw over to the hole in the wall.

She pauses, swallows, and dashes back. Just for a moment.

She stands by her brother's side. Brownpaw isn't even awake. His eyes have stayed close throughout the entire process of drawing the blades of grass. Logpaw thinks it's a blessing that he's so out of it - he's not witnessing any of the horrific things the rest of them have seen.

"I'll come back for you." She whispers to him, bending down to touch her nose to his. His nose is wet, shiny. He must have a fever. "I promise."

He mumbles something in his sleep. She flicks an ear, and steps back, going to wait besides Logpaw.

She stands there, tensed, waiting for a signal. She briefly wonders why they didn't agree on one before doing this, before dismissing the thought.

She'll know when to go. They both will.

"Good luck." She hears someone say behind her, and then Tallpaw runs out the den, and she feels her legs moving before her mind tells them to.

She forces her way roughly through the hole, and finds herself staring up at a steep hill. Gritting her teeth, she starts to drag herself up, belly scraping against stone and fragmented bramble bushes.

Streampaw follows behind her, panting for air.

When they make it to the top, they hear a scream, and a frantic sob-shout. Streampaw turns to look back, and Logpaw stops her.

"We can't hang around." She whispers. She thinks she knows what the scream was. "We need to go, okay?"

Streampaw nods. It's a frantic motion, and Logpaw can almost sense the anxiety spiralling out of her.

"Yeah," Streampaw whispers. "Let's go."

Then they start to run, and Logpaw doesn't look behind her.

He thinks he's almost recovered.

Maybe.

His stomach feels sore where his mate's claws tore into it, and he still can't swallow properly from his throat being shoved against the ground.

But he can walk now. He can walk, and he can hold brief conversations with Puzzle, trying to steal fragments of information about whatever has become of his clan. Puzzle tries to keep in the know of Fallenclan, tries to keep track of what Turtlespots is missing out on, but the loner can only stray so close to camp without being caught.

He feels better. Stronger. His legs feel less weak when he stands up.

And that's all he needs.

He's taking one of his walks now. He keeps close to the river, ready to slip into the murky depths of the water if he's spotted. He's sure that Silkstar would have said something by now, would have turned his clanmates against him.

The river air smells sweet. He takes a great lungful of it, and continues on his way, paws lodging against well-worn stones in a familiar manner. He's taken this walk a dozen and one times before, but this time, it feels different, somehow.

There's a sudden crash from upstream, and without thinking, he dives into the muddy water.

One of the wounds on his stomach tears open. He feels the blood spiral into the filthy river, squints and winces at the pain of the grit against his belly, but doesn't say a word. Doesn't make a noise.

He wades deeper. Hides behind some reeds, glancing up the bank through narrowed copper-eyed slits.

"Are we there yet?" He hears a voice ask, and his ears prick.

Streampaw.

His apprentice.

Her voice is welcomingly familiar, and without stopping to think too hard about it, he begins to drag himself out of the river, yanking his heavy body up the riverbank.

He can see Streampaw now. She's standing with Logpaw, both of them wraight with exhaustion. Logpaw is huffing softly to herself, struggling to breathe.

"Not yet." Logpaw manages to get out. "We've got… a little while… longer…" She says, trailing off midway through her sentence with a rasping cough.

Turtlespots shakes himself off, and carefully pulls himself over the ridge of the bank.

Streampaw spots him before he can greet them.

"Turtlespots?" She says. Her voice shakes. He can't work out if it's with fear, or something else. Disbelief, maybe.

"Hi." He murmurs. Hauls himself to his paws, breathing heavily from the overexertion. "I'd shake your paw, but mine are filthy." He adds, trying to smile, and seem less threatening. He's sure it doesn't have the desired effect.

"You're dead." Logpaw tells him. He blinks at her. His lip curls.

So that was the tale Silkstar had decided to spin.

"I'm dead?" He repeats. "What killed me?"

Streampaw still looks shaky. He doesn't blame her - if his thought-to-be-dead mentor appeared, dripping with river-weed, and bloody, he'd be scared too. "A fox." She whispers. "Silkstar told the clan. He said he couldn't save you, that it was too risky. He said-" She falls silent, a tight, concentrated frown crumpling her expression.

"Well," Turtlespots says. "I'm not dead."

"Yeah, I can see that." Logpaw says, voice brittle. Tense. Her eyes shine, and she nods at him, a curt little nod. He raises a brow, and she dips her head again.

She must know, then. He thinks that's what her signal must have meant. That she knows the truth. Knows who Silkstar really is.

Streampaw's gaze flickers between Turtlespots, and back to Logpaw. "We need help," The slim she-cat says, ears pressed back against her skull. Turtlespots notices that his apprentice's ear is bleeding. There's a thin tear in it, jagged, and he's not too sure if she even knows about it.

He blinks at them both. Sizes them up, copper gaze focused. "What with?" He asks at last.

Logpaw's tail twitches. "You know the Claws?"

Turtlespots blinks at her. Shakes his head, bemused. "No?" He replies, sounding lost. "What is that, exactly?"

"There's this group," Streampaw answers, instead of Logpaw. Logpaw flicks her tail, but doesn't interrupt. "They're a little bit further up the river."

"Like where the waterfall cats are?" Turtlespots asks. There's a group up the river, hiding behind the waterfall, but Fallenclan and them haven't mixed in moons.

"Huh?" Streampaw shakes her head. "No. They're-" She points with her tail, in the opposite direction to the waterfall cats. Turtlespots hums thoughtfully to himself. "They're up there. And they're… they're bad. They worship the stars, and I- I think they killed Tallpaw, we didn't see, though, and-" She swallows.

Logpaw takes over for her. "They took my brother." She says, voice steely.

"Just your brother?" Turtlespots asks, and Logpaw shakes her head.

"Cinderpaw," She starts, holding out an unsheathed paw, and pulling down each claw as she cycles through names. "Frostpaw, Acornkit, Falconkit, Brownpaw, Tallpaw, Feathersong, and Pebblestep."

"Has, uh," Turtlespots pauses, awkwardly, before carrying on. "Has Silkstar done anything about this?"

His question has clearly touched a nerve. Logpaw grimaces, and Streampaw's eyes narrow into furious little slits.

"Silkstar is a traitor." Streampaw tells him. "Sorry, sir, I know he's your mate, and the leader, but he told this Claws cat that he'd bring more prisoners, and-"

"He's not my mate." Turtlespots says sharply. "He tried to kill me. And he murdered Ashstar."

Logpaw grins, almost triumphantly, before forcing her smile down. "Knew it…" She whispers, and Turtlespots raises a brow.

"What?"

"I knew that he, uh, tried to kill you." Logpaw mumbles, apparently embarrassed. "Not the thing about Ashstar, though."

"Yeah, well," Turtlespots shrugs. "That came as a bit of a surprise."

"Anyway…" Streampaw clears her throat, subtle. "Can you help us?"

Turtlespots blinks at her.

He wants to say yes. Logically, he should be saying yes. Fallenclan is still his clan, even if he doesn't sleep there anymore. And despite the negative, painful memories associated with the clan, the cats within it are his friends.

And he's not going to let them die. Not as prisoners to some tyrant. And he's certainly not going to allow Silkstar to drag more of his clanmates to their deaths.

He nods. It's a somewhat stiff nod, but it's sincere.

"Of course." He says. "Of course I can help. What do you need me to do?"

Streampaw narrows her eyes. "Well, we need to let the clan know. We need to show them that Silkstar is bad news, and we need to do it without him noticing." She frowns. "And we need to get everyone else out of there."

Logpaw nods in agreement. "I made a promise." She whispers, and leaves it at that.

"Right." Turtlespots nods, and stands back, letting the two she-cats stand in front of him. Momentarily, he contemplates going to find Puzzle, but he knows that there's no time. He can get the loner later. "Lead the way, you two." He says, and gets ready to return to camp.

He's going to see that Fallenclan has a new leader by the end of the day, or he's going to die trying.

When they arrive, the camp is brimming with cats.

Silkstar is mercifully nowhere to be seen, and Turtlespots allows himself a moment. Just to catch his breath. Get his bearings.

He's not allowed that, though.

Silverwing stalks up to him, stride purposeful, and quick. Turtlespots nods at her, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You're supposed to be dead." She says, and he shrugs.

"I get that a lot," He jerks his shoulder towards the entrance of camp. "But I'm not dead. Clearly. There's some cats who will be, and soon, if you don't listen."

Silverwing sits back, raising a brow. "Well, I'm all ears." She says.

At that moment, Logpaw and Streampaw brush through the entrance of camp. There's a few scattered gasps, audible to Turtlespots.

As Turtlespots watches, Moonstorm barges forwards.

"Where are my kits?" She snaps, and Streampaw and Logpaw don't answer at first, standing, unmoving. "Where are my kits?" She repeats again, expression contorting into a snarl, and Logpaw seems to shake herself out of it.

"They're with the Claws," She says, tail flicking with nerves. "Only me and Streampaw escaped."

"They're-" Moonstorm blinks between Streampaw, to Logpaw, and then to Turtlespots. "They're dead?" She asks, and the harshness of her question causes fragmented reactions throughout camp. There's a choked sob somewhere behind Moonstorm, and with that, the clan starts to clamer with questions.

"My brother is dead?" Turtlespots hears a cat ask - Blossompaw, he thinks.

"Wait, they're dead? How did you two get out-"

"Is Pebblestep alive?"

"My kits are dead?"

"I knew it, I knew it, I felt it-"

"Nobody's dead!" Turtlespots snaps, and winces, because he knows that isn't true.

Bristlepaw seems to know that, too. She gives him a look, long, and unforgiving.

"Somebody is." She says, and he goes to admit it, but Streampaw interrupts him.

"We…" She exchanges a glance with Logpaw. Flattens her ears with shame. "We think Tallpaw died. While we were escaping."

Bristlepaw bows her head. It isn't with shock, Turtlespots thinks. It's with some kind of acceptance.

"I thought so," She whispers. "I felt it." She says, and doesn't speak again.

Turtlespots swallows, and turns to face the rest of the clan.

"Has there been a patrol sent out?" He asks. "To go and rescue the cats that were taken?"

To his relief, Silverwing shakes her head. "No," She says. "Silkstar was talking about it. He said he'd do it when he got back."

"Good," Turtlespots says, and raises his head, glancing around the camp. "That's good." He clears his throat, and surveys his clanmates, trying to work out how to tell them.

How did he tell them? How did he tell them that a cat they'd known for moons, seasons, and trusted like a brother was twisted beyond beneath? How did he tell them that Silkstar had killed Ashstar, had tried to kill him, and was willing to send away warriors to their deaths to protect himself?

He knew some must suspect it. Must know that something was wrong, that Silkstar wasn't quite normal. Though, then again, he hadn't for so long.

He clears his throat again stiffly, and waves a paw to catch the attention of the clan.

"We need to get the cats who were taken out," He starts. "And we need to leave before Silkstar gets back."

He hears some cat near the back ask 'why', and grimly sets his teeth together before answering.

"Because he made a deal with the group that took them. He said he'll take them Fallenclan cats, our clanmates, and in exchange, the Claws will leave us alone." He pauses. It's not intended to be dramatic, he just needs a moment to take a breather, but the clan treats it as though it is. He hears a shocked shout or two, a loud curse, and then silence.

They're waiting for him to finish.

"Silkstar tried to kill me." He says. "And I have good reason to believe he killed Ashstar."

He thinks to himself, just for a moment. Maybe Ashstar hadn't been his only victim. Maybe, just maybe, the circumstances of Echostar's death hadn't been that mysterious.

He shakes his head lightly to whisk those thoughts away, like a paw clearing cobwebs from the corner of a den.

"What?" Silverwing whispers, shocked. Heartbroken.

"I'm sorry," He says. "But it's true. I still have the scars." He jabs at his shoulder, and traces his paw down, showing the deep, still healing wound, where Silkstar had slashed into his stomach.

"I believe you." Silverwing says, eyes wide with betrayal. "But- when- how did he kill Ashstar?"

Turtlespots sighs. "He left her to the rats. Set a trap for her, I think, I met someone, and he said he just- left her there. Waited until she was dead to head home."

Silverwing swallows thickly, and doesn't question him anymore.

"He can't be trusted to lead a rescue mission. And our clanmates need us. If enough of us go-" He frowns, and jerks his head in Streampaw and Logpaw's direction. "How many Claws cats are there?"

Streampaw hums thoughtfully. "Maybe fifteen, maybe twenty," She says. "But most of them are younger. Some of them are just kits, some of them are pregnant, and - oh, shit, Feathersong."

Turtlespots squints at her. "I'm sorry?"

"She's like, about to give birth." Logpaw explains. Her eyes narrow. "She's… close, I think. She seemed to think so."

Turtlespots huffs. "Well, we'll need Clearstone to come." He says, and frowns, thinking. He doesn't think he's seen Hawkstreak throughout his little speech, and he's sure that Feathersong's mate would have piped up by now. "And Hawkstreak should probably come, too." He says, and waits, hopeful, for the dark grey tom to slip through the crowd.

Swiftheart blinks at him, and shakes her head slowly. She's a friend of Feathersong, Turtlespots remembers. "He's gone." She says, and offers no further explanation.

Turtlespots shrugs, and brushes it off. He turns to the crowd, and narrows his eyes, trying to work out who he should bring with them to the Claws, trying to assemble a patrol.

Then he steps back. That's not his job.

He nods at Silverwing.

"I think we'll need around fifteen cats in the patrol. Mainly warriors." He tells her. "Cats who are good at fighting in close spaces, I think."

She dips her head, and starts pointing at cats, sorting them out into the patrol.

"Right," She starts, clearing her throat. "I'll lead us. Snowfield, Shadowwind, Jaynight, and Elderchime, you can come with me." She frowns. Silverwing is a fearless warrior, he thinks. She's sharp on the battlefield, and he can already work out what her plan is. "We'll try and take them by surprise, and then the rest of the patrol can come in."

He narrows his eyes at the crowd, and tries to work out who she's going to select.

"Mistpool, you can lead the rest of the patrol. Clearstone, you come with her. Lag behind a little, though. And…take… Shardstep with you. And Moonstorm, and…" Her gaze passes over a pair of cats, and she seems to consider something, before nodding. "And Kestrelpool, and Crystalflight. Oh, and Swiftheart."

She flicks her ear at Mistpool. "Is Ryepaw ready?"

Mistpool frowns. "For a battle, yes." She says, and Silverwing smiles.

"How about your apprentices?" She says, tapping Swiftheart and Shardstep briefly on the shoulder. The two older warriors nod tensely, and Silverwing raises her chin.

"Right." Silverwing turns to the apprentices. "Beepaw and Troutpaw, too, then."

Turtlespots winces as Beepaw lets out a triumphant hoot. He thinks that the young apprentice is severely underestimating what he's going to be up against.

"Hang on," Bristlepaw says, eyes narrowed indignantly. "You're telling me that this little shit is allowed to go, and I'm not?"

"Clearly I'm just the better apprentice." Beepaw says smugly.

Troutpaw shoves him roughly in the shoulder. "Y-you're not." The smaller tom says, and Beepaw bats him in the side for his troubles.

"Am too!" He blusters.

"I bet y-you didn't e-even notice that Streampaw and Logpaw were missing, you a-absolute prick-"

"Silverwing," Bristlepaw pleads, turning her attention away from the quarrelling apprentices. (Turtlespots thinks that Beepaw has Troutpaw in a headlock.) "Please can I come? They have- they have my brother, and they killed Tallpaw."

Silverwing blinks slowly at her. Her gaze is solem. "I know. That's why I don't want you coming." She pauses. "Vengeance can cloud a cat's judgement."

"But you let them go!" Bristlepaw exclaims, jerking her tail towards Kestrelpool and Crystalflight. "How do you know they're not going to get too- too vengeful, or whatever you said?"

"Because they're warriors, and you're just an apprentice-" Silverwing starts to say, but Bristlepaw cuts her off.

"So are those three!"

"And their mentors have said that they're ready. I'm sorry, Bristlepaw, but it's a no." Silverwing says, and turns to Streampaw and Logpaw with a sigh.

"Streampaw, Logpaw, I hate to do this, but…" She swallows. "Are both of you okay to take us there?"

Streampaw nods, determined. "Yes." She says, and Logpaw's gaze darts from side to side, before she also nods. Bristlepaw lets out a sound of indignation, deep in the back of her throat, but she doesn't argue with Silverwing again.

Turtlespots clears his throat. "I'll come with Mistpool's patrol." He decides. Silverwing opens her mouth, goes to say something, but he cuts her off. "No. I need to do this."

"Okay," Silverwing says, and sets her jaw firmly. "Let's go, then."

He pulls away from the patrol as they walk to the Claws camp. He tells Mistpool that he's sorry, and he'll be right back, but he needs to do something. Just quickly.

He walks quickly to where him and Puzzle were staying. The tom is there when he arrives, thankfully, and Turtlespots nods at him hurriedly.

"Hey," Puzzle says, gaze searching. "What's the rush?"

Turtlespots swallows. "I need to go and do something," He says, and winces at how feeble that explanation is. "There's this group of cats. They call themselves the Claws, and they took some of my clan, and Silkstar is involved, and-"

"And you want to help your clan." Puzzle finishes. He nods with a slight smile directed towards Turtlespots. "I understand. Just be careful."

Turtlespots chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, I will. Don't worry." He pauses, shuffles his paws against the ground. "Once it's over, and once Silkstar is, ah, gone, you have a place in Fallenclan."

Puzzle gives him a wry smile. "I know." He says. "I knew you'd offer me one. You're generous."

Turtlespots' whiskers twitch. "And?" He asks.

Puzzle shrugs. "I dunno," He says. "Maybe I'll stop by. Maybe not." He flicks his tail, eyes gleaming. "I still have things to do. Places to see. Cats to meet, cats to find…" He trails off. "You understand?"

Turtlespots blinks at him. He does understand, even if the lifestyle Puzzle lives isn't one he'd ever be able to put up with. "I understand." He replies, and turns to walk away.

"See you around, 'spots," Puzzle calls out after him. "You'll have a story to tell me when you get back, right?"

Turtlespots chuckles, and kinks his tail in acknowledgment of Puzzle's words. "Sure I will," He says lightly. "And… thank you." He finishes. He's saying thank you for a number of things - for the information about Silkstar, about Puzzle not letting him die, and for everything in between.

"Don't mention it." Puzzle says, and slips off into the undergrowth. Turtlespots rolls his eyes after him fondly, and dashes to catch up with the patrol.

He winds between the Fallenclan cats, ending up back beside Mistpool. She blinks at him, and nudges him in the shoulder.

"What was that about?" She asks, quickening her pace.

He smiles. It's mainly to himself.

"Just had to say goodbye to a friend." He murmurs, and doesn't elaborate any further.

Logpaw kind of wishes she hadn't agreed to come along with the patrol, but they're almost at the ledge overlooking the Claws camp, and she thinks it must be too late to turn back.

Her legs hurt. They ache, really, she's been walking for far, far too long, and all she'd really wanted to do was curl up in her nest, but then Turtlespots had had the brilliant idea to leave the moment they gathered a patrol.

She narrows her eyes, and tells herself to get on with it.

It's for her clan. It's for her clan, and it's for Brownpaw, and she knows that realistically she wouldn't have been able to sleep or even rest until she knew her brother was out safe.

She's leading the second part of the patrol. Streampaw bobs ahead with the other half, looking elegant and sleek despite being through the same ordeal as Logpaw, streaming ahead in the distance.

The patrol suddenly pulls to a halt, and Silverwing steps forward, clambering onto a crooked tree root. She flicks her tail, and Logpaw stumbles forward on exhaustion-heavy paws, blinking up at the deputy.

"Streampaw tells me we're almost here," She starts. "Their camp should be just down there. Remember - we're getting cats out. First patrol will act as a distraction, the second patrol is going to rescue our clanmates." Silverwing lifts her head, and hops down from the tree root.

Logpaw swallows, fraught with nerves, and tenses. She's ready to run in at any moment, but she just wishes that it could be over with.

"Right." Silverwing steps forward, and her patrol slips after her. Streampaw almost stumbles over the tree root as she pads after her leader. "We're going in. Mistpool, wait until you hear my signal, then you lead your patrol in. Logpaw will take you to the place where our clanmates are."

Mistpool nods, and then frowns. "What's the signal?" She asks, and a look of masked surprise, and then confusion, and then worry passes over Silverwing's face.

"Did I not-?" She shakes her head, quickly. "Someone will make an owl hoot." She blinks at the group she's assembled. "Well, probably not Shadowwind-" The mentioned tom gives a small, wry smile. "But someone will."

"Thank you." Mistpool says.

Silverwing nods curtly at her, and steps forward, paw resting on the edge of the ridge.

"Let's get going, then." She says, and with no further preamble, the patrol begins to climb down the ledge, pawsteps quiet against the flint-studded ground.

Logpaw holds her breath until they disappear out of sight.

It only takes a few moments for panic to break out in the camp. She hears the Saviour's familiar voice, summoning his group into battle, Avaros' low growl, and then, Silverwing's rallying cry.

It's painful. The waiting. She just wants to launch in there, get it over with.

Mistpool steps forward, and Logpaw follows after her, scrabbling her paws against the ground. She's unbearably anxious - she feels like it's been days since Silverwing darted down the ledge.

Turtlespots goes to stand besides Mistpool, nudges her in the shoulder, and murmurs something. He's too quiet for Logpaw to hear, no matter how hard she strains her ears.

Then-

A hoot.

The shrill sound of an owl at dusk. It's not, though, it's the middle of the day, and owls don't tend to frequent these parts.

Logpaw sets her jaw, and streams down the ledge with the others, ready to burst straight through the battling crowd and slip into the den where she knows her clanmates are being kept.

She's forced to halt when Turtlespots just stops walking in front of her, his paws seemingly stuck into the ground like the dried mud is quicksand.

She follows his haunted gaze.

And even though she knows what the Fallenclan leader has done, and what he was planning to do, the sight of him exchanging blows with Silverwing throws her.

Silverwing seems to be winning, at the least. Silkstar was never much of a fighter.

Still, she's struggling. As Logpaw watches, Silkstar slashes her again, and the tracing blow of his unsheathed paw barely misses her eye. Blood sprays out from the shallow wound, coating her soft fur, and the sight of crimson on grey is what causes Turtlespots to finally move.

The tortoiseshell rushes forward, and throws himself right at Silkstar, an unspoken snarl written into the first hungry strikes of his paws.

Logpaw leaves him to it.

She slips past the sleazy Claws cat who had visited them often in prison, and rakes her claws over his shoulder on her way past for good measure.

Which was decidedly a bad idea, because he growls, low and raspy in the back of his throat, and bundles her over. She lands, flat on her back, and doesn't waste any time sprawling on the floor. She springs back to her paws, and whirls around to face him.

He steps towards her. His pawsteps are delicate, she thinks, he walks like a spider on a cobweb.

"Did you think we'd let you get away?" He says. His voice pitches up at the end, almost with excitement. Ugh.

"Nobody came after us," She replies. She's stalling. "Maybe you should have made your prison better."

"Maybe you should have just stayed put, and learnt the ways of the Stars." He snaps back. He's slowly advancing towards her, and- she has an idea. "Maybe if you'd all done that, we wouldn't have had to hurt you. We wouldn't have had to kill-"

She interrupts him by flinging a scooped pawful of sand and dust towards his face.

He coughs, splutters, and backs off, presumably to join in with the rest of the battle. Sighing, she flicks her tail, and pads quickly towards the prisoner's den.

Some of her patrol managed to get there before her, she noticies. There's already a warm hustle and bustle in the dingy space.

Someone's draped some moss over the corpse in the corner. She can no longer see the emptied eye-sockets of the dead she-cat.

"Logpaw…?" She hears a voice say weakly.

Brownpaw.

She swallows back a smile, and pads to her brother's side. He looks just as sickly as he had when she'd left him, but he's alive, and he's breathing, and that's all she needs.

"Hey," She says, voice soft. "You okay?"

He nods tensely. "Yeah." He pauses for a moment, to clear his throat. To cough. "You came back for me." He murmurs, and she nods.

"Course I did." She ducks her head, briefly nudging him in the shoulder, before stepping away again. "Now, let's get out of here."

He stumbles to his paws, and she drops her shoulder, allowing him to lean against her. He does so, grateful, and the pair of them begin to head out the den.

Around her, she can see the rest of her fellow prisoners reuniting with their loved ones.

Cinderpaw and Frostpaw are helped to their paws by Blossompaw. She seems to be scolding her brother, lips pursed with worry and relief.

"How'd you even get that?" She asks, tapping her tail to a large wound on Cinderpaw's side.

"Avaros," Cinderpaw says. He gives her a lopsided grin. It reveals cracked teeth. "You don't want to cross him. Learnt that the hard way."

"I won't go near him." Blossompaw whispers, and that's the last Logpaw hears as she stumbles further past them.

She spots Feathersong, who mercifully hasn't given birth yet. She seems like she's in pain, though, swaying against Pebblestep's side from where the tom is holding her up. "Just hold on for a little while longer," He says softly. "We'll be out any moment now- is a medicine cat here?" He turns to Logpaw, and she nods quickly.

"Yeah, yeah, Clearstone is here, he's just-" She lifts a paw, waves it in the distance. "He's just over the ledge."

"Great." Pebblestep says, and opens his mouth, gaze searching. He doesn't ask her whatever question he'd been wanting to, though.

Logpaw steps forward, goes to answer his question - she thinks he might be asking about Hawkstreak, it would make sense - but a voice from behind her interrupts her half-imagined answer.

"Has anyone seen Falconkit and Acornkit? Moonstorm says she can't find them- Pebblestep!" Kestrelpool and Crystaflight are forcing their way into the den, coming round the back and through the widened hole Logpaw and Streampaw escaped through.

Logpaw steps back. She's aware of the look in Pebblestep's eyes, something sad and longing, and she decides to leave it to the trio. She ducks away, and lets Brownpaw lean on her.

She can still hear them, though.

"You didn't die!" Crystalflight says, and the stilted silence in the den is broken.

"No," Pebblestep says, and Logpaw thinks he's crying. Or at least close to it. "Nah, they c-couldn't take me down that easy." He raises a paw, wipes at his face. "Shit, sorry, I…"

He trails off as Kestrelpool steps forward. "You said you'd be out quickly." The bracken tom says. His tone sounds accusing, but Logpaw can see the tears in his eyes.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm-" Pebblestep chokes back a sob. "I mean, I said- I promised I'd see you again, and-"

"And you're here." Kestrelpool finishes. "And you're alive."

"Tallpaw isn't." Pebblestep blurts. "He's- I couldn't save him. I need to tell Cedarpaw and Bristlepaw, they'll-"

"Shhh, it's okay. It's okay. You can talk to them when we get back."

Logpaw tears her gaze away, and turns her attention back to her brother. His eyes seem to be watering, and she swallows an inappropriate chuckle when he stifles a sneeze.

"Logpaw, my throat hurts." Brownpaw whispers, and she frowns.

"I'll get you some water." She promises softly, and makes her way forward to the arch of the den. "But you need to wait here." She flicks her tail, and clears her throat. "Guys," She says, wincing as she interrupts scattered conversations. Pebblestep and Kestrelpool unwrap themselves from a desperate embrace, and Blossompaw ducks away from Cinderpaw. "We need to go and help."

"I can help." Cinderpaw says, and Frostpaw and Blossompaw immediately shut him down. "What?" He overpowers their protests, clambering forward. With a shudder, Logpaw spots that he's missing a claw on his front paw.

"You can stay here." She says. It feels weird to be giving orders to a cat a pawful of moons older than her. "You're literally bleeding." She informs him, gesturing with a deft flick of her tail to his shoulder, and to his face.

"So?" Cinderpaw replies. "What's more blood? I'll be fine. I want- I want them to pay." He adds, with a low snarl.

"So do I," She says softly. "But they're not going to pay if you can barely lift your head to fight."

Cinderpaw huffs, but she thinks he can see the sense. "Fine." He says. "But make them pay, yeah?"

She nods, and bares her teeth. Shows sharp little needle-point fangs. "We will." She murmurs, and leads the rest of the patrol back out into the fray of the battle.

He had been so, so, so close to finally finishing Silkstar off. His claws had been on his ex-mate's neck, tearing into the soft skin there, blood blossoming slowly beneath his paws.

Then a heavy white blur had crashed into him, throwing him off, and he'd found himself crashing across the clearing, body dragging in the dust. The cut on his stomach had opened up again, and he'd staggered across the clearing to Silkstar, but the Fallenclan leader had disappeared.

He feels like he's failed. Even if the battle isn't over, even if they still might win, he'd had the chance, and he hadn't taken it.

He scowls to himself, even as he bashes a scrappy looking ginger tom's head against the ground.

The cat scrambles back to his paws, spitting like a fire in the rain, and Turtlespots flexes his claws.

"You want me to do that again?" He threatens. He knows how hard the tom's head hit the ground. "Because I can."

The cat's eyes narrow, and his tail lashes, but he doesn't step any closer. "Don't," He says, panting. "Just- can you tell me something?"

Turtlespots shrugs. He ducks out of the way of a lunging Claws cat, and slips limbly to the side to allow Beepaw and Ryepaw through as they chase after her. Troutpaw sprints after them, not quite catching up with the littermates on his shorter legs.

He tuts to himself, and turns back to the ginger tom. "Depends what it is." He replies, and the tom swallows.

"Have you seen my son? His name is Orion. He's probably with some que-" Turtlespots fixes him with a hard glare, and the tom apparently makes the wise decision to not finish his sentence. "He's with a she-cat, and two toms." He says, instead.

Turtlespots shakes his head. "Haven't seen him." He says, and pricks his ears. There's a squeal coming from where the trio of apprentices had run to, and he heads towards that, leaving the ginger tom behind.

They're struggling.

The Claws she-cat had laced herself behind Silkstar, hiding behind the Fallenclan leader, and the apprentices had stupidly decided to take on Silkstar.

Turtlespots huffs, and strides forward.

Silkstar's eyes are gleaming, shining a vivid, angry blue, and he's not lifting a paw. Still, the apprentices act as though they're fighting a battle, lashing out at invisible enemies.

"Hey," Turtlespots calls out. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

At his interruption, Silkstar's eyes stop glowing so fiercely, and the wild moves of the apprentices suddenly still.

"Yeah!" Beepaw splutters indignantly. "Like, you can fight me, I'm probably big enough, but these two are tiny! That just isn't fair!"

"Beepaw," Turtlespots growls. "Please get out of the way."

"Sorry, Sir." Beepaw mumbles, and slips past him.

Troutpaw and Ryepaw pad quickly after him. Troutpaw nudges him on the way past. "We fought the l-leader," The apprentice says, wide-eyed. "Aren't we going to g-get in trouble? With S-starclan, or something?"

"No?" Beepaw replies. He's already scanning the camp for another fight to launch himself into. "Dude, Silkstar is like, super evil. Isn't that right, Ry-Ry?"

His sister nods. "He tried to make me go back into combat training when my leg was still half-broken." She says, and Beepaw nods, sagely.

"R-Right." Troutpaw says, seeming like he's had his world view shaken.

"C'mon, let's go help out Shadowwind," Beepaw points in the direction of the mute tom. "Though he probably doesn't need it." He adds, looking slightly deflated.

"I'm sure h-he'll appreciate it." Troutpaw says, and Beepaw brightens somewhat, and together, the three of them run off towards Shadowwind.

Turtlespots waits until they've engaged in some other battle, this time with a pair of small, apprentice-aged Claws cats, Beepaw and Ryepaw fighting side-by-side with their brother, before facing Silkstar again.

"So you're not dead." Silkstar says, and Turtlespots huffs. If he's informed of his living status one more time…

"It seems to be that way." He replies. "Suppose you failed."

Silkstar doesn't like that. Turtlespots can see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes. "Maybe I didn't. Maybe I knew you were alive-"

"No, you didn't." Turtlespots sighs. Silkstar's biggest weakness has always been his inability to admit defeat, to admit that he may have just done something wrong.

His ex-mate's lip curls. "Are we going to do this, then?" He asks, and Turtlespots unsheathes his claws. "Are you really gonna kill me? Me?"

"Well," He starts, and drops low, into a fighting stance. "I'm going to try."

Silkstar lets out a chuckle. It's low, and chilling. Turtlespots takes a slight step back.

"Do your worst." Silkstar says, and springs forward, like an albatross leaping from a ledge.

Turtlespots drops his shoulders, and lets Silkstar sail over his head. The creamy white tom goes crashing against a wizened bramble bush, and starts cursing as he clambers back to his paws, studded with trailing thorns.

"Think you can do better than that," Turtlespots says, turning back around, and meeting Silkstar's gaze evenly. "Then again, Ashstar could always upstage you in a fight."

Silkstar growls. He doesn't like that. Hearing her name.

His eyes flash, again, and Turtlespots pauses. The air is suddenly becoming foggy, thick, and he can't quite see through it. Somewhere, he can hear the harsh, half-remembered echo of his parent's voices, and he pricks his ears, turning in a slow-moving circle as he tries to find the source of the noise.

It seems to be coming from somewhere far above him, and he startles, paws blindly scraping at the fog, lashing even as the mist descends on him.

There's a high-pitched cackle from behind him. He feels like he's in some elder's tale. He whirls around again, completely lost, eyes wide, and-

All of a sudden, the voices stop, and the fog melts away, like summer rain, and Silkstar's cackle stops abruptly. He's curled on the floor, eyes squeezed shut. He looks as though he's in pain.

A cat shoulders forward, eyes blazing, and Turtlespots scrambles up to stand besides her.

"You should've let me come from the start," Bristlepaw grumbles. "Let me guess - you started seeing shit?"

Turtlespots nods. "Yep," He replies. "Whose fault would that be?"

Bristlepaw jerks a bulky shoulder in Silkstar's direction. "His. I mean, I guessed he could do something funky, but this is the first time I've properly seen it."

"Right," Turtlespots nods. "So how do we stop it?"

She grits her teeth. "Either by hitting him on the head, very, very hard, or-" A look of pure malice passes over her expression. "Or killing him. I could do it."

"If we kill him," Turtlespots says, thinking. "We still have to deal with…" He pauses for a moment, trying to remember the names Logpaw and Streampaw had told him. "We'll still have to deal with The Saviour. And Avaros."

Bristlepaw nods, before smiling grimly. "They'll deal with each other." She says, and points towards the two Claws toms. They're circling each other, snarling. "Seems like they've decided that now is the time for petty squabbles."

"We'll still have to deal with one of them." Turtlespots reminds her.

"Maybe," She shrugs."Maybe not. If The Saviour - he's the leader, right?" She pauses, and Turtlespots nods. "If he dies, maybe they'll all just scatter."

"Yeah, but we'd still have to kill the deranged serial killer."

Bristlepaw shrugs. "Think I can manage that." She says smugly, and he gives her a long look, before shaking his head, dismissing the thought.

"We should all be able to manage it, plus there's-" His gaze sweeps around the clearing. It's already scattered with bodies. They're mainly Claws cats, though he can see Jaynight crumpled on the ground, like a wet leaf. He winces when he sees Shadowwind stumble away from the pair of she-cats he was fighting, a welt swollen under his eye. "There's a few casualties already, so."

Bristlepaw follows his gaze. "We'll be fine." She turns away, and narrows her eyes. He swears he sees red swirling in her pupils. "Now, let's kill your mate."

"Ex-mate." He corrects, and follows after her.

They approach Silkstar. He's still on the ground, twitching, like an eel out of water. Turtlespots curls his lip, and tries not to feel sorry for him.

"Come to gloat?" The tom asks, looking up at them both. A small cut above his eye is bleeding, tracing down his face.

"Nah," Bristlepaw replies. "We've just come to kill you."

His eyes go wide. Wounded. "Really?" He asks, and he sounds scared. Turtlespots' heart clenches. "You're just going to kill me? After everything we've been through?"

Though Bristlepaw is the one standing over him, Silkstar directs his questions at Turtlespots.

He clears his throat. "That stuff was before I found out you killed your sister." He says. "And I think we'd be even."

Silkstar sighs. "Aw, c'mon. I just- I wasn't ever going to let you die. I just wanted to-"

Turtlespots cuts him off. "I don't care. I don't - you were going to sell out your, our clanmates to a maniac. You were ready to just let them die."

"Let them die," Silkstar says. "And it'd prevent seasons of suffering. I saw it in the stars. We send rescue patrol after rescue patrol, and none of them ever return. It was better this way."

"You're lying," Turtlespots hisses. "You're insane."

"Can I just kill him?" Bristlepaw asks. She looks almost bored. "C'mon, he's just dragging this out."

Turtlespots stops.

He surveys Silkstar's expression. Steps forward. Holds a paw out, raises it to Silkstar's cheek, caressing it lightly. He sighs, softly, just once, and grinds his paw down into his ex's face.

"Nah," He says, and lets his claws dig into Silkstar's muzzle. Blood beads from behind Silkstar's lips, a tear forming over his snarl. "I've got it covered."

Silkstar gasps. Struggles. Thrashes under Turtlespots' weight. Turtlespots stays strong, holds him down firmly, forcing the air out of his lungs.

"I can't- I can't breathe." Silkstar chokes out.

Bristlepaw, waiting beside Turtlespots, rolls her eyes. "That's the point, dumbass."

Turtlespots lets out an almost hysterical chuckle, and moves his paws. Shoves them directly over Silkstar's neck, and slices in, through layers and levels of fur and skin and blood.

He pulls away, and watches as Silkstar bleeds out in the dust.

Silkstar opens his mouth to talk, and comes out with a mouthful of blood. He collapses, shakes, stills, and stirs again.

Turtlespots frowns. He doesn't know how many lives the leader has - it can't be that many. Silkstar was always secretive, but Turtlespots could tell when he'd lost a life. Something about his swagger changed, and he lost the gleam in his eyes for days afterwards.

He staggers back to his paws, weak, helpless, and the gash in his throat opens anew.

With that, Turtlespots turns away, shoulders sagging from exhaustion. He waits for Bristlepaw to tell him when the leader dies, because he knows he can't face his ex for much longer.

"He's gone." Bristlepaw says, and he lets out a quiet gasp. She pauses, and overtakes him, beaming. "He's dead!" She calls out triumphantly.

Silverwing hears her first, and nods, flicking her tail to gather in the patrol for a retreat.

Turtlespots goes to follow after her. His paws drag heavily against the ground, tiny pebbles ingraining into the eteches of his claws.

He doesn't know how to feel.

Doesn't know how he's supposed to feel. Sad? Happy? A little bit of both?

He mainly just feels numb. Silkstar may be dead, his body may be lying on the ground a few feet away, still twitching, but he hasn't processed that yet. To him, Silkstar might as well still be alive. Nothing has changed. Not for him, not for the clan, not yet.

Except for the fact he can go home. Except for the fact that he never has to see Silkstar again, never has to curl up in a nest next to him, pretending that everything is fine. Never has to have his mind messed with, never has to have his thoughts played with, like a kit with a moss ball.

He turns to look at Silkstar. Just one last time.

Seeing the leader dead doesn't help it sink in.

He sighs, turns away, and goes to leave.

He's stopped by Moonstorm. She looks tired. Worn. Weary.

"I can't- my kits can't walk." She says. "Can you help me? Please?"

There's a moment where he considers saying 'no.' Where he considers asking for someone else to help. Where he considers leaving it be.

Instead, he nods, wordlessly, and pads after her.

Her kits are tucked away, inside a small bramble-covered den. They're clinging close to the corner, along with three other kits. They're tiny. He can't see their mother anywhere.

One is a soft-coloured tortoiseshell. The other is a smoky-black. The last kit is the smallest, crumpled in the corner, their fur a stark white, scattered with speckled ginger.

He noses the smoky-black tom to his paws.

They look the same age as Moonstorm's litter.

Speaking of…

Moonstorm is glaring at him when he turns around. "I thought you were going to help me?" She snaps, and he shrugs, kneeling to pick up Acornkit by the scruff. The little she-cat squeaks loudly, making her displeasure known.

"There." He says as he places her on Moonstorm's back. "You head out. I'm going to get these guys out."

She raises a brow. "Why?" She asks, and he blinks at her, confused.

"Does this place look like a good place for kits to grow up?" He replies, and begins to help the trio of kits out of the den.

When they get back, he'll help them grow up in Fallenclan. Just for a while. Wait for them to find their paws.

With that thought in mind, he leads them through the chaos of the fading battle. Avaros seems to be winning against The Saviour. He's panting, covered in blood, green eyes gleaming in the half-light of the clearing.

Turtlespots steers well clear of the pair, though they don't seem to be interested in any Fallenclan cats. Indeed, the heat of the battle has worn the Claws out. They allow him to pass through easily, let him trace through the crowds with the three kits in tow.

He glances over at a body on the ground. It's a she-cat.

His mouth goes dry as he realises she looks awfully, awfully familiar to the kits next to him. He turns the smallest kit's head away as they pass her, determined to not let them see the bloody craftsmanship of her body, the oozing necklace of crimson lacing around her neck.

But they get past her. They get past her, and they're so, so close to leaving. They're so, so close to being safe.

When he passes through the entrance of the camp, he heaves a heavy sigh of relief, and pads slowly to Silverwing and Mistpool. They were both waiting for him, Mistpool tapping her paws against the hollow earth with a nervous expression, and Silverwing twitching her tail, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

"Turtlespots," Mistpool greets him. "Who are these three?"

"I found them," He replies gruffly. "I believe their mother is dead. And I didn't want to leave them there."

She nods, and steps forward, nudging him in the shoulder. "I'm glad you saved them." She says softly, and he gives her a small smile, wrought with exhaustion.

"Fallenclan," Silverwing calls out, from somewhere just ahead of them. "Let's go home." She says, and finds herself met with scattered cheers.

As Turtlespots makes his way through the forest, tiny, mute-with-terror kits scrambling close to his paws, he swears he sees a figure watching him through the trees.

Narrowing his eyes, he dismisses it.

He's wasted enough time being distracted. Not facing the blatant truth.

There's no figure in the trees. He knows this.

He forces his gaze back to the path, and makes himself look straight ahead. Looking back towards camp. Looking forward to his future.

Because now, his future is going to be whatever he wants. However he wants to shape it.

And now, striding through the forest, blood from the battle still drying on his pelt, is the most free he's ever felt.

Time flies by when things are going well.

And by Turtlespots' standards, things are going unusually well.

He's aware that six moons have passed, observing the passage of time through the changing seasons, through the shifting weather. Still, it feels almost surreal. To have had so much time pass without a single incident.

Fallenclan is flourishing, really.

It's not the same shaken shell of a clan that it had once been. When they'd returned from the battle, wounded, limping, and missing a leader - as well as Jaynight - Turtlespots would have never had imagined that the clan would be able to recover.

But it had. It had, and it was stronger than it had been in moons.

So strong, in fact, they barely fit into the camp. There were plans that when greenleaf came along, half of the clan would move to a nearby abandoned den, similar to the one Fallenclan resided in currently. Turtlespots had visited it himself. It was just as nice as the current camp, albeit more spacious.

For now, though, the clan was cramped together. He didn't mind, though, not really. Whilst it did get irritating to have his tail stepped on so many times during the night, he prefered having clanmates over the moon of solitude. As much as he'd enjoyed Puzzle's company, he enjoyed the companionship of his clanmates, and the warmth of a den over a dingy bush.

He stretches out, and leaves the warrior's den, stepping over tangled limbs and tracing tails. Once outside of the den, he can breathe easy.

It's a quiet morning. Most of his clanmates are still asleep.

Silverstar is awake, though, and he nods sleepily up to her. Her gaze passes over him briefly, before she returns his greeting, stiffly dipping her head.

He waits for her to return to her conversation with the new deputy, Mistpool before padding to the freshkill pile.

As he plucks a mouse out of the pile, he looks back up at the pair. The leader and the deputy of Fallenclan.

They're the best choice for the future, he thinks.

And they're what the clan needs. Stability. A familiar face. Wisdom, and experience.

He knows there's whispers, rumours that he may be approached for the job soon enough. He'd be fine with that, he thinks. When he thinks about being deputy, and then leader, he can't help but think about it some more, and some more, and some more. He just knows he'll do a job, and whilst he doesn't often admit it, he's ambitious. He'd like to make something of himself. Give himself a good future.

But he also knows that Blazespark and Snowfield have both also been suggested for the job. Knows that one or two of the younger warriors will be prime candidates when they're a little bit older. (Though Beemask seems to think he'll make the perfect deputy, despite the fact he hasn't had an apprentice yet.)

He finishes off his mouse, and stands up again, shifting from paw-to-paw whilst trying to work out what to do with his day.

Though, he thinks, spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he doesn't have to worry about it.

"Morning, guys," He murmurs, keeping his voice low. He doesn't want to wake the rest of the clan by talking too loudly. "Why are you awake so early?"

"This is when I usually wake up." Shimmerpaw says in deadpan. Turtlespots stifles a soft chuckle.

He's never lied to the three apprentices standing in front of him. Never pretended that they were his kits by blood, never lied and said they were Fallenclan born and bred. Despite that, they're his kits all the same.

He didn't help raise them, not at first. Mainly because he spent four days in the medicine cat's den, recovering from his wounds. He'd torn open the wounds he'd sustained when Silkstar had attacked him during the battle, as well as receiving a handful of additional scrapes and cuts.

Instead, he'd left them to Whistleleaf, who had been raising her own litter at the same time. At first, he had been content allowing her to raise them, but then he'd got an itch.

He felt responsible for them. He was the reason they were in Fallenclan, after all. He was the reason they were no longer with the Claws.

Though, he supposed, he was the reason they were alive. He was fairly certain the Claws were dead, or dying. They'd had a small stream of refugees arrive in Fallenclan (he was fond of one of the youngest cats they'd had, a tom named Sprucepaw) and the news they'd passed on wasn't good.

As much as he despised the Claws, he knew that all of them couldn't be bad. Knew they were just trapped in an environment that made them twisted, made them make terrible decisions.

And these kits weren't bad. They were just kits.

From that realisation, he'd taken over their care instead of Whistleleaf. Which had been strange, at first, but it eventually felt natural. Normal. He wasn't the most involved parent, and sometimes he felt like an overinvested mentor, but he made it work. They made it work.

He flicks his ears, and turns back to the cat he considers his son. "Then why are you never ready for the dawn patrol?" He asks, a smile creasing his lips.

"Because dawn patrol is the worst." Shimmerpaw says bluntly.

Redpaw, standing besides him, nods. "It is," She says, tail flicking. "Can you tell Mistpool to, like, not always put me on it?"

He shrugs. "Maybe if you complain about it less." He teases, and the pale tortoiseshell scowls at him.

"I never complain about it." She hisses. "I just don't like it, and I tell you that."

"You do talk about rather a lot." Lavenderpaw says. Turtlespots nods in agreement.

"Yeah, but-" Redpaw starts to protest, but Turtlespots cuts her off.

"Shall we head out for a hunt?" He suggests, and starts to walk off before waiting for agreement. Mainly because they did this almost every morning.

The trio follows after him, and together, they slip quietly into the forest.

It's a beautiful morning. The air is light against his back, and the leaves at his paws are soft, and cool. He could live in mornings like this one forever.

The calm of the morning is splintered by Shimmerpaw's voice from up ahead.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Turtlespots sighs, and quickens his pace, hastening to get to where his adopted son is.

Shimmerpaw, Redpaw, and Lavenderpaw seem to have it covered when he gets there, though. They've circled around three cats, Shimmerpaw shoving his angled muzzle in a small ginger-brown tom's face.

"Shimmerpaw," Turtlespots warns. "Take a step back, please. I'll handle this."

Shimmerpaw huffs. "Fine." He says, darting away. "I'll talk to you later, cutie." He adds, sending a lopsided wink in the tom's direction.

Turtlespots sighs to himself.

"Hey, there," He greets, lowering himself to the level of the trio. Upon closer expression, they don't seem to be much older than his own adopted kits. "Are you three okay?"

The white she-cat blinks up at him. "Are you going to eat us?" She asks, and his brow furrows.

"No?" He replies. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you're so round." The other cat says. They're a pale creamy colour, flecked with brown spots. "And that other cat said he'd eat us!"

Turtlespots whirls around to glare at Shimmerpaw. "Shimmerpaw, why would you- why would you even say that?"

Shimmerpaw shakes his head furiously. "I didn't!" He hisses. "I mean, I'd eat him right up, if you catch my drift-"

"Shimmerpaw." Turtlespots says, voice low. "Please, please stop, or I'll ask Mistpool to give you a moon of dawn patrols," He pauses. "And you know she'll do it."

"Sorry." Shimmerpaw mumbles, and finally steps fully away.

Turtlespots decides to tactfully ignore any comments about 'eating', and turns his attention back to the cats.

"Sorry about him," He says quickly. "Anyways. Are you three okay?"

The three cats stand tightly together, shoulder to shoulder, looking like they're ready to run. He wonders what the relation is - littermates, friends, or something else. They're close, whatever their blood relation is.

He doesn't press them any further than that. Doesn't ask any more questions. Just stands, and waits.

They exchange quick glances, before the white she-cat slips forward, looking nervous. "We're hungry." She whispers. "Could you- do you have any prey?"

He blinks at them, thoughtful.

And nods.

"Yeah," He says. "I think we can get you some prey. Do you guys want to come with us? Head back to our camp?" He asks, and waits until the white she-cat shakily nods.

"Yes, please." She whispers.

He nods his head, encouraging. "Awesome," He murmurs. "Anyways, have you guys got names?"

The white she-cat nods. "Yeah, I'm Chive." She whispers.

The cream coloured cat looks up, blinks at him. "Sedge." They say, voice significantly more self-assured. "And this is Pod." They add, nodding towards the ginger-brown tom.

"Well, hel-lo Pod…" Shimmerpaw says, grinning wildly. Turtlespots half wants to pat Redpaw on the back when the tortoiseshell cuffs her brother across the face.

"Leave him alone." She snaps, voice short. "Honestly, Shimmerpaw, please just stop."

There's a settled silence after that, and Turtlespots takes the moment to clear his throat. "Shall we head to camp, then?" He asks, and starts walking, slower this time.

As he leads the little group back to camp, his adopted kits trailing just behind the trio, he thinks about how much things have changed. Thinks about how two seasons ago, they'd be turned away before they even made it through the entrance.

He smiles softly to himself. He's going to make sure these young cats never grow up feeling hungry, never grow up feeling alone. He's going to make sure they have excellent mentors, and make sure they wind up with friends, and denmates that care about them.

And that, to him, feels so much more rewarding than becoming a leader. Than defeating a tyrannical leader.

He steps forward, guiding the young cats into the camp, and towards their future.

okay yes if you have absoutely nothing to do with the fallenclan rp forum and you've read this entire thing you are so cool and thank u sm

anyways! hope u enjoyed! now i can finally clear this out of my 'to post' docs!