Chapter 4
"They're looking beautiful, Ferncloud," Brackenfur reassured.
Ferncloud sighed with relief. Shadepaw's tail flicked curiously as she blinked in the gloom. Only fading sunshine streaming through the tiniest of gaps in the thicket let light inside the nursery. The smell of warmth and milk and kits was thick and Shadepaw wondered how any queen found their way around the den.
Three kits squirmed at Ferncloud's belly. Her first litter – two toms and a she-kit, all gray bundles splashed with white. Shadepaw had wanted to be there to see them be born and take part, but Brackenfur had said she needed more training under her fur before she handled a kitting. Shadepaw wasn't sure, but Brackenfur was her mentor – and she had not been medicine cat apprentice for long.
Ferncloud touched one of the kits' white ears with her nose. "What if one of them is deaf, Brackenfur?" she fretted.
Brackenfur's whiskers twitched in the dark. "It's not a concern, Ferncloud," he purred. "They wouldn't have any more trouble communicating with the Clan than their father."
Shadepaw blinked at the kittens. Snowstep, ThunderClan's only deaf warrior, was their father. Was there a way to tell if a kit would be deaf? Brackenfur told me that white cats with blue eyes could be deaf, she thought, but is it something that can pass to kits? How white does a kit need to be to be deaf? She filed the thoughts away as questions to ask Brackenfur later.
"Do you think Snowstep will be back soon?" Ferncloud wondered. "I'd like them to see us if they open their eyes today."
"I don't think they'll be opening their eyes for a day or two more, Ferncloud," soothed Brackenfur.
I wish I knew enough to give advice like that, she thought, seeing Ferncloud's worry fade at Brackenfur's words. All she felt capable of asking was: "Have you named them?"
Ferncloud flicked her tail to the kits. "We agreed on names last night," she purred. "Hollykit is the only she-kit - she's the gray tortoiseshell in the middle, there. Birchkit and Larchkit are the toms! Birchkit is the smaller one with the pale splotches, and Larchkit is the biggest, with the white tail there. See?"
Shadepaw nodded. "They're good names," she mewed.
"Hollykit, Birchkit, and Larchkit – welcome to ThunderClan," Brackenfur purred. He touched his nose to each kit's brow, his whiskers twitching over them. "Watch, Shadepaw – this is how a medicine cat welcomes a new arrival to the Clan."
Shadepaw's eyes widened, and she hunkered down to observe as Brackenfur gently breathed over each kit in turn.
"StarClan welcomes you to ThunderClan, kits," Brackenfur recited over the small, squirming bodies. "May your lives be long and your hardships few."
May your lives be long and your hardships few… Shadepaw repeated. Got it. So many medicine cat rituals involved memorizing phrases. Shadepaw wondered how she might remember them all! And what happened if a medicine cat screwed up?
"Thank you, Brackenfur," Ferncloud mewed softly.
Brackenfur dipped his head, and then turned to Shadepaw. "Go and fetch some borage for Ferncloud."
Shadepaw nodded and turned around, pushing her way through the tangled gorse entrance and out into the camp. The sharp sunlight nearly blinded her – Shadepaw had to stand a moment, blinking, in order to get her bearings. Heat settled on her pelt like a blanket of moss, and Shadepaw was shocked at how cool the normally-warm nursery had felt in comparison.
Still, it was early evening and the camp was calm. The night would surely cool the forest down. Shadepaw trotted through the camp, tail up. The medicine cat's den was almost always in the shade, and Shadepaw pushed her way through the ferns and into the cool den, relishing the cold, sandy floor beneath her paws.
Shadepaw stuck her head into the boulder in the center of the den, which cracked in half long before she was born. The dark spot inside served as Brackenfur's den, and as a storage place for their herbs, which would spoil if stored otherwise.
She peered over the leaves, tail flicking uncertainly. Which one was borage? In the fading light it was difficult to tell. There was so much to learn about being a medicine cat, and Shadepaw was still learning the herbs and their uses on top of all the rituals.
Brackenfur will be mad if I'm late, she thought. Oh StarClan, which one is it?
A sweet scent touched Shadepaw's nose. It brushed against her pelt, guiding her nose to a fuzzier blue flower, and its leaves, wrinkled and dried. Shadepaw gave it a sniff, and knew that it was the right one – the sweet, familiar smell of borage was all over it.
"Thanks, Spottedleaf," Shadepaw purred quietly.
Shadepaw took a bundle of the leaves in her jaws and left the den.
Her feeling of triumph faded as soon as she stepped into the camp, replaced with a dread that crept up her spine and touched the roots of her fur. Shadepaw stopped, confused and scared, the smell of borage clogging her senses.
Something's happening, she thought, eyes widened. Something bad!
Before she could speak, the gorse tunnel waved frantically. Shadepaw had a hard time identifying the cats by their backsides as they dragged something through the tunnel, but Shadepaw recognized Nightpaw right away, his stature and the dreadful feeling pulsing from his very being a clear giveaway.
Cats immediately began to crowd, coming out of the shady parts of the clearing to see what was happening. Shadepaw put down the borage and found that her senses were now clogged with the smell of blood. Shadepaw trembled.
"What's going on?" cried Cinderpelt. "Is that… Shrewpaw?!"
"Shrewpaw!" called Spiderpaw from the apprentice's den, her eyes wide.
Beside Shadepaw, Sandstorm bristled. "I smell badger," she hissed.
"Oakheart! Are you okay?" asked Rainwhisker, the gray tom bristling.
"Mistyfoot?" Mousefur called. The dusky she-cat pushed her way out of the dirtplace. "Mistyfoot, what happened?"
"Give us room!" Brackenfur's voice boomed through the clearing. Shadepaw saw him at the entrance of the nursery, his amber eyes sharp. "Shadepaw, to me!"
Shadepaw swallowed and forced herself to move through the crowd, all of them wondering what was happening just as much as she was. The dreadful feeling in her pelt pulsed harder and harder the closer she got to the center, where Nightpaw was. Shadepaw had to force herself to breathe to try and push the cloud of feelings away, or she would never be able to focus.
She broke through the crowd and into the center. Shadepaw forced down a whimper at the sight.
Shrewpaw and Oakheart lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath them – Shrewpaw was still and unmoving, but Oakheart was still breathing, though his leg looked like a horror. Mistyfoot was on her haunches, her blue eyes unfocused and far away, and Nightpaw was on his own nearer to the crowd, staring at his paws.
"Whitepaw, take that borage near the medicine cat's den to Ferncloud, will you?" Brackenfur instructed. The golden brown tom was moving about the scene with confidence. "Everyone else, please – clear away. We need space to work."
The Clan cats, murmuring indistinctly, stepped back into the shade. Cinderpelt refused to move, however, curling her body around Shrewpaw. She nudged her kit with her nose, bristling.
"Move, Shrewpaw," she begged quietly. "Please, oh please…"
"Shadepaw," Brackenfur meowed over her, "fetch cobwebs and marigold."
Shadepaw swallowed, nodding. She whipped around and bounded back into the medicine cat's den, her mind's fog clearing now that she had a task. Nightpaw isn't hurt, she told herself. But others are.
She knew which one was marigold, and she grabbed some thyme stems too. Nightpaw's shock was pricking her pelt, and she imagined that Mistyfoot might need some, too. Shadepaw quickly wrapped a wad of cobwebs around her paw and knew it wouldn't be enough, but it would have to do, and she limped out of the den laden with curatives.
Brackenfur immediately teased the cobwebs off of her paw and onto his own, balancing awkwardly on his long-ago injured leg. "Mix the marigold into a poultice and – is that thyme? Good thinking, throw a few leaves of that in there too."
Shadepaw's pelt didn't prick with pride as she worked, but she was glad for the praise. She chewed up the marigold petals until they were a paste between her teeth, spitting them out so that she could do the same with the thyme.
She kept one eye on Brackenfur, who was weaving cobwebs over Oakheart's wounds. Shadepaw knew some cats were too squeamish to look at such bloody gashes, but she found it fascinating, especially when Brackenfur's cobwebs sopped up the worst of the blood still oozing from the wound.
"It's done," Shadepaw mewed, gooping the poultice onto her paw to pass to Brackenfur. Her mouth tasted foul and sharp.
Brackenfur nodded and took the poultice in his other paw. Shadepaw watched as he plastered Oakheart's fur with the cobwebs until the tom's pelt stuck up and glistened. Shadepaw hoped she had made enough.
"What about Shrewpaw?" Cinderpelt breathed, glaring at Brackenfur. "He's hurt! Brackenfur!"
Shadepaw swallowed.
"He's dead, Cinderpelt," breathed a voice. Shadepaw's ears pricked – she hadn't ever heard her father sound so solemn. The peace the Clans were living in made incidents like this a rarity. Tinystar padded up to the dark gray she-cat and licked her ear comfortingly. "Mistyfoot just finished giving me the report."
Cinderpelt's fur bristled to its ends. She opened her jaws, and Shadepaw prepared herself for a tirade from the she-cat – but all that came out was a wail of sorrow that clawed Shadepaw's heart. Cinderpelt buried her face in her dead kit's fur and yowled into obscurity, her voice muffled by his pelt.
Shadepaw wished she knew what to say.
"How is Oakheart?" Tinystar asked. Shadepaw was surprised how dull his ice-blue eyes seemed as he looked over his Clanmates. Such tragedy cut him hard, Shadepaw realized.
Brackenfur's whiskers twitched. There was a little of Oakheart's blood on them. "He'll make it," the golden-brown tom reported. Shadepaw felt some relief at that, at least. "There's the danger of infection, of course, and we must set his leg before it becomes irreparable. The shock put him out but he'll wake soon, I wager."
"I'll send an apprentice for a poppy head," Tinystar offered quietly.
Brackenfur nodded. "That would help."
Tinystar touched his nose to Oakheart's cheek. "Recover, old friend," he prayed. "StarClan watch you."
Shadepaw looked between the old wounded tom and the young, dead apprentice and wondered what exactly had happened. She couldn't get the answer just from Nightpaw's feelings, but with them she could surmise that the badger had been a horrible part of it.
I hope the monster is dead, she thought bitterly, digging her claws into the earth. First Willowpelt, and now Shrewpaw, too.
The gorse tunnel rustled, and in came Dustpelt's patrol – Snowstep, Cloudtail, and Swiftfoot. Snowstep immediately headed for the nursery. Brightheart gasped and pressed her pelt against her mates. Dustpelt padded over to Tinystar.
"We drove the badger over the Thunderpath," he reported, his voice terse. "We should have killed it."
Tinystar's ear flicked. "And risk your lives, too?" the black tom rasped. "I'm sorry, Dustpelt, but no. You did the right thing."
Dustpelt's eyes burned into Shrewpaw's pelt, and while Shadepaw had no way of knowing just how intense the feeling was, she knew that Dustpelt's gaze could have set that badger on fire if it would bring his son to life.
"Badgers! Filthy things," spat Cloudtail. "If I never see one, it'll be too soon."
Beside her, Swiftfoot curled his lip as he looked over the scene. "Badgers and cats just don't mix," he agreed. Shadepaw swallowed, feeling uneasy at the hardness of Swiftfoot's gaze.
"We'll send a patrol to ShadowClan to warn them," Tinystar meowed.
"Russetstar won't like that," Cloudtail pointed out. "You know how prickly she is."
Tinystar frowned. "This badger has been responsible for the deaths of two of my Clanmates, and has wounded my deputy," he growled. Shadepaw shivered as Tinystar's eyes suddenly intensified, blazing like cold flame. "I will not let that creature kill another cat in these territories."
Cloudtail grimaced.
"Prepare Shrewpaw's body for a vigil," Tinystar said resignedly.
Brackenfur nodded. The golden brown tom turned to Shadepaw. "Go and see to Nightpaw," he suggested. "I'll handle this."
Shadepaw frowned. "But I-"
"There will be plenty of time to learn how to prepare a body," Brackenfur told her gently, "but your brother needs you."
Shadepaw swallowed her words, knowing he was right. Nightpaw's anxiety was prickling at her pelt and it was taking all her effort to push it away. She couldn't imagine being able to feel every cat's feelings – it was hard enough knowing Nightpaw's.
"What about Mistyfoot?" murmured Brightheart. "Should someone go and speak with her?"
Tinystar shook his head. "It will do no good right now," he promised. "Let her mourn – this has been a grave blow to her. Then we'll figure out what to say."
Brightheart's eye looked troubled. "You know her best," she conceded.
Shadepaw frowned and looked over at Mistyfoot. The dark-pelted she-cat was lying outside the warrior's den, staring blankly out into the distance. How did she feel, seeing both her apprentice and her father lying there?
She must be so devastated, Shadepaw thought as she got to her paws. Nightpaw was inside the apprentice's den, Shadepaw sensed, and she slipped inside as quietly as she could. The rasp of dry leaves against her back made her brother flinch in his nest.
Shadepaw tucked herself into her brother's nest, wrapping her tail around his body. She pondered, briefly, how much bigger she was than him. It was an odd thing to think about, now, but she couldn't help it. Shadepaw rested her muzzle beside his, letting his feelings wash over her.
"It's not your fault," she murmured. Guilt was the strongest emotion she could feel now that the world had settled.
Nightpaw didn't look at her. "Everyone is going to hate me," he whispered. "I didn't mean for it to happen, Shadepaw."
Crickets began to sing outside. "That's not true," Shadepaw insisted.
"Mistyfoot hates me," Nightpaw shot back. "How could she not?"
Shadepaw frowned. "We don't know what Mistyfoot thinks," she meowed. Even as she spoke, though, she knew she was wondering it now, too – would Mistyfoot blame Nightpaw in the end? Shadepaw had the ability to look through Nightpaw's memories and see for herself that what happened had been an accident, but no other cat in the Clan had that luxury.
I wish they did, sometimes, she thought, looking at her brother. It would be so much easier, if every cat knew exactly how someone was feeling.
Shadepaw opened her eyes, confused by the way the dawn light struck her – and then she recalled she had fallen asleep in the apprentice's den. Brackenfur will be cross!
Nightpaw was still sleeping – Shadepaw gingerly eased herself up, not wanting to wake him. Despite his exhaustion the day before, it'd taken a while for Nightpaw to fall asleep.
Shadepaw picked her way out of the apprentice's den and into the sunlight. The clearing was quiet and sparkling with dewdrops. Cats were milling about the clearing, and Shadepaw felt a twinge of guilt. She'd slept right through Shrewpaw's vigil.
Should I have been there? She wondered. Shadepaw didn't know Shrewpaw particularly well – they weren't family. No, perhaps she shouldn't have been there.
Shadepaw spotted the elders shepherding Shrewpaw's body out to ThunderClan's burial site. Near the camp entrance, Cinderpelt and Dustpelt watched their son disappear through the gorse tunnel, never to walk back through again. Cinderpelt looked haggard and weak, and Dustpelt clearly hadn't slept.
A blue-gray shape approached them. Mistyfoot. Shadepaw couldn't help but angle her ears to their conversation.
"I'm sorry," Mistyfoot said quietly. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I should have been there, I should have-"
"It wasn't your fault," Dustpelt rasped, his voice sharp with pain.
Cinderpelt nodded weakly. "You did all you could, we know that."
Mistyfoot's eyes glittered with sorrow. Shadepaw thought she didn't look as if she believed the same. Instead, the warrior murmured, "He was very brave," before padding away, heading back towards the warrior's den.
Shadepaw frowned, her heart uneasy. Wouldn't a medicine cat try to heal the hearts of their Clanmates too? She thought. But how could she? She had no idea the right words to say, and speaking so thoughtlessly would only make matters worse for the grieving cats.
"Shadepaw!"
Shadepaw started as Brackenfur's voice carried across the clearing. The golden brown tom had limped out of the medicine cat's den, and he was staring right at her. Shadepaw swallowed. Was he upset?
It was hard to tell. "Come on," he meowed, before turning about and heading back through the ferns. Shadepaw put on a trot and followed, tail up, feeling embarrassment prick at her pelt.
The medicine cat's den was calm and cool, but Shadepaw guessed it wouldn't be for long. The day was already heating up outside. Her nest off to the side had been filled by Oakheart, who was stretched out and groaning softly.
Shadepaw sniffed him. Warm, but not feverish. His leg was bound with leaves, twigs, and cobweb. "What'd you do?" Shadepaw asked. She should have been here to see it for herself.
"I bound his leg with bindweed and twigs, so that it will heal straight," Brackenfur told her. "I'll show you later. Bring him some water."
Shadepaw dipped her head and set to work, pulling off a clump of moss that clung to the stony ravine walls with her claws. She soaked the moss in a small pool of rainwater and dew that collected near a low point in the den, and then brought it over to Oakheart's muzzle.
"Thanks," he rasped, bending to lap at the water.
"What about his wound?" Shadepaw wondered, looking up at her mentor.
Brackenfur was mashing together a paste of petals and leaves. Shadepaw had no idea which ones they were. "It's bad, but it could be worse," Brackenfur responded. "Change the dressing on his side, would you?"
Shadepaw nodded and set to work again, gently removing the crusted over cobweb with a claw. The bleeding had stopped and the wound was scabbing over, but it would be some time before it healed fully, she estimated, and infection was a great risk.
She put aside the soiled dressing and headed for their cobweb supply, teasing a pawful out. When she returned to Oakheart, Brackenfur was smearing his poultice over the wound.
"Putting cobwebs over the poultice helps keep it all in place," he instructed. "Watch."
Shadepaw watched carefully, intent on memorizing Brackenfur's every move, as the golden-brown tom used his claws to carefully plant the cobwebs over Oakheart's wounds. Shadepaw couldn't ever imagine being so precise.
Oakheart flinched and sputtered, hissing in pain as Brackenfur patted down the cobweb.
"Sorry," Brackenfur mewed.
Oakheart's whiskers twitched. "I'm supposed to be a big, strong warrior," he sighed. "StarClan, but this hurts!"
Brackenfur purred, turning to Shadepaw. "Even the strongest warriors flinch at pain," he mewed.
Shadepaw let herself mrrow in amusement. It was amusing to see the Clan deputy whimper at medicine, despite it all.
The ferns rustled. Shadepaw turned and spotted a dark shape padding into the medicine cat's den – Tinystar.
"How is he?" the Clan leader asked.
"Oakheart will live," Brackenfur reported, sweeping his tail towards the deputy. "You can see him if you like."
Tinystar nodded and padded forward, slipping easily between Brackenfur and Shadepaw. Shadepaw herself scooted back, giving her father some room with his friend.
"Hey, Tinystar," wheezed Oakheart. "What a situation, hm? Like old times."
Tinystar's ear flicked. "Oh please," he mewed. "Not at all."
Shadepaw swallowed, thinking of the bond these cats shared. Tinystar and Oakheart, and Brackenfur, too, had seen so much together. Shadepaw could hear stories all day and night, but she would never know what it was like to go through it all with them.
Oakheart's tail drew close to him. "Tinystar…" he began, his eyes darkening with pain and sorrow, "I think it's time. This is a sign I ought to retire."
Tinystar narrowed his eyes. "Nonsense! You've many moons ahead of you, Oakheart."
"I'm not as young as Longtail, Tinystar," Oakheart reasoned patiently. "He'll recover from those wounds on his eyes – this? I can feel it, Tinystar. It's time. It's long past time."
Tinystar opened his jaws, and then shut them. Shadepaw watched his ice-blue eyes fill with conflict, and then understanding. "Alright, Oakheart," he breathed quietly. "It's time."
Shadepaw's eyes widened. Was this really happening? Oakheart had been deputy since before Shadepaw and Nightpaw had been born. She dug her claws into the earth with discomfort.
"Who would take your place, though?" Tinystar wondered. "Who do you think could do it?"
Oakheart swallowed, his eyes glittering with pain. "I've some ideas."
"Shadepaw, you should leave us," Brackenfur meowed.
Shadepaw blinked. "But I want to help!" she mewed, eyes widened. "Shouldn't I listen to this?"
Brackenfur shook his head. "You're still just an apprentice."
Shadepaw flattened her ears, feeling stung. But she couldn't argue, not in front of Tinystar or Oakheart. She got to her paws and headed out of the den, unsure if her pelt was hot from indignation or the harsh greenleaf sun.
It was still quiet in the camp. Nearly every warrior was awake now – the only cat missing that Shadepaw could see was Mistyfoot, who was probably still in the warrior's den. With no deputy to dole out patrols and a somber mood in the air, no cat was willing to make the first move leaving – and the fresh-kill pile being full didn't add to their motivation.
Shadepaw felt Nightpaw stirring, and she saw him outside the apprentice's den, splayed out in what little shade remained on that side of the camp. His black fur would just soak up the sunlight like moss if he let it. Shadepaw, feeling resigned, padded over to her brother.
Thankfully, no cat asked her what Oakheart's status was on the way. Is it because I'm just an apprentice? Shadepaw thought ruefully. Probably.
Nightpaw looked up from where he lay. "What's eating you?" he wondered. "Feels like you've got burrs in your pelt."
Shadepaw frowned, flopping down beside him. She busied herself with licking her white chest fur, lamenting the fact that their sibling bond went both ways.
"Brackenfur sent me away," she responded finally. She tried not to sound despondent, but there was no point faking it, not to Nightpaw.
"What for?"
Shadepaw shrugged. "Important stuff, I guess."
Nightpaw pressed close to her. Shadepaw could feel sympathy and understanding wash over her pelt like a cooling rain. She groomed away a bit of moss stuck behind her brother's ear.
"It's still not your fault, you know," she insisted.
Nightpaw's ear flicked, but he said nothing.
A flash of blue caught Shadepaw's eye, and she saw Mistyfoot emerge from the warrior's den. The she-cat's blue eyes locked on Shadepaw, and the warrior began to pad over. She looked ragged and tired, hollow and hurt. Shadepaw wished she knew what to do to help, especially with how Nightpaw tightened up at the warrior's approach.
"How's Oakheart?" Mistyfoot asked, her voice quiet.
Shadepaw swallowed. "He's fine, but he's very hurt," she reported. "He'll recover."
Mistyfoot's eyes flashed, but her expression did not change. She did not acknowledge Nightpaw as she padded away, heading for the fresh-kill pile.
"She hates me," murmured Nightpaw.
Shadepaw blinked, watching Mistyfoot stare at the prey – only to turn away. Did she really hate Nightpaw?
Ferns rustled at the other side of the camp. Tinystar emerged from the medicine cat's den, Brackenfur by his side. Together they strode through the clearing and up to the Highrock – Tinystar leaped to the top in a few bounds, his tail held high.
"All cats old enough to catch their own prey join beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!" he called.
Nearly every cat was already outside, but now they moved out of the shadows and towards the Highrock. Silverstream slipped out the nursery, keeping herself in the entrance so that Ferncloud wasn't left out of the loop. Graystripe settled beside her with Snowstep lying nearby. The elders poked their heads out of their fallen log, too old and tired to sit in such direct sun.
Shadepaw nudged Nightpaw to his paws, and the two of them took a place near the back of the crowd. Nightpaw curled his tail around himself self-consciously, and Shadepaw craned her neck to see her father, who was just a black speck on top of the Highrock.
"You are all aware of what happened yesterday with the badger," Tinystar announced. "It is a great loss to ThunderClan to lose Shrewpaw, but the badger has been run off. ThunderClan will mourn Shrewpaw in the moons to come."
The Clan dipped their head. Cinderpelt and Dustpelt hunched together near the front of the crowd. Shadepaw could see Spiderpaw pressing her pelt against her parents, her head low. How was she feeling, having lost her brother? Shadepaw tried to imagine the gulf of nothingness in her life if Nightpaw were gone and almost made herself whimper.
"Oakheart has been injured," Tinystar meowed, "and we have both come to an agreement – Oakheart has decided to retire, as deputy and as a warrior."
Nightpaw stiffened beside Shadepaw, and she felt another wave of guilt crash over him. It's my fault, he was wailing inside. All mine!
Shadepaw licked his ear, wishing he would hear her if she said it wasn't. All around them the Clan murmured worriedly.
"He's been deputy for moons," Whitepaw murmured. Her ginger tabby tail was curled tight around her body, for security. "Who will be next?"
"No idea," Sootfur mewed, his eyes flashing uncertainly. "Who can take his place?"
"Badgers!" cursed Sorreltail, lashing her dappled tail. "I hope we never see another again!" Beside her, Mousefur and Swiftfoot nodded in agreement.
Tinystar raised his tail for quiet. "Cats of ThunderClan, this is a dark time, yes, but no storm lasts forever," he announced. "We are ThunderClan, and we have faced every trial placed in front of us like warriors. This one is no different.
"With Oakheart's blessing, and the wisdom of StarClan, the next deputy of ThunderClan will be Sandstorm," Tinystar announced.
The Clan rippled with surprise and approval. Both Shadepaw and Nightpaw exchanged a shocked glance. It was rare for a Clan leader to appoint their own mate as their deputy, but it seemed that no cat could think of anyone else more capable to take Oakheart's place.
Sandstorm herself looked surprised. "Thank you, Tinystar," she meowed. The pale ginger she-cat took her place in the shadow of the Highrock, her tail held high. "I will do my best to serve the Clan."
"I know you will," Tinystar agreed, looking fondly down at his mate.
Shadepaw swallowed. My parents now lead the Clan together, she thought. Talk about pressure! She could feel it from Nightpaw, too – expectations were sure to mount even higher on both their shoulders.
"Sandstorm! Sandstorm!" cried the Clan. Shadepaw and Nightpaw both raised their voices high for their mother. "ThunderClan!"
Tinystar looked down at his Clan, his blue eyes approving. He leaped down, signaling the end of the meeting – and it seemed like the Clan was breaking apart into a much happier air than before. Shadepaw could feel it tingling her whiskers – even if Nightpaw was feeling guilty, he was still proud to be ThunderClan.
Nearby, Shadepaw saw Ashfur curl his lip as Mistyfoot and Mousefur passed him. He was always the only cat to find fault, especially with Mistyfoot. "I knew you'd fail," he hissed to her. "It was only a matter of time."
Shadepaw saw Mistyfoot flinch, but she did not look back at the dappled gray warrior. Mousefur whispered something in her ear before whipping around to face Ashfur.
"Shut up, flea-brain," Mousefur snapped, lashing her tail.
Shadepaw watched Mousefur and Mistyfoot pass, the two she-cats heading for the gorse tunnel. Ashfur sat in the clearing, his blue eyes dark. Though the Clan seemed to be in higher spirits, he was a dark cloud in the horizon. How did he ever get to be so bitter towards his own Clanmate?
We need to move on, she thought. But some cats just aren't capable of it.