The trees flashed past him, the early light of dawn barely peeking between their branches as he ran. It felt good to sprint, for his paws to ache just enough to take his mind off of her.
Her.
She had been his life ever since he was apprenticed. The moment he met her, saw her, even, he knew that he wanted to spend his entire life by her side.
But Tawnystripe wasn't interested in him, and never would be. His life had shattered into a thousand different clawpricks of pain and all he could do was stay silent and be happy for her.
It wasn't that he disliked Mosspetal. No, she was definitely a good cat and would make Tawnystripe happy. He just couldn't stop wishing that it was him, him by her side as she became a warrior, him becoming her mate as soon as possible, him capturing her heart in moments.
But no. That was all Mosspetal, and he couldn't do a thing about it.
His nose caught wind of a scent, some kind of rodent, and he sighed in relief at the distraction. Dropping straight into a hunter's crouch, he approached as slowly as possible, staying downwind and following the smell, until he caught sight of the creature.
A mouse sat a tail-length ahead, just past the trunk of a tree, gnawing at some seed on the ground. In moments Larkpaw approached it silently and leaped forward with dizzying speed and swiftly bit its neck before burying the fresh-kill in a shallow scrape of earth.
It was a short distraction, just enough to tear his mind away from the thought of her shimmering ginger fur and the strength of her long claws. But it wasn't enough. Soon he was back to the all-encompassing thoughts and it was all he could do to place one paw in front of the other.
He shook himself and tried to find something else to occupy his thoughts. He landed quickly on Starlingpaw, who had spoken to him briefly before he left. Though he knew she meant well, she would never understand his pain. Though he wasn't entirely sure what his sister intended with Birchpaw, he knew that if Starlingpaw asked him, the black-and-white tom wouldn't refuse. It had been like that for a while.
Why was every cat happier than him? What did it take for Larkpaw to just find someone that loved him back?
As he traipsed through the woods, his mind buzzing with fears and regrets, he heard a faraway shriek.
Suddenly launched back into reality, his first thought was Owl, and he raced back on his trail of pawsteps to dig up the fresh-kill he had caught, hoping to get to it before the winged creature.
Luckily, he didn't hear the sound again, though he figured the nocturnal bird was still around somewhere. It took a while for him to gather every bit of fresh-kill, his mouth full of fur and feathers and his nose swimming with delicious scents, but he eventually managed to grab every bit of prey and start walking back to camp, weighed down by his quarry.
He traveled slowly, ducking between bushes and ferns to avoid the owl in case it scented his fresh-kill and tried to steak it from him. The foliage would at least provide some cover.
By the time he arrived at the thicket tunnel and the sun began to peek over the treetops, he hadn't thought about Tawnystripe for a record amount of time.
And as he entered, it seemed that time would continue.
The bustling DawnClan camp, normally bursting with energy as the first patrols went out, was entirely empty.
The prey fell out of his mouth as his jaw dropped. What in the name of StarClan was going on?
Larkpaw's pawsteps echoed like cracks of thunder as he walked into the empty clearing, the earthy ground sending billowing clouds of dust into the air.
His heart clenched in a mix of terror and confusion as he came across a splash of red at his paws.
Blood was splattered all across the ground here, at the entrance to the warriors' den. The fallen log that made up half of the den was streaked with crimson, and more streaks stretched away from the resting place like outstretched paws.
"No," Larkpaw said aloud, the words bursting up from the depths of his soul. "It... it can't..."
A tiny mew broke his train of thought as he tried to deduce what had happened to his beloved Clan. He turned sharply at the sound, hoping with all of his might that someone was here, that someone had survived.
The mew rang out again and he scrambled towards it, frantic and desperate. He ran back and forth around the clearing, peeking behind dens and trees, searching for the noise. Finally, he ended at the nursery, sitting under the roots of a great tree, and he poked his head between the paws of the tree.
He was met with the face of a tiny kit, all too familiar to him. Its wiry, curled fur was grey and striped with tabby markings, large green eyes peeking out from beneath the mange.
She was Wolfkit, and she was Tawnystripe's.
The cause of his pain mewed pitifully. "Food! Hungry!"
Larkpaw was entranced in the tiny kitten's gaze for a long while, staring at the end of his future and happiness. She cried out again and walked forward, nearly stumbling on her thin legs, and brushed her face against his. Larkpaw recoiled instinctively, pulling away from the kitten as if she were a ball of evil.
Wolfkit looked at him with her great round eyes, and though all he could think of was this kit's adoptive mother, (the ginger one, at least) his heart melted just a touch.
Larkpaw ducked out of the den, flinching again at the sight of blood, and ran to the entrance of camp, where his pile of prey sat. He glanced up at the sky, but there was no sign of any owls- now that he thought about it, actually, the shriek might have been a battle cry from camp. The thought didn't comfort him.
He picked out a plump mouse and turned back to the nursery, hoping that the kitten was weaned from milk and able to eat fresh-kill. Just as he neared the kitten's den, the ball of fur tumbled out from behind a clump of ferns and fell at his paws, mewling happily.
"Ack!" he cried out. "I nearly stepped on you!"
"Warrior!" Wolfkit responded gleefully. "Big warrior!"
"Um, no," Larkpaw placed the mouse on the ground in front of the kitten and nudged it forward with his nose. "Not a warrior. I'm just an apprentice. The warriors are..." he gulped. "They're gone."
"Go-ne?" the kit asked curiously. "What gone?"
"I don't know," Larkpaw spat, full of frustration and fear. "I don't know what it means!"
The she-kit bounced backward, flattening her ears and puffing out her tail in fear.
"I'm sorry," the cream tomcat meowed quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just... well, I'm really scared as well."
Wolfkit looked at him, confused, and he wondered how much language the kitten had learned. He opened his mouth to re-explain in simpler terms, but Wolfkit beat him to it. "Tawny! Tawny never scared!"
Her reply caught him off guard, and suddenly his pain was thrown back in his face. Wolfkit stared at him with her little head cocked to one side, wondering what his reaction had meant. Larkpaw shook himself and spoke the only reply he could think of. "Yes, Tawnystripe is very brave."
Wolfkit beamed, fluffing up her curly fur and bouncing on her paws. "Tawnystripe!"
"That's her name, yes," he meowed with a flinch. Hearing her name just brought back all of his raw emotions to the surface.
Wolfkit mewed once more before burying her face in the mouse's fur and sniffing the prey. She looked up briefly and meowed, "Thanks!" before taking a bite of the fresh-kill, staining her little mouth with blood.
Larkpaw turned away, exhausted, and as he turned to grab the rest of his prey, wondering what to do with it now that the Clan was gone, and picked out a black bird, setting it beside Wolfkit and digging in.
As he ate, spitting out dusky feathers and pearly bones, he pondered what had happened. Larkpaw had been trying to ignore the streaks of blood and signs of struggle around the warriors' den, but there was really no way around it. If Tawnystripe and Mosspetal- thinking their names sent a sharp spark of hurt down his spine- had left behind one of their kits, something horrible must have happened. They would never voluntarily abandon Wolfkit. He suddenly wondered where the Clan could have gone and cursed himself for his ignorance immediately.
It was obvious who had been here. The clearing was filled with a barely faded scent, thick and pungent, mostly unfamiliar to him. DuskClan had attacked, and more of them than he had thought possible. But what had they done? They couldn't have just stolen the whole Clan, Larkpaw thought. That's impossible.
The black bird beneath him was almost fully eaten by now, and as he turned it over with a paw he caught sight of a white spot on one of its pitch-black feathers, like that of a starling's. Images of his sister flooded his mind. She was a good cat, strong and brave, but fate had cursed her to struggle much more than she deserved to. Where was she now? What had DuskClan done with Starlingpaw? Was she hidden in some shadowed clearing over the river, or was she-
No. He couldn't bear the thought.
Starlingpaw could not be dead.
/
"How are you feeling, Freckleface?" Mothripple mewed in her kindest voice, though her head was cluttered with worries.
The old brown tabby turned to her with an alarming lack of energy, as if the slightest movement caused him pain. "Not well."
Panic filled her. It's not like she thought the answer would be any different, but it didn't help any. She had no idea what to do.
Well, no, she knew exactly what to do. Freckleface was starving, and all he needed was a piece of fresh-kill to eat, but there wasn't a hint of prey in the entire camp. There was nothing she could do to solve the problem, only delay its effects.
"Can you try to eat this?" she mewed, picking up a clump of round burnet leaves in her mouth and placing them at Freckleface's nest. The old tom looked at them longingly and leaned forward, outstretching his mangy neck and licking up the leaves, chewing them slowly as if he was pretending they were fresh-kill.
"They might be helping," Freckleface rasped, too weak to even turn to face her as he spoke.
Mothripple took a deep breath. The tom was definitely lying to make her feel better, or perhaps he was just tricking himself; there was no way that the burnet would keep him strong enough if he didn't eat soon. How could she save this cat without the proper herbs? She wasn't sure she could save him even with a larger selection of herbs; a mouse or bird would fix him up in instants, but it was out of the question.
Her blood burned with frustration. What had StarClan wrought on them? All she had ever wanted was to care for her Clan and keep them safe, a task made nearly impossible with the shortage of prey. Her herb supply was beginning to dwindle from overuse; more and more cats came into her den daily claiming some kind of injury or bellyache when really they were suffering from starvation. Maybe she should have been hunting, but what would happen when she really had a bloody injury to fix? No cat could cover for her while she was gone, and by StarClan did she need an apprentice to help her.
Deep breath, Mothripple thought. Calm yourself. StarClan will show you how to fix this, but you have to calm down first.
She turned to Freckleface with a nervous smile. "Well, let me know if you have any issues. I'll be sure that the next hunting patrol brings you something to eat," Even as she said it, she felt that it was a lie. There wouldn't be a hunting patrol for a long while; half of the Clan had left in the middle of the night to "conquer DawnClan" or whatever that meant. She figured they were off to steal prey again, but apparently Featherstar decided that nearly every cat in DuskClan needed to come along.
Interrupting her thoughts was a loud noise of heavy pawsteps at the entrance to the medicine den, which was in the middle of a clump of bushes and ferns. A silverish she-cat apprentice pushed through the plants.
"Whisperpaw," Mothripple greeted her as cheerfully as she could manage. "Do you need any herbs?"
Whisperpaw smiled shyly. "Um, no. But Hollyfrost does."
Hollyfrost, a pale ginger she-cat, stepped gingerly into the den. Mothripple descended on her immediately, inspecting the large claw mark on the she-cat's flank that was bleeding with the force of a river. Just imagining how much that deep of a wound would hurt made her almost dizzy. Not that she was squeamish, per se, but no cat enjoyed the thought of pain.
"Lay down, please," Mothripple mewed with concern, gesturing to a nearby nest with her tail. She got to work sorting through her piles of herbs to find a clump of cobweb and grabbed a group of three other herbs- horsetail, marigold, and goldenrod. She chewed them as quickly as possible, the three bitter tastes mixing in her mouth a lovely distraction from her mind, which was racing with more thoughts than she could comprehend. She placed the poultice on the lump of cobweb and dragged the mixture over to the injured she-cat as carefully as she could.
Hollyfrost lay on the moss nest, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Mothripple grazed the she-cat's pelt with her tail, trying to calm her down, and placed the poultice and cobweb on the wound, pressing down with her paws to let the juices seep into her blood.
A thought jolted her away from her work and she pulled her paws away immediately, turning to Whisperpaw with an alarmed hiss. "Did you clean the wound first?"
The apprentice nodded vigorously and all the nerves that had sparked terror into her body calmed down. Though the herbs would help disinfect the injury, if there were pebbles or dirt in it already, the effects would be diminished. Luckily, Whisperpaw was a bright apprentice. That was close, Mothripple thought. Mothripple, you idiot! You could have gotten Hollyfrost's wound infected! As she fretted over what could have been, she nearly forgot that Whisperpaw was still in the den.
"What happened, exactly?" Mothripple asked the young she-cat as she inspected the cobweb poultice to ensure it stayed in place.
"We attacked DawnClan camp," Whisperpaw, well, whispered, her voice soft and shaky. "Ashscar fought Hollyfrost."
A shiver raced down her spine. The DawnClan deputy was more feared than any fox or badger, the tales of her rampage at the battle of the river seasons ago still fresh in every cat's mind. DuskClan had driven away all but a few DawnClan cats, killing some of them, and Ashscar's sister was killed by the old DuskClan deputy, Lizardclaw. The DuskClan tom was only in his position for a few moons, ending at the tragic river battle because of Ashscar. Filled with grief and impossible rage, Ashscar had slaughtered Lizardclaw and many other DuskClan warriors, turning the tide of the battle all on her own. Mothripple was glad that, as a medicine cat, she would never meet the fearsome she-cat in battle. It was almost a death sentence.
"You're lucky to be alive," Mothripple mewed to Hollyfrost. It might have sounded like an insult to some cats, but she meant it more as a compliment, awed at the fact that Hollyfrost had managed to survive.
"Yeah," the ginger she-cat coughed, her first words since she had entered the den. "The worst fight I've ever-" she broke off in a fit of deep, ragged breaths and violent convulsions. Mothripple ran over to her herb pile to grab a head of coltsfoot and chewed it up as quickly as possible, passing the pulp to Hollyfrost with what she thought was lackluster speed. She cursed herself again at how flustered she was getting.
Hollyfrost swallowed the golden flower between coughs and began to calm down. "Thank you."
Mothripple smiled, flicking her tail gleefully from side to side. At least she was able to help one cat, if not Freckleface. She turned back to Whisperpaw, suddenly remembering what the apprentice had said. "Wait, you attacked DawnClan?" her voice was incredulous, squeaking with disbelief.
Whisperpaw nodded shakily. "Y-yeah."
The medicine cat felt a rush of sympathy for the young she-cat. Mothripple had helped deliver Whisperpaw when Dappleheart rushed into the medicine den, partly unaware that she was in labor. She wasn't entirely sure who else knew, but Mothripple had asked immediately who the father was. Dappleheart responded briskly; it was a DawnClan tom named Darkfang. That was why the she-cat warrior had been so upset as the patrol from the river battle returned- Darkfang had been killed at the battle by one of Dappleheart's own Clanmates. Now Whisperpaw had to attack the camp that shared half of her blood, though Mothripple wasn't even entirely sure if she knew about her heritage.
"Well, how did it go? I'm guessing you were driven out, judging by Hollyfrost's wounds," as Mothripple spoke, worries broke through her thoughts in a matter of moments- Hollyfrost was just the beginning of injured cats to treat. If the battle had gone as badly as she guessed, a flow of bleeding cats would be lined up around camp waiting for treatment. The thought panicked her; would she have enough herbs to save half of the Clan? What if they-
Whisperpaw cut off her thoughts. "No, we actually won. There were so many of us that they didn't even try to fight all that much."
Mothripple blinked in surprise. "Then how did Hollyfrost end up with a marred leg?"
"Well... Ashscar fought anyway. She's..." the young apprentice broke off with a shiver.
"You're not injured, are you?" the medicine cat meowed, embarrassed that she hadn't asked earlier. Whisperpaw could have been bleeding the entire time as Mothripple stood by and tended to other cats.
Whisperpaw shook her head, and Mothripple sighed in relief. One less cat to treat. (Not to say that she disliked treating cats; she just wanted to conserve her herbs and her energy for those that were truly in trouble.)
"Could I... could I ask you to do me a favor, Whisperpaw?" Mothripple asked, padding slowly over to Freckleface's nest, where the old tom slept fitfully.
"Sure," the apprentice replied, stifling a yawn. Mothripple cringed, feeling slightly guilty about sending a tired cat out on an errand, but Whisperpaw would be saving a life.
"I need you to go hunting. I know you might not find anything, but... Freckleface is starving, and he really needs a piece of fresh-kill. Anything, really."
Whisperpaw's eyes brightened. "Absolutely! I can start to explore the best spots in DawnClan territory for hunting."
Mothripple whipped around, shocked and slightly horrified. "I didn't ask you to steal prey!"
"Oh, I guess you wouldn't know. We captured DawnClan. Featherstar's bringing them here. So we can hunt in their territory now!" Whisperpaw finished with an uncharacteristic smile.
Mothripple felt the warmth slip out of her paws. DawnClan was captured? How could it be that after all these seasons, DuskClan's problems disappeared over the course of a night? It all seemed too good to be true. And what would StarClan think about the capture of another Clan? It was still a long while before Mothripple would travel to the Moonfalls, so she supposed it would be a while before she knew.
The medicine cat turned to Whisperpaw, even more doubts swimming around in her mind. "Well, make sure you bring back a plump piece of prey, then."
/
"I'm hungry!" Littlekit crowed to Softpurr, his ginger fur dull in the early morning light. Though, Softpurr thought, his dull pelt might have been due to more than the light.
"I know, my little kits," the queen purred, licking her son's forehead, which made Littlekit pull away from her with a groan.
"I'm almost six moons old, you don't need to treat me like a kitten," Littlekit meowed indignantly.
"Yeah!" Olivekit piped up. "We'll be apprentices soon! Won't that be so cool?"
"Of course, Olivekit, it will be very cool," Softpurr said with a laugh. She was glad for the distraction from the ever-present hunger. "Lowkit, Swankit, what do you think?"
Lowkit turned her beautiful little face away from the moss ball she had been batting around to shrug half-heartedly. Softpurr sighed; she wished that the she-kit spoke to her more, but she supposed that as long as Lowkit was happy, it was fine.
"I think it's really cool too!" Swankit mewed as she watched her brothers begin to play-fight, which Softpurr quickly broke up. "I'll be Swanpaw, right? I get to have a ceremony and everything! Then I get a mentor!"
"Yes, Swankit, all of those things," Softpurr meowed happily, nuzzling her daughter briefly before settling down into a moss nest. It was still early, and she was rather sleepy; the kits had kept her up through most of the night. "After the ceremony, you'll be taught how to hunt and fight. Isn't that exciting?"
"Yeah!" Swankit squealed, bouncing on her paws. "I'll learn how to pounce, and, and, uh..." the kitten looked at her mother with a confused expression. "What else do you learn to do?"
"Well, I learned a lot of things as an apprentice," Softpurr replied. "So I can't quite remember everything. But you will know which fighting moves to use in each situation, what kind of ways you can approach your prey, and how to track it, too."
Swankit's tail lashed back and forth in the air, and she hopped up and down in excitement. "I can't wait!"
Softpurr smiled at her litter of kits, all of their beautiful, fluffy pelts and their energetic, bursting personalities. All of them were destined for greatness, she knew. The next generation of DuskClan warriors was so lucky to have them.
Just then the leaves of the nursery rustled as a tabby tom pushed through the thorn-filled bush that kept the kits safe, the thorns raking at his fur like jagged claws. Her fur bristled at the sight of him- Hawkstrike was a rather handsome tom, which had brought his life more ruin than any cat had asked for. She wrapped her tail around her kits as if to protect them from the scandal they knew nothing about. Rosedawn's kits with Hawkstrike were just denmates to Olivekit, Lowkit, Swankit, and Littlekit, but Softpurr couldn't unsee the image of poor Rosedawn, just barely twelve moons old and still in training, and pregnant with kits. Hawkstrike, to her, was nothing but trouble, leaving his devastated mate for a she-cat that was much too young to bear kits.
Hawkstrike padded past the other queens, careful not to step on any tails or paws, and nuzzled his mate sweetly. The lovely ginger-and-white she-cat returned his nuzzle with a purr and licked her kits awake.
As Softpurr began to turn back to her own kittens, who were pretending to be opposing Clans fighting a dramatic play-battle, she heard Hawkstrike speak.
"DawnClan is here," he meowed happily, and her heart froze.
She got to her paws immediately, upsetting little Lowkit from where she sat at her mother's side. Softpurr poked her head out through the nursery's foliage, and, lo and behold, a group of strangers were being herded along through camp, all of them staring wide-eyed at the camp around them.
Softpurr jerked her head back as soon as she was sure of what she saw, returning to her kits, who were staring at her in confusion.
"What is it?" Swankit asked eagerly.
"Hawkstrike said something about DawnClan!" Olivekit squealed. "Was there a battle?"
"No," Softpurr meowed in a cold voice. "Nothing has happened. Now go back to playing, my kits."
She watched with a heavy heart as her kittens returned to their game, swatting at each other and bowling one another over, fighting as determinedly as any warrior would.
What was DawnClan doing in their camp? She knew from Tallflame, her mate, that a party had gone out to attack DawnClan, and Tallflame had been with them, but she didn't expect them to succeed, let alone bring the whole Clan back to camp. Though she was happy that DuskClan had obviously won the fight, likely due to DawnClan's renowned lazy, spoiled warriors, Softpurr didn't know what was going to happen from here on out.
"Mama?" a little voice meowed. Softpurr turned to Lowkit, who was sitting at her side and brushing up against her. "What's happening? I can hear a lot of voices out there and I don't know any of them."
Softpurr took a sharp intake of breath. She grabbed her daughter by the scruff and placed her further away from the outside wall of the nursery. "Don't you worry. Just ignore the sounds, sweetie."
"But I want to know what's happening!" Lowkit squealed a little too loudly.
"Me too!" Swankit mewed, obviously having heard from where she had been playing a mouse-length away.
"Now-" Softpurr began.
"Yeah!" Olivekit joined in, cutting her off. "What are those weird sounds?"
Soon enough all of her kittens had crowded around her, and Softpurr couldn't bear to lie to them any longer. "All right," she sighed. "By StarClan, you're all so determined. DawnClan is here in camp. Your father and some other warriors went to... bring them back here."
"Tallflame was in the patrol?" Olivekit crowed, excited. "That's so cool! He can tell us all about it!"
"Totally! This is awesome!" Littlekit added, his tail trembling with excitement.
Swankit joined in with a happy bounce. "He can tell us what DawnClan camp is like! Maybe he saw Blizzardstar!"
"Or Ashscar," Lowkit meowed, walking out to join her siblings. She was usually quiet, so Softpurr was surprised that she had joined in the conversation.
"What if he fought Ashscar?!" Olivekit proposed with a wide-eyed stare.
"What if he killed her?" Swankit meowed much too loudly. Softpurr cringed, and felt many other queens behind her do the same. Willowsneeze, lying beside her kits, huffed loudly and disapprovingly.
"Now, now, my kittens. Calm down," Softpurr purred, grooming all of them briefly. "I'm sure your father will tell you about it later. There's no need to get so worked up now."
For a moment she regretted telling them at all- speaking about DawnClan always led to speaking about the starvation running rampant in DuskClan, and the last thing Softpurr wanted was for her poor little kits to have their innocence tainted with the problems she had tried so hard to hide from them. But she knew that they had to learn about it eventually, and it wouldn't hurt if she just told them a little bit. Besides, I don't have to worry about the prey shortage anymore, she thought, her heart lightening at the thought. DawnClan is taken care of. We have their territory to hunt in, twice as much land as we've ever had, so everything will be fine.
But even as she thought it, she knew it was too good to be true. After everything she had gone through, it was basically impossible to imagine a world in which her kittens wouldn't have to worry every moment about whether or not they'd be able to eat that day and how they would manage to perform their warrior duties on an empty stomach.
"Everything will be fine," Softpurr lied. "Now go back to playing."
/
Rippletide walked beside his leader, his large tabby frame overshadowing the old she-cat, though Featherstar's green eyes shone with a vicious anger.
Behind them, DuskClan warriors flanked all of DawnClan, their selfish and spoiled little pelts shrunk in fear. The DuskClan deputy felt stronger than he ever had, filled with the knowledge that he had finally done it. DuskClan had won the seasons-long battle overnight. It was pitiful how little of a fight DawnClan put up, but more specifically, their leader. Blizzardstar had come with Rippletide without any struggle. The brown tabby deputy had walked into the leader's den and demanded that Blizzardstar surrender and the coward complied in less time than it took to take a pawstep.
Rippletide glanced over his shoulder happily, knowing that within his paws was a bright future for his beloved Clan; his mate, his kits, his kin would live happily without the want for anything. One clan would rule the forest now. No more border spats, no fear of being caught while hunting in DawnClan's expansive and arguably larger territory. The world was theirs.
They passed the nursery, where Softpurr, one of the queens, had poked her head out, presumably to watch the returning patrol. He beamed at her, and she quickly pulled her head back through the foliage. Ignoring her odd behavior, the deputy turned to his leader as their pace slowed and the patrol came to a stop beneath the great willow tree in the center of camp.
He spoke in a low voice so that their captives couldn't hear. "What now, Featherstar? I was never really told about that part of the plan."
Featherstar yawned wide despite the fact that she hadn't taken part in the battle. Every cat knew how old she was, more than some of the elders, but Featherstar refused to retire, stubborn and fierce as usual.
"Simple," the leader rasped, her voice rough and grating. "We take them to the monster graveyard."
Rippletide nodded; he had guessed that to be the case. "But what then? Do you plan to leave them there to die?"
"Well, not quite," Featherstar responded with a shake of her head. She had to sit down for a moment to catch her breath after the long trek from DuskClan territory, though her warriors were too full of adrenaline and excitement to tire. "Once DawnClan is trapped there, they have only two choices. They can either leave to find a new territory, or stay in the graveyard and starve. There is no prey to be found among the monsters except disease-filled rats."
Rippletide felt a tinge of remorse. Though DawnClan had brought DuskClan only ruin for seasons upon seasons, he didn't wish for them to starve. He knew the pain of it personally, and he would prefer to burn alive or drown instead. But, perhaps, DawnClan deserved a taste of their own treatment.
"Of course," he meowed finally, unwilling to share his doubts with his leader that he might look weak.
Featherstar remained quiet for only a moment longer. "Something is bothering you, Rippletide. What is it?"
He longed to say, Does DawnClan truly deserve this? But instead, he meowed, "I'm just worried that keeping warriors posted at the graveyard for moons is a waste of good cats, Featherstar. How will we manage to hunt for our Clan without half of them able to do so?"
Featherstar laughed, a disturbing and jarring sound. "You think we'll need to post warriors for entire moons? I doubt they'll last more than a few days before leaving. The graveyard is a place of nightmares, Rippletide. Swarming with vermin and crow-food... no, it will be an easy decision for them. And the guards can hunt as they return to camp, so there will be plenty of prey to go around."
Rippletide swallowed, biting back more doubtful words. Instead, he forced himself to look out at DawnClan, huddled together in a small circle that barely took up half the space that his Clan would. Even still, if worse came to worse...
He couldn't help himself. "But Featherstar, what if they launch an attack?"
Featherstar blinked, confused. "How would they? They'd be in the graveyard, beyond the steep drop."
Rippletide shrugged. "Hypothetically. I'm just trying to prepare for the worst."
"If they attacked, we would win."
"At what cost?"
"What do you mean?" Featherstar growled, turning angrily to her deputy. "It's beginning to annoy me how much you object to my orders."
Rippletide was silent.
"Lizardclaw was never so difficult."
Silent, still.
"I need to speak to my Clan," Featherstar announced, leaving Rippletide alone at the base of the hill leading to the willow tree.
As the elderly Featherstar scaled the great tree with the speed of a slug, the DuskClan sat still, his face carved in stone.
Thoughts sprinted through his mind, something he was rather unused to. Memories of the river battle came back to him vividly, the day he had nearly died. Lizardclaw stood just to his left; if Ashscar had aimed her leap a touch differently, he would be dead, and never would have become mates with Leafcloud. It was that night when he returned after the battle that he asked her to be his mate, filled with terror and regret that he had nearly lost the opportunity to do so forever. They had been without kits for many, many moons, and it was unfortunately just as he was named deputy that she was discovered to be pregnant. Featherstar did him a great kindness in overlooking the fact that he had kittens despite being deputy, something normally against the warrior code.
He feared that he now knew exactly why. Featherstar never expected him to live long enough to become leader, and that he would die young like all the rest of her deputies.
Rippletide stared at the nursery, his paws burning with the urge to visit his mate and kits, but he couldn't leave.
Featherstar called the Clan meeting, and he turned to listen.
