song: Goodbye John Smith — Barns Courtney

While the black tom pads forwards, he nearly stumbles under the weight on his back and he struggles to breathe through the bundles of herbs in his jaws.

There are three reasons for him to continue on, the reminds himself: the herbs in his jaws. His warrior name. The weight on his back.

He keeps going. His paws are screaming at him to stop — scratched pads and travel don't mix well — but he doesn't. He hasn't stopped for the past two days, not even for rest or to eat.

He has to get back to RainClan.

"He's back!" a voice yowled. It was kit-squeaky but loud, and he drowsily lifted his head, looking at the other apprentices in the den. He spotted a gray tabby tom, blinking his bright blue eyes clear of sleep. The tabby and himself were both big enough to be warriors, but hadn't been given their names, final assessments, or even journeys to the Moon Ridge. They'd watched, humiliated, as apprentices younger than them were given warrior names, and as kits were given apprentice names and were granted their Moon Ridge journies moons into their training.

They were treated like warriors by their mentors and the rest of the Clan. They constantly helped in training the other apprentices. Yet they'd been granted no true name because of a past that they had no part of and a leader that cared too much for history.

He rose to his paws, shaking out his black fur before he padded silently around the nests of the other apprentices. Him and his brother were looked at as sort of parents in this particular den.

He poked his head outside and spotted a large gray tom standing in the center of camp, warriors gathering around him. Nods were exchanged and words were exchanged, and the black tom hardly noticed when his brother appeared at the mouth of the den next to him.

The tabby let out a large yawn. "I thought it would've taken longer than that to get nine lives," he commented.

"Apparently, it doesn't."

The gray tom weaved his way through the crowd around him and leapt onto the large boulder, yowling, "Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Tall Rock for a Clan meeting!" as he went. His voice easily reached all corners of camp. The eldest apprentices padded side by side out of their den, and went to sit beside a white she-cat.

"I'm sure he'll mention something about you two," she mewed to them, curling her tail elegantly around her paws. "Volestar was mouse-brained not to make you warriors, and the whole Clan knows it."

The black tom nodded his head, offering her a smile. "Thank you, Beechcloud."

Beechcloud nodded in return. "It's about time you two got your names."

The new leader lifted his tail for silence, and once it was given to him, he spoke. "As you can assume, I have gone to the Moon Ridge and have earned my nine lives. I am now the rightful leader of RainClan."

"Flailstar!" the Clan cheered. "Flailstar!"

Flailstar dipped his head as the RainClan cheered for him, waiting for them to die down before he spoke again. "Firstly, I must choose a deputy. I say these words before StarClan, so that the spirits of our warrior ancestors may hear and approve of my choice. The new deputy of RainClan will be Tinyfeather."

The black tom's ears perked, and he turned his head to look at his mentor. The small, gray-and-white tabby she-cat's head was lifted in surprise, but she quickly dipped it to her new leader. "Thank you, Flailstar. I'll do my best to help take care of RainClan."

The apprentice cheered, and when the Clan started cheering for her, too, he made sure that his voice could be heard clearly among the noise.

"Secondly," Flailstar meowed, once the second round of cheers ended and Tinyfeather had taken her new place at the base of the Tall Rock, "there are two apprentices that have held that title for far too long." The tabby and black tom both raised their heads. From beside them, Beechcloud purred — just loud enough that he could barely hear her.

"Strikepaw, Sunpaw, come forward."

Both apprentices rose to their paws, weaving through the crowd until they reached the Tall Rock, with Tinyfeather in front of them and their necks craned to look up at Flailstar.

"You two come from a line of cats that have done horrible things to the Clans," the leader began, "yet you both have proved yourselves to be different from the rest of the Dark Furred Ones. Volestar was too afraid of what you would do as warriors to leave you without the constant supervision of your mentors, and we all know that this was a mistake on his part.

"However, a journey must be made, and I have already gone to the Moon Ridge." Strikepaw and Sunpaw glanced at each other, disappointment in their gazes. How much longer was he going to have to wait, Sunpaw wondered? Moons? Seasons? "Quicktail tells me that RockClan is fighting an illness that requires an herb from Twolegplace. Your ancestors once terrorized RockClan, forcing them into a smaller territory and to nearly starve to death. Your task now is to go to Twolegplace and find the herb they need, and to redeem your bloodline to the eyes of their Clan. When you return, you will be given your warrior names.

"Go see Quicktail for traveling herbs for traveling herbs and a description of the herb RockClan needs. May StarClan light your path."

The black tom dipped his head, his entire body feeling like he could be blown away on the wind like a leaf and his blood singing in his excitement. He wanted to give some kind of a thank you, but he couldn't find the words.

The two toms turned tail and hurried towards Quicktail's den. The crowed parted for them, words of encouragement murmured in their wake.

Sunpaw holds his head high. He has to, or he worries that he'll drop the herbs he's carrying, and he if he does that then he'll have to pick them up and if he has to pick them up then the weight on his back might slip off, and he's not sure if he can get him back on again, and then where would he be?

He has to get to RockClan, and then he can go back home, to RainClan. He repeats that thought to himself, too scared to think of anything else in fear of breaking down. His paws are sore, but he continues on. Eventually, he has to focus his mind onto his paws, too scared of falling to not be careful of where he's stepping.

He doesn't stop.

He keeps moving.

"This'll be fun," Strikepaw told him, flicking his tail from side to side behind him as they left the RainClan border behind. "We'll meet new cats, and fight new cats, and—"

"Gather herbs?" Sunpaw suggested.

"And gather herbs," Strikepaw agreed, nodding. "And after that, we'll finally have our warrior names, and we'll get to help RockClan, too!"

Sunpaw purred — he was just as elated as his brother was, but he never figured out how to show his emotions quite as well as Strikepaw did. "Yeah," he agreed, his mind buzzing at the thought of what his future held in store for him.

He pads passed the RockClan border, hardly realizing that he has over the smell of the herbs in his jaws. He doesn't care that he was meant to wait at the border. He has to get back to RainClan. He has to get Strikepaw home.

He doesn't know where the RockClan camp is, but he stops in place when a patrol pads out and surrounds him. The leader of the patrol, a russet-furred tom, takes a step forward, eyeing Strikepaw on his back hesitantly.

"What are you doing on RockClan territory?" he asks.

Sunpaw carefully crouches down to set down the bundle of herbs. "I have herbs for your medicine cat," he tells him. His voice is hoarse from disuse.

"And who's he?" asks a small white she-cat, one who looks to be an apprentice. "Did you kill him?"

"Snowpaw," the russet tom growled. The she-cat lowers her head and ears, but she keeps glaring at Sunpaw.

"Can't you smell him?" a gray-and-black she-cat asks the apprentice. Sunpaw, for a moment, is sure that Snowpaw is about to respond with something along the lines of not under all the dead, no, because he wouldn't be able to smell anything under that, either, but the warrior continues, "He's a RainClan warrior, and I'm sure the dead one is, too."

"What happened to him?" the russet tom asks.

Sunpaw hesitates for a moment. "Strikepaw didn't make it."

"Strikepaw?" Snowpaw asks, her nose wrinkled. "Shouldn't you two be warriors by now?"

"Quiet, Snowpaw," the she-cat orders.

"Follow us," the tom mews to Sunpaw. He turns around, then pads deeper into RockClan territory. Sunpaw picks up the herbs, carefully stands, and follows.

"Is that what a Twolegplace looks like?" Sunpaw asked, golden eyes wide as he stared upwards.

"It's huge!" Strikepaw meowed, padding forward, towards the massive buildings.

"Wait, Strikepaw!" Sunpaw called, but the other tom only went faster, leaping over a wooden fence and into an alleyway. Sunpaw balanced himself on top of the wooden boards, and didn't have time to react before a rogue tom appeared behind a crate and scratched at Strikepaw's side.

"Get out of my alley!" he hissed, then dug his teeth into the tabby's chest while the RainClan tom battered at him with is hindpaws. Sunpaw dropped onto the rogue from the fence, digging his claws into his back.

"Strikepaw, run!" Sunpaw ordered, leaping off of the rogue and tearing off down the alley as fast as he could. He could hear Strikepaw behind him, and they skidded to a stop outside of the alley, just in front of a Thunderpath. The rogue, satisfied that they were off of his territory, left them alone.

Sunpaw turned and looked at Strikepaw's chest wound, dipping his head to sniff at it — he wasn't Quicktail, but he could tell that it wasn't good. The rogue's teeth had gone deep into the flesh and it was bleeding badly. "We can't treat that," he meowed.

Strikepaw shrugged his shoulders. "I'll make it," he told him. "Until we get back home, at least."

I'd suggest leaving Strikepaw out here," the she-cat tells him before they enter camp. "You'll frighten the cats inside."

Hesitantly, Sunpaw nods. With the help of the russet tom (who he's learned is named Ryeriver), they lie Strikepaw on the ground just outside the RockClan camp. The four cats make their way inside, and Snowpaw leads him to the medicine den. Inside, there are cats coughing, and he finds a shaggy-furred gray tom going from nest to nest, tending to all the cats. He looks up at him with blazing dark blue eyes, sniffing at the air. "RainClan," he mumbles, seemingly to himself, then louder, "You're on of the cats Flailstar sent?"

Sunpaw nods.

"Well, where's the other one?"

"He's dead," Snowpaw meows bluntly. "Lying outside camp."

The thin tom pads forward and lifts a paw, giving the apprentice a harsh cuff 'round her ears. "That dead cat gave up his life to save our Clan," he growls, "so you should treat him better than that."

Snowpaw nods quickly, eyes wide. "Yes, Northfrost!" she mews, before turning and racing out of the den.

Northfrost turns his eyes to Sunpaw. "You're one of the Dark Furred Ones, aren't you?" he asks. Sunpaw nods again, glancing down at his pitch black pelt. "Your brother, did he have fur has dark as yours?"

"No," he meows. "He was a gray tabby." It feels strange to say was when he's talking about Strikepaw. He was alive not all that long ago.

Northfrost nods. "Then maybe he was why you both turned out so good," he comments. "What's your name?"

"Sunpaw."

Again, Northfrost nods, then he shoves him out of the den with a bony shoulder. "I've got work to be done, and I'm sure Thistlestar wants to see you."

Sunpaw watches as the medicine cat pads deeper into the den with a flick of his tail, then he turns to see a large white tom who was summoning him with a flick of his tail.

"Sunpaw, is it?" he asks, twitching an ear.

"Yes, Thistlestar."

Thistlestar dips his head to the younger tom. "Thank you, for getting us the herbs he need." He lifts his head, his eyes narrowed — not in anything malicious, just curiosity. For a few moments, he looks as if he'll ask him something, but he doesn't.

Sunpaw figures he should say something. "It wasn't a problem," he meows.

It turned into one, he thinks. But the quest itself wasn't one.

Thistlestar nods, then turns and calls, "Breezewatcher, Mothshade." Two cats sharing tongues near the fresh-kill pile lift their heads. One was a sleek brown she-cat, and the other was a cream she-cat, both with pine green eyes. "Help Sunpaw bring his brother back to RainClan."

They look at Sunpaw, then glance around camp, confused expressions on their faces, but both chorus a Yes, Thistlestar, anyways. Sunpaw dipped his head towards the RockClan leader in thanks, then turns and leads the way out of camp. He hears the two she-cats follow behind him.

"Great StarClan," the cream she-cat meows once she spots Strikepaw.

"His wound got infected," the brown one notices. She dips her head to sniff at the tabby and looks up at Sunpaw from the corner of her eye. "Didn't you say that you were a Dark Furred One?"

"Yes."

"I thought you all had fur as dark as night, or whatever."

"Strikepaw was different."

The two she-cats help to hoist Strikepaw onto his back, and walk by his sides to make sure that he won't fall to the ground.

They carried herbs in bundles in their jaws and they padded easily across the flat landscape. Strikepaw was acting strangely, almost as if he was sick, but he kept up his usual happy and excited demeanor as they padded forward.

Their pace slowed, but they were still moving, and Sunpaw was excited to earn his warrior name.

The three cats enter the RainClan camp when the sun is nearly set. Cats turn their eyes towards the rustling entrance and the RockClan scent, eyes going wide when they see Strikepaw lying atop Sunpaw's back. They're stopped at the entrance by Flailstar, his green eyes staring at Strikepaw before they turned to Sunpaw.

"What happened?"

Sunpaw tells him everything — about how Strikepaw had leapt into a rogue's alley and gathering the herbs, and him seeming fine for a while, and then him falling, and not getting up again. Flailstar nods when he's done with his story, then narrows his eyes at the apprentice before him.

"When was the last time you ate, or rested?" he asks.

Sunpaw hesitates. "A while."

Flailstar turns his eyes from Sunpaw to the brown she-cat, and from the brown she-cat to the cream one (despite the walk from the RockClan camp to the RainClan camp, he never learned which one was Breezewatcher and which one was Mothshade). "Put him down in the center of the clearing," he meows. "Thank you for helping Sunpaw bring him back home."

The two warriors nod to the RainClan leader, and they pad to the center of camp with Sunpaw. Smoothly, the three cats set him on the ground, and Sunpaw watches as the pair leave his camp.

"Eat something, then sleep," Flailstar orders. "Your warrior ceremony will be in the morning."

Sunpaw looks down at his brother's body — he can't rest, there's Strikepaw's vigil. It's his last chance to say goodbye before he leaves for StarClan for good, so how is he supposed to not be there for it? "But..." he mews: he can't seem to find the words to explain himself.

"You carried him here without stopping," Flailstar mews gently. "He knows you care. No go."

Sunpaw goes.

He heard a thump from behind him, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw a gray tabby lying on the ground. His flanks heaved with each labored breath, and the fur on his side was covered in dried blood.

Apparently, it wasn't the chest wound he should've been worried about.

"Strikepaw!" he yowled, dropping the bundle of herbs in his jaws and rushing towards the other tom.

Strikepaw looked him at him with too-bright blue eyes. His own bundle was lying only a few mouse-tails away from him, discarded by the fallen apprentice. He was panting, fighting for each breath and grasping onto it desparately.

"I can't," he panted. "I can't."

"You have to," Sunpaw told him. "We're finally gonna get our warrior names."

"I guess—" Strikepaw broke off into an awful cough, and when he breathed in again, it rattled like something was loose in his throat, "I guess you'll be getting yours without me."

"No, no," Sunpaw insisted with a sharp shake of his head, "you can't give up now. Not now."

"I know you can do it, Sunpaw," Strikepaw mewed quietly. It was like he didn't have the energy to speak any louder. "The rest of our kin are in the Place of No Stars. We'll be the first to go to StarClan — wouldn't that be nice? Going to StarClan?" his voice got choked as he spoke, tears filling his eyes that were still too damn bright.

"And we will," Sunpaw assured him. His own voice sounded choked, too, and his vision was going blurry with unshed tears. "But not today."

"I hear that it's always greenleaf, there," Strikepaw commented, "and that cats never go hungry, or get sick."

Sunpaw gave a harsh sniff and refused to think about the warmth sliding down his face. "What'll happen to me if you're gone?" he asked softly. "I won't know where to start without you."

Strikepaw's eyes lost and regained their focus, and he blinked slowly up at his brother. "See things," he told him, like it was just that easy. "Go on every mission Flailstar offers." The tabby turned his head to look at the sky — the sky that Sunpaw knew was cloudy. That brightness was leaving the apprentice's eyes, and Sunpaw wished that he could have done something, anything, to stop it.

"You're gone," Sunpaw told him, quieter than ever. "The sun's gone, so you are, too. Take my herbs and shoo."

Sunpaw couldn't help it — he laughed. Tears fell from his eyes, and he kept laughing in between his sobs. He didn't know how long he cried for, but when he calmed down, Strikepaw was lying there, still and silent, on the ground, but he just felt numb.

The black tom slowly hefted his brother onto his back. He carefully picked up Strikepaw's bundle of herbs, then his own, and he kept going.

"I, Flailstar, leader of RainClan," the tom intones, looking up at the sky above his head, slowly getting brighter and brighter from the sunrise, "call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon this apprentice. He has worked hard to understand your noble code, and i commend him to you as a warrior in his turn."

He lowers his head, looking down at Sunpaw, and he could feel an excitement that reminds him of Strikepaw thrumming through his veins. "Sunpaw, do you promise to uphold the Warrior Code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?"

"I do," he meows.

Strikepaw had talked about life in StarClan before he'd died, and Sunpaw plans to join him there someday.

"Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Sunpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Sunfire. StarClan honors your dedication and loyalty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of RainClan."

Flailstar leaps off of the Tall Rock and sets his muzzle on top of his head, and in return, Sunfire licks his shoulder.

"Strikepaw! Sunpaw! Strikepaw! Sunpaw!"

Volestar narrowed his eyes, and turned his gaze to the nursery. "Now that these two are apprentices, Vixentuft's sentence can be carried out." The leader flicked his tail towards the deputy. "Flailflame, bring her forward."

The crowd parted as a she-cat, with fur as dark as Sunpaw's but eyes as bright as Strikepaw's, was guided forwards. There were no whispers or murmurs left in her wake — only awful, crushing silence. Sunpaw didn't know which would be worse.

"Vixentuft," Volestar began, "eight moons ago you were sentenced to execution, and eight moons ago you revealed that you were expecting kits. Your crime, itself, was murdering kits, and now that your sons have no need of your care any longer, the time for your punishment has come. Do you have anything to say?"

Vixentuft looked at Strikepaw and Sunpaw — she'd never looked at them with any kind of love, only thankfulness. Sunpaw had always known that it was because they were the reason she was alive just a little while longer. She looked back up at Volestar, head held high, dark and twisted smile on her face and meowed, "No, I did it."

Sunpaw wanted to be anywhere but there. Vixentuft had never loved him, but she was still his mother, and he didn't want to watch her die.

Volestar's tail lashed once behind him. In one quick movement, he leapt down from the Tall Rock, and in less than a heartbeat his claws had scored easily across her throat.

Sunpaw couldn't help but to flinch.

"Sunfire! Sunfire!" the Clan cheered.

He was sure that he could hear Strikepaw's voice, somewhere among them.

rewritten may 1st, 2020. happy quarantine, baby!