Chapter 5

Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun as it struck a puddle leftover from last night's bare sprinkle. The forest smelled fresh and full of new growth as she prowled through the undergrowth, her belly fur barely dragging the leaf litter. She made sure to keep her plumy tail off the ground – one of her first lessons as Tinystar's apprentice was that her tail would give her away if she didn't pay attention to it.

The forest was quiet but all around Mistyfoot's sensitive ears could pick up the sounds of prey scrabbling and fluttering in the trees. She narrowed her keen eyes, looking for the slightest rustle that would –

There!

A squirrel poked its head out from underneath a nearby juniper bush. Mistyfoot stopped in her tracks, whiskers twitching. There were plenty of nuts in this part of the forest, and the squirrel inched its way out to shuffle in the litter. Mistyfoot watched it pick up a nut and stuff it into its cheeks.

Patience…

The squirrel turned its back.

Mistyfoot bunched her haunches and sprang.

The squirrel squeaked in alarm, startled as Mistyfoot's forepaws landed just a whiskerlength too short. Cursing, Mistyfoot lashed her tail as she watched the squirrel flee. How could I have missed?

She swallowed, and then froze. There was something wrong about this dream. Mistyfoot couldn't quite put her paw on it, but it felt as if she were suddenly aware of something she shouldn't be – like she was in more control of herself than she had ever been before.

I've dreamed this dream before, she thought, flicking her tail.

Mistyfoot opened her jaws to scent the air, but all she could taste was cold, frosty night. She sat down on her haunches. Now that she knew that this was a dream, she wanted to wake up – but she didn't know how, and wondered if she should even bother trying.

It's the first dream I've had that didn't have Shrewpaw's face in it, Mistyfoot thought. Guilt settled bitterly in her stomach, and her claws sank into the soft earth. For days she had floated from patrol to patrol, feeling as out of body as she did right now – hearing murmuring from her Clanmates and knowing they were talking about her. And then, seeing Shrewpaw's face in her dreams…

Mistyfoot sighed. It was like living a nightmare.

Suddenly there was a softness in the air – a gentle scent that Mistyfoot had not smelled for seasons, that tugged at her heart and made her look up from her paws with eyes wide in disbelief.

The world was glittering with starlight, where before it seemed like a normal part of the forest. Every color changed and saturated, looking otherworldly to Mistyfoot's eye. She swallowed around a lump in her throat as a young-bodied she-cat pushed through the bright ferns, her pelt patched with dark gray and her fur still soft with youth.

"Mosspaw," Mistyfoot whispered.

The memory of her sister flashed through her mind – once ThunderClan's medicine cat apprentice, Mosspaw had fought Bluestar's legacy in her own way, through healing. And then, during the battle with BloodClan, she sacrificed herself to save the other medicine cats from Bone, one of BloodClan's deadliest cats.

Mistyfoot's claws flexed, remembering the feeling of Bone's blood gushing over her paws. She and Stonepaw and the other Clan apprentices had put a stop to Bone, but Mosspaw hadn't survived.

And now she was here.

Mistyfoot was dumbfounded. "Mosspaw," she repeated. "How…?"

Mosspaw touched her nose to Mistyfoot's to stop her from speaking. The touch was cold like ice, but warm like kithood. Mistyfoot closed her jaws and let Mosspaw's scent wreathe around her like a comforting blanket of moss.

"I'm so sorry, Mistyfoot," Mosspaw murmured. "For everything that has happened, and everything that will happen. Remember that StarClan is watching over you – that I am watching over you."

Mistyfoot felt too choked up to speak. She blinked gratefully at Mosspaw.

"I have a message for you, my sister," Mosspaw mewed. Her eyes changed, then, sparkling with a light that Mistyfoot had no name for as she spoke in a voice that seemed not her own: "Shadow, Wind, River, and Thunder must join together, for the forest shakes to its roots."

Mistyfoot trembled as the words washed over her, her fur pricking ominously. "W-What?" she sputtered. "I'm no medicine cat, Mosspaw – what does this mean?"

Mosspaw did not answer her. Instead, she meowed, "Meet at midnight near the Great Rock on the new moon. Your journey will begin there."

Mistyfoot opened her mouth to protest, but the world began to fade. The ground beneath her paws seemed uncertain and shaky, and Mistyfoot dug her claws into the earth even as it began to fall out from beneath her.

As she fell into darkness, she could hear Mosspaw's voice: "I am watching over you, sister."

"Mistyfoot? Mistyfoot, wake up!"

Mistyfoot's eyes flew open, and her world thrust itself back onto the ground. She was lying in her mossy nest in the warrior's den, the heat of the day already thick in her fur. Her body couldn't seem to move – the shock of the dream had locked her limbs and she stared up at Mousefur, dumbstruck.

Mousefur looked back, eyes wide. "Some dream you had, then?" she guessed.

Mistyfoot swallowed, rasping, "I… I guess so." She tried to recall it all, but the details slipped away from her like fish in the river. I remember… scenting… moss?

"Come on," Mousefur mewed, sounding a little impatient. "We're needed on a patrol."

Mistyfoot blinked in the sunlight. "Of course."

She got to her paws and followed Mousefur out of the den – and the grief and guilt hit her like the rays of the sun. She could feel eyes on her as she followed Mousefur across the clearing. What were they saying? Mistyfoot couldn't meet any cat's eye, let alone Cinderpelt and Dustpelt, who were sharing a thrush together on the other side of the clearing.

They paused by the apprentice's den. "I'll fetch Spiderpaw," Mousefur mewed.

Mistyfoot watched her put her head into the apprentice's den, feeling a pang of sorrow. I should be bringing Shrewpaw, she thought glumly.

Mousefur was out of the den quickly, with Spiderpaw loping after her. "Let's go," Mousefur mewed, "before the heat burns our fur off."

Mistyfoot nodded. Mousefur stared at her a moment – probably thinking I'm incompetent – before leading the way to the gorse tunnel. Spiderpaw, tail up, padded alongside her mentor. Mistyfoot followed behind, trying not to let her tail drag on the ground.

Mistyfoot wondered about her dream, and thought of how much she wanted to return to it, instead of this hot, miserable, waking reality.

The heat did not improve as the patrol made their way towards Fourtrees. Mistyfoot longed for shorter fur, feeling like her paws were twice as heavy. It's a good thing we aren't hunting, she thought.

"I'm thirsty," complained Spiderpaw.

"Hush," Mousefur mewed simply.

Spiderpaw closed her jaws and sighed, dropping behind the warriors with her tail dragging in the dirt.

Mousefur padded closer to Mistyfoot. "How are you doing?" she asked quietly.

Mistyfoot felt her pelt prickle. "I'm fine," she insisted.

"Don't give me that," Mousefur groaned, rolling her eyes. "I lost Thornpaw seasons ago, he was my first apprentice. I get what you're dealing with."

Mistyfoot frowned, choosing to stay silent and resisting the urge to point out that her mother, Bluestar, had been responsible for Thornpaw's death.

"If you want to talk, I'm here," Mousefur went on. Her eyes were surprisingly gentle. "I think you need to deal with this before it consumes you – losing Shrewpaw wasn't your fault."

"So everyone says," Mistyfoot rasped. She was acutely aware of Spiderpaw just behind them, of how the young she-cat must hate her for what happened to her brother. "But how come it feels like I could have stopped it?"

Mousefur sighed. "When Thornpaw and Runningwind died I wondered what might have happened if I'd stayed with them, instead of running away for help – and when their deaths were still raw, I blamed myself for being a coward. Now, though, thinking back, I know that staying would have gotten me killed, too."

Mistyfoot's mouth felt dry. All she could do was listen to Mousefur open up, and feel both overwhelmed and grateful that the prickly senior warrior was doing so at all.

"It's still raw for you," Mousefur told her. There was a streak of pain in her eye as she looked at Mistyfoot. "But when you look back, all you can see is that you did what you had to do in the situation you were in at the time."

Mistyfoot looked down at her paws.

"Oh, say something, will you?" muttered Mousefur. "I don't exactly dole out advice often!"

"Thank you," Mistyfoot offered quickly. "Sorry."

Mousefur's whiskers twitched. "It's all right, youngster."

They reached Fourtrees, and Mistyfoot felt just a little lighter than before. Though Mousefur's advice had trouble settling in her heart, she was grateful that the older warrior didn't see her has incompetent. There was a certain privilege to feeling like Mistyfoot could call Mousefur a friend, especially when not many others in ThunderClan did.

"Wow," Spiderpaw breathed, looking up at the great oaks. "I still can't get over how huge they are! I wish I were going to the Gathering…"

"Next time, maybe," Mistyfoot mewed.

"Tell me what you smell," Mousefur grunted. "And stop gabbing – this isn't a peaceful place until tomorrow night."

Spiderpaw nodded her head rapidly and opened her jaws. Her tail flicked back and forth as she tasted the air, and Mistyfoot wondered if any part of this she-cat could stay still.

"I smell WindClan," she mewed.

"Makes sense," Mousefur agreed. "The wind's blowing in from their territory."

Mistyfoot frowned. She opened her own jaws, and was assaulted by the heathery, peaty scent of the moor. Grimacing, she pointed out, "It's stronger than it usually is, though."

Mousefur flicked an ear. "All right, let's investigate. Stay low and quiet."

The three cats backed away from the open clearing and into the undergrowth, where their pelts would blend better with the shadows. They dropped low, stalking through the ferns and bracken, making their way around the edge of the clearing.

It was Spiderpaw who spotted him. Her gray head shot up, and her jaws opened to cry out – but Mousefur stuffed her tail into her apprentice's mouth instead, hissing for her to stay silent.

Mistyfoot peered ahead. A lean, young, gray-black tom was padding through the undergrowth, cursing as his paws tangled on thorns. A massive rabbit was in his jaws. The patrol watched him disappear into the moors, leaving a clumsy trail of broken undergrowth behind him.

"He's a WindClan cat!" hissed Spiderpaw the instant Mousefur pulled her tail out of her mouth. "We should be chasing him!"

"It wouldn't do much good," Mousefur pointed out. "He'd already caught that rabbit."

Mistyfoot bristled. "WindClan, trespassing? Stealing?" she breathed. "There's no way Tallstar would stand for that."

"It could be an honest mistake," Mousefur agreed, though her eyes sparked with annoyance. "Come on, we need to report this to Tinystar."

"Will he bring it up at the Gathering?" Spiderpaw wondered. "Will there be a fight?"

"Tinystar will bring it up, I'm sure," Mistyfoot agreed, "but a fight? I doubt it. Tinystar and Tallstar are good friends. It's likely he's a new apprentice and just mixed up his smells with the wind blowing so strongly."

"Wish that wind would make it here," groaned Spiderpaw.

"We can get a drink on our way back," Mousefur conceded. She raised her tail. "Come on, now."

"All right, I'm going to make my report to Tinystar," Mousefur decided. The patrol had returned, and they were standing in the sunny clearing. Mousefur looked to Spiderpaw. "Go see to the elders."

Spiderpaw nodded and rushed off towards the hollow log. Mistyfoot twitched her whiskers, amazed at how outwardly unaffected by things Spiderpaw seemed. When she looked back to tell Mousefur such, Mistyfoot found that the brown she-cat was already trotting across the clearing, towards the Highrock.

Mistyfoot was alone.

Immediately it felt like every eye in camp was on her, and Mistyfoot's stomach dropped. Anxiety crawled in her pelt like spiders. She looked for a safe spot to place herself, away from prying eyes, but there just didn't seem to be one – every cat in camp was huddled in the shade.

She froze, digging her claws into the earth. She could see Silverstream sharing tongues with Graystripe, and wondered what they were saying about her. She spotted Swiftfoot, Cloudtail, and Brightheart sharing a mouse with their daughter, Whitepaw, and wondered if the three were cautioning Whitepaw against spending time with Mistyfoot, the worst mentor in ThunderClan.

The conversations were so clear and distinct in her mind, she could see her Clanmate's mouths move and imagine their voices speaking those deep, inner insecurities. Her ears buzzed and her breathing quickened.

"H-Hey, Mistyfoot?"

Mistyfoot started, and the world shocked itself back to normal.

Nightpaw was staring up at her, his ice-blue eyes wide.

All at once, Mistyfoot was flung back to Snakerocks, to the badger's stink and the creature's snarling snout and snapping teeth. She could see blood spraying over the stones, and hear the thud of Shrewpaw's body deep in her ears and down to her heart.

She could see Nightpaw, cowering in a log.

The look in her eyes must have frightened Nightpaw. The small black tom took a step back, his tail trembling. "I-I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so… sorry."

Instantly a wave of guilt washed over Mistyfoot. How could she blame Nightpaw for what happened? Without Shrewpaw, he would have died, and how would any cat have known he'd been in danger? And yet, if I hadn't let Shrewpaw go on his own…

"It's okay," Mistyfoot managed, talking around the lump in her throat.

Nightpaw's eyes flashed with relief, and his tail lowered. "T-Thank you," he said, sounding almost… happy to hear it. Mistyfoot's heart ached. Nightpaw had blamed himself too… and from his perspective, how could he not? But it really wasn't his fault.

Dustpelt's voice came from across the clearing. Nightpaw's ear twitched. The small tom gave Mistyfoot's muzzle a brush, murmuring, "Thanks, really," into her fur before he pelted off to meet his mentor.

Mistyfoot felt both as if a weight had disappeared from her shoulders and like another had dropped into her heart. It wasn't Nightpaw's fault.

It's still mine, though.

"You look… well," grunted a voice.

Mistyfoot stiffened, turning her gaze to see Ashfur sauntering up to her. His dappled gray pelt was almost orange in the sunlight. "What do you want?" she asked. "And why do you care?"

Ashfur shrugged. "Just wanted to remind you that a more experienced warrior wouldn't have let it happen."

Mistyfoot nearly lunged at him. She forced herself to stay still, digging her claws into the earth to stop herself. "Why do you even talk to me if this is all you have to say?" she hissed instead, curling her lip.

"You never deserved to have an apprentice." Ashfur turned his back. "And this is just proof. Maybe next time Tinystar will choose a warrior who's actually worthy."

Mistyfoot watched Ashfur walk away, fury mounting in her pelt. With the heat and humidity, Mistyfoot wondered how her pelt wasn't sparking with lightning at Ashfur's fox-heartedness. Instead she whipped around and stalked across the clearing, tail lashing as she headed for the elder's den.

She pushed her way through the honeysuckle and into the cool shade of the hollow log, her claws catching in the moss that Spiderpaw was busy replacing. Frostfur, Dappletail, and Speckletail were outside the den at the moment, chattering and gossiping in the shade like thrushes, their mews barely audible through the wall of the den. Longtail's nest smelled faintly of herbs – he was still getting treatment for an accident with a rabbit that blinded him last greenleaf.

Oakheart, however, was still inside. Mostly because he had to be – Brackenfur insisted that he move as little as possible now that his leg was healing. Oakheart's progress was good, but he wouldn't be walking – or running – any time soon.

Mistyfoot flopped down beside her father.

"Ashfur?" Oakheart guessed. "I saw him talking to you out there. He never wants to share prey, that's for sure."

Mistyfoot grunted in frustration.

"Don't pay attention to him," Oakheart insisted. He licked Mistyfoot between her ears. "He's never had anything good to say to you, not since you were apprentices."

Mistyfoot bristled. "But he's right, Father – Tinystar shouldn't have given me an apprentice. I wasn't ready."

"You were," Oakheart mewed. "You are. You'll be a great mentor one day – but this was just very, very bad luck, Mistyfoot."

"One day?" Mistyfoot repeated bitterly. "Tinystar won't ever give me another apprentice, not after this."

Oakheart narrowed his eyes. "Tinystar isn't as foolish as that," he insisted. "He sees you for the warrior you are, Mistyfoot."

Mistyfoot's yearned to be away from the subject. She nestled close to her father and asked, "Do you ever miss Mosspaw?"

"Of course I do," Oakheart breathed. "Every day. Are you okay?"

Mistyfoot rested her head on her paws, closing her eyes. "I… I don't know, anymore," she admitted quietly. She stared into the wall of the elder's den until the bark seemed to twist and warp before her eyes.

"It feels like everything is falling apart." She whispered. "But… I think I had a dream about her."