CHAPTER 5
Though weeks had passed and Newleaf continued to wrap its tendrils of warmth and bounty around the lake territories, the river only grew shallower. Near the fallen tree leading to the Gathering island, the reedy lakebeds had shrunken until the large patch of RiverClan ground was more marsh than lake. Aquatic prey was still scarce; RiverClan were waiting patiently for more fish to return, but the lack of prey this far into Newleaf was both unusual and alarming. Instead, the clan of swimmers and fishers was relying heavily on ground-dwelling prey, though that too was sparse.
Lynxfur and Pale-eye had not recovered from their strange illness in the least, if anything they had only grown sicker. Not only that, but the elders Dustnose and Molefoot, and Roseflower, a queen, were sick and restricted to the medicine den as well. Piketail had also noticed Jadesong coughing while waiting for a patrol; it was bleak news for RiverClan if even their best warriors were being taken by the disease. He often saw Echosky skittering out of camp in search of herbs, her blue eyes constantly ablaze with worry. Now, she sat hunched over next to Fallowstar as the two spoke in hushed tones.
Their discussion probably wasn't very uplifting. Piketail figured that his father would be calling a clan meeting shortly to inform everyone. What would Fallowstar say? Was RiverClan in worse shape than he thought?
Echosky's murmured prayer came back to Piketail like a stone being dropped into the lake. The soft silver tabby had sounded so horrified as she begged StarClan for aid. At the time, Piketail had been filled with concern, but he forced those feelings of fear away. Surely time was all that RiverClan needed to recover from Leaf-bare; time for Newleaf to fill the river and lake with fish and restore the lush plant life to the forests, swamps, and moors. Still though, Piketail knew a perturbing secret: Echosky didn't recognize this illness, nor did she know a surefire way to cure it. Though gossip was usually quick to run rampant in RiverClan, and Piketail was usually quick to participate in it, this was one bit of information he had to keep to himself. StarClan knew what would happen if he filled his clan mates with more distress than they were already feeling.
Sure enough, just as the sun was reaching its highest point in the sky, Fallowstar trotted up the hillside and called to gather the clan together.
"Let all cats old enough to swim gather for a clan meeting!"
As the dark gray tabby leader stood poised atop the hill, gazing over his clan, his eyes met with Piketail's, and Fallowstar cracked a small, sad smile at his son. So, it was bad news. That must be the worst part about being leader, Piketail mused, telling your clan about something bad that's happening. I guess that just proves how strong a leader really has to be. I could do that without batting an eye if the need arose. I probably wouldn't be as soft-hearted about it as father, either. Sometimes I think he is blinded by his companionship to certain cats, like me, I suppose, and he lets his weak emotions show right through. He shouldn't show even a flea's-worth of doubt in front of his clan.
Next to the large tabby shape of Fallowstar, Echosky clambered up to stand by her leader's side. Her normally bright blue eyes were dull with fatigue, and looking at her closely, Piketail could see that her striped silver pelt was dirty and unkempt. She must have been exhausted from caring for sick cats for the past couple of weeks, with even more stumbling in, rancid with the mysterious disease.
The two high-ranking cats waited for everyone who was in camp to congregate before jumping immediately into the issue at hand. Fallowstar, always being more of a strong and silent type, briefly collected his clan's attention before turning to his medicine cat.
Can't he see that she's beat? Piketail wondered. I would never have forced another cat to address a whole clan of cats in such a weakened state. I guess, even though father is older and experienced, he still makes mistakes.
"RiverClan," Echosky meowed out, her voice struggling to sound energized, cracking ever so slightly, "As you know, a few of our clan mates have fallen ill this Newleaf, but I want to assure you all that it is merely a late bout of Whitecough. Nonetheless, if any of you start coughing or feeling ill, please try to put aside your pride, and come see me right away to be treated. RiverClan needs its warriors to stay strong."
"If it's only Whitecough, then why have Lynxfur and Pale-eye been sick for weeks?" Mottlednose, an older warrior, piped up.
Piketail saw the shock mingled with horror spring into Echosky's eyes, and without a second thought, he interjected, "Leave her alone! She knows what she's doing."
Mottlednose shot Piketail a look of contempt and opened his mouth to retort, before remembering the gray tom's connection with Fallowstar and dropping the conversation. On the hill, Echosky let out an almost indiscernible sigh of relief.
"Yes, it's true," the bedraggled medicine cat continued, "I honestly wasn't sure what sickness it was because we usually never see Whitecough this far out of Leaf-bare. So, when I first saw it, I treated them just with some tansy flowers and honey, for their coughs. But then I noticed that Pale-eye had some of the symptoms of Greencough, so I started treating all the sick cats with coltsfoot and catmint. Pale-eye is still the only one who could possibly be diagnosed with Greencough, everything else is just Whitecough. Everyone should be well again in no time at all. Just remember what I said before—if you start feeling ill, come tell me right away to get treated."
With that, Fallowstar dismissed the clan with a flick of his tail, though once again his eyes met with Piketail's.
Does he want to talk to me? the gray tabby warrior speculated. I guess I should go find out.
As his clan mates dispersed, Piketail padded over to Fallowstar's side as the large tabby leader bounded down the hill. Fallowstar's yellow eyes glinted into his son's copper ones with a mixture of concern and fatherly pride. If there was anything that the dark gray leader was garrulous about, it was his two children.
"How are you, Piketail?" the RiverClan leader asked, flicking his son's shoulder with his faintly striped tail, "It was very kind of you to defend Echosky, earlier. You and Frostpetal never cease to make me so proud of you. Especially you, son. You've grown into such a fine young tom."
Piketail's chest swelled from the compliments, but in all truthfulness, his mind was analyzing every tiny detail of his father's being—the tone of Fallowstar's voice; what he said; his stance; how his short, dark fur, littered with faint stripes, and the patch of white on his chest, were all carefully groomed to make him look noble and leader-like. How many of his nine lives had Fallowstar lost? What tiny, crucial mistakes had Fallowstar made when he received those claw marks on his flank or the bite wound on his neck, both now scarred over and barely visible beneath his charcoal coat? Why was Fallowstar made leader of RiverClan in the first place? What qualities, which Piketail may have inherited, did Fallowstar possess that made him so fit to head a clan and be loved and admired by his clan mates? How could he, Piketail, do it better?
Pikestar. They will all hail me as Pikestar, famed not only for the loyalty and willingness that christened me as a warrior, but for my undeniable talent for leading a clan. This has to be my destiny…why didn't I see it before?
"Piketail?"
Shaken from his reverie, Piketail remembered that his father had asked him a question.
"I'm great, Dad…been keeping Swallowstorm in check, making sure he doesn't harass many she-cats…oh, uh, and Prickleclaw talked to me a couple weeks ago about my warrior name. He told me that cats given the ending '-tail', are named that way because they're thought to be natural leaders. Is that true?"
"Prickleclaw is a wise, old thistle-head of a tom, but I have no clue what he was tellin' you about," Fallowstar answered, but Piketail noticed the gleam of delight and jest in his father's eyes. So, it is true.
There was a semi-comfortable silence that followed as Piketail sidled closer to his father and laid down, his flank pressing up against Fallowstar's as they gazed out over the RiverClan camp. After a while, Piketail couldn't help but press, "Do you think I will be leader after you? Is that why you named me Piketail?"
Fallowstar blinked down at his son in surprise, but Piketail wasn't paying any attention to him, his eyes were all for the happenings of his clan laid out before him. Did Fallowstar notice the ambition glittering in those copper eyes—the same amber-orange as his passed mate's? Could she see her kits now as she walked the stars in Silverpelt? She hadn't had much time to spend with them before StarClan claimed her as their own. Nor had her two children grown very close to Roseflower, who had fostered them beside her own kits at the time (though it was through this relationship that Piketail had become good friends with Swallowstorm). What would she have thought of them? Mentally, Fallowstar was forced to admit to himself, neither of them were anything like her.
Petalpool, a namesake which he had graced his only daughter with, she had been the sweetest cat Fallowstar had ever met. She was compassionate and gentle to those she loved, and yet she also harbored a fierce pride in her clan which she had always defended with as much ferocity as a LionClan warrior. They had wanted kits for moons, but neither time nor luck had ever seemed to be on their side. That was until about 15 moons ago, when she had finally announced to him that she was pregnant. However, age had taken its toll on her body, as she was near to retiring; Fallowstar himself was now older than any of the current senior warriors. Her body never recovered from the stress of birthing her two beautiful kits, and after two weeks of slowly wasting away, StarClan called for her to join them. Though Fallowstar had tried to raise his kits to be more like her, the way his children acted offered little to no resemblance. Frostpetal was incontestably vain and could be sharp-tempered—nothing like her slow-to-anger mother. Piketail was worse; by the time his son was nearing warriorhood, Fallowstar finally realized that he had only taught him what the qualities of a leader are, and not how to properly apply them. Nonetheless, Fallowstar hadn't been worried about his son's ambitions until this very moment, as Piketail lay beside him with that violent tenacity clouding his gaze. But he couldn't force himself to be angry with his son. Really, what else had he expected from the brash gray tabby cat?
Finally, Fallowstar replied, "I…I think that a lot of cats…are influenced by you, and the more you grow, the greater the chance that they will look up to you for guidance. I think that you have a lot of confidence in yourself and the determination to achieve whatever dreams you have in mind. If you desire to be leader, then no matter what, maybe after me, maybe after the leader after me, if that's your dream, then you have the ability to reach it."
It wasn't really the answer Piketail wanted to hear, but he chocked it up to an old tom cat trying to sound wise in front of his kin.
All this discussion of names had kindled a new curiosity in Piketail, and even though he would have been content to let his father continue to dote on him, he decided to slightly change the subject.
"What was your warrior name, Dad?"
"Huh?" once again Fallowstar was caught off guard by a question from his son, "Oh, my warrior name was Fallowpath. Callastar never told me what it meant, but if I were ever to name a warrior with '-path', I would say that cat was one who was always looking forward with a willingness to devote all their strength and skill to their clan. At least, I think that's what Callastar saw in me. I was always so caught up in giving everything I had to RiverClan, she had to remind me to take a step back sometimes and appreciate the world around me. If she hadn't prompted me to, err, pay attention to my surroundings, I would never have noticed your mother, and I would never have considered becoming a father."
Fallowstar purred in remembrance, letting out a deep chuckle. Piketail smiled up at his father. He would never have pictured his father as such a go-getter, always throwing all of his energy into his clan. He'd only ever known Fallowstar to be calm, collected, and precise, albeit a little too soft at times.
"You must have been as noble of a warrior as you are a leader," the gray tabby warrior meowed.
"Thank you, son," Fallowstar rumbled back, reaching down to give Piketail a swift lick on his shoulder, "I'm surprised at how healthy you still look with this extended shortage of prey. You'll have to keep going out hunting and patrolling. RiverClan needs your strength. Why don't you take Acornwhisker across to the Gathering island? You may have better luck fishing over there, and Sandystream looks like she's getting sick of that silly tom worrying himself over her."
Piketail glanced over to where his friend was standing, pestering his pregnant mate with questions concerning her well-being. Sure enough, Sandystream's dark amber eyes were the picture of annoyance. As Piketail got up to go drag Acornwhisker away from the irritated queen, he suddenly remembered that tonight was the Gathering and turned back to ask his father if he could attend.
Fallowstar chuckled again, nodding his head.
"Of course, Piketail," but then his smile faded and he let out a heavy sigh, "I think tonight will be a very interesting Gathering indeed."
Piketail was standing silently in the lake, the water lapping up to graze his belly fur from time to time. Even off of the Gathering island, the water levels were much lower than they should have been. A stretch of sand, stone, and dead lake weeds was visible where it should have been completely submerged. Down the shore a-ways, yet within earshot, Acornwhisker sat staring out across the dilapidated lake. The normally level-headed brown tabby looked tense and brooding, and Piketail was painfully aware that Acornwhisker could not just easily shake off his anxiety for his mate.
Seeing as there were no fish around to be caught anyways, the muscular gray warrior splashed back up the sandy edge of the Gathering island and sidled up to his friend. Even though Piketail could see the lankier tom's ribs, he was reminded of how tall Acornwhisker was—certainly taller than Piketail, himself.
"Hey," he nudged Acornwhisker awkwardly, "Don't worry too much about Sandystream. She's stronger than you give her credit for."
When Acornwhisker turned to face the gray tabby, the anger in his friend's green eyes surprised Piketail almost as much as the scathing words that left Acornwhisker's mouth next.
"And what would you know about having a mate or kits on the way? Why would you care if the whole clan is being consumed by sickness and hunger? The only things you can ever feel are arrogance and greed! Piketail, we both know you wouldn't give a carp's tail if Fallowstar up and died as long as you were next in line!"
"That's wrong!" Piketail snapped back, "How dare you say such a thing to me?"
However, in the deepest, darkest corner of Piketail's brain, his refute sounded like a lie. He just knew he could be a better leader than any cat, even his own father.
"How dare I?" Acornwhisker growled, "You're not the deputy! You always acted like you were better than everyone else, even when we were apprentices together! You did whatever you wanted, and if you got into trouble, you just used your connection to Fallowstar to get out of punishment! You were a show-off, but even that was more bearable than the way you've been acting since you got your warrior name! I don't think you realized it back then, but now that you know—you know your ambition is to become the leader of RiverClan—you've started acting like you're the noblest cat StarClan has ever graced the clans with. The elders tell horror stories about cats like you who were willing to do anything for power. I'm scared for you, Piketail, but more than that, I'm scared for all of us. If you keep walking down this path, you will never be a great leader…a-and Swallowstorm even agrees with me over this."
"What am I agreein' with?"
The voice came from behind them and both toms whipped around in bewilderment at the approach of their patch-coated friend.
Stung by the torrential rant of hurtful comments delivered by Acornwhisker, Piketail was the first to respond, his fur ruffled and voice crackling with fury, "He's all so worked up about Sandystream and the clan's minor case of Whitecough that he felt the need to belittle and insult me!"
"Don't act like you know anything about what I'm going through!" Acornwhisker shot back, his tail lashing back and forth.
Before Piketail could launch a retort, he was stopped in his tracks by Swallowstorm.
"Ladies, ladies! The only thing two respectable toms should be fightin' over is ladies! Capiche? 'Sides, I can't have my two best buds squabblin'. Acornwhisker, I understand that you've got a lot of stress in your life at the moment, but that's no reason to take it out on some other cat. An' Piketail, he is right about one thing: don't let your pride blind you from problems others may be suffering from—compassion is key."
The entire time Swallowstorm was speaking, the black and white warrior had such a serious, scolding expression on his face that it was almost comical. Yet the look on Acornwhisker's face had melted into one of shame. He turned to Piketail guiltily, his muzzle lowered.
"Dear StarClan, I'm so sorry Piketail," he murmured, "Swallowstorm's totally right; I'm just so stressed out and worried about Sandystream getting sick. None of what I said was true…please, please…forgive me."
Though his friend's biting words still clawed at his angry heart, Piketail forced himself to lay his tail across Acornwhisker's shoulder, "I'm sorry too. Why don't we all try fishing together? I'm sure that would ease a lot of stress for Sandystream, if you could bring her back a nice piece of fresh-kill."
The brown tabby tom nodded, and all three warriors focused their attentions on the lake. As they all stood out a few rabbit-lengths into the chilly water, Piketail found his curiosity peaking, though he was still pretty furious at what Acornwhisker had accused him of. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but address Swallowstorm with the question that was increasingly burning a hole in the back of his mind.
"How did you do that Swallowstorm? Where'd you learn to break up a fight like that?"
The black and white tom grinned toothily back at him, "The ladies, of course! Like, duh! If you wanna keep a molly, you gotta learn how to shut things down if they're trying to start a spat."
Both Acornwhisker and Piketail couldn't help but chuckle at Swallowstorm's incorrigible quirks. Piketail was relieved to see that his brown tabby friend seemed to have reverted back to his usual, level-headed self, though beneath the short-tempered gray warrior's skin, vehemence at the memory of Acornwhisker's biting words still bubbled. Swallowstorm laughed along with them, that was until he broke into a fit of coughing.
Though the black and white patched tom tried to repress his heaving coughs by burying his muzzle in his shoulder, the tension surrounding the three friends was palpable once again. Acornwhisker splashed over to Swallowstorm's side, but Piketail stood still with worry. Is he sick too? I probably shouldn't get close, just in case…this is really bad.
"I…*cough*…I'm…*cough, cough*…I'm fine," Swallowstorm wheezed out, his eyes watering, "Just…*cough*…a bug…*cough*…flew in me throat."
"Are you sure?" Acornwhisker meowed, uneasiness evident in his voice.
Even with his muzzle screwed up painfully as he continued to hack off and on, Swallowstorm grinned up at his friends insistently, "…ugh…positive."
After choking out a few more, lighter coughs, Swallowstorm's breathing eased up again and he rasped, "See?"
Both Acornwhisker and Piketail continued to stare at the black and white warrior with suspicion and concern, but it was clear that Swallowstorm would not allow them to stay focused on the matter. He strutted past his friends into deeper water and paddled around, sending up noisy splashes directed at the two stone-faced tom cats.
Piketail sputtered as some of the murky lake water hit him directly in the muzzle. Swallowstorm was obviously going out of his way to prove that he was just fine. Even if he wasn't, there was nothing Piketail could have done to stop him—he knew his patch-coated friend was too wild and carefree. That's why Swallowstorm was constantly getting himself into trouble, even as a full-grown warrior sometimes.
"Well, if there weren't any fish around before, there definitely aren't any now," Acornwhisker growled at the irksome tom still pelting water this way and that.
Between the three young toms, they had only managed to catch a sickly-looking baby bass and two measly minnows. By now the sun was starting to set, and Piketail realized that they needed to head back to camp before other clans started heading over for the Gathering. What would the other clans have said if they saw RiverClan hunting off a territory that was supposed to be shared by all? It would probably be an invitation for attack, seeing how weak the clan of swimmers was. Piketail especially, could not allow such a thing to happen. The trio of RiverClan warriors trotted back to their camp, sodden and defeated, though Piketail noticed Swallowstorm struggle to pad ahead of him and Acornwhisker, still trying to attest to his good health.
"Are either of you going to the Gathering tonight?" Acornwhisker called out, loudly enough for Swallowstorm to hear a few paces ahead.
The black and white tom stopped momentarily and shook his head, doing his best to look confident and not sick, "I'm kinda tired. I was out training Mosspaw all morning, so I'll probably just head off to my nest."
"I'm going," Piketail told them, "I asked Fallowstar earlier."
"I think I'll stay behind to watch over Sandystream," Acornwhisker admitted.
"Hmm," Swallowstorm hummed, "Actually, I think you should go. To keep your eye on Piketail, ya know?"
"I'm not an apprentice," Piketail growled back jokingly, though in his mind he almost wished that Acornwhisker would stay back at camp. He needed time to forgive the brown tabby's words from before.
"Yeah, okay," Acornwhisker conceded, "I guess I'll go. It should be fine as long as I bring Sandy some prey and make sure all is well."
Swallowstorm smiled tiredly at the two toms and nodded his head. The rest of the journey back to the RiverClan clearing was silent.
Once they had returned to camp, Acornwhisker carried the bass over to Sandystream and the other queens, and Swallowstorm cantered over to shove himself between Ibiswing and Jadesong: two young RiverClan she-cats. He greeted them both with a crooked smile, but it was quickly clear that neither of them were in the mood to humor the winning black and white tom. For the first time in, well, ever, Piketail was shocked to see Swallowstorm give up almost right away, and his patch-pelted friend staggered away from the she-cats, disappearing into the warrior's den. Something was definitely off with this scene, and it wasn't just Jadesong who was coughing again, now much harder than she had been yesterday, but with Swallowstorm too. Piketail couldn't help but feel his unease continue to grow.
But I can't say anything about what I heard Echosky saying, he remembered, a good leader doesn't cause his clan to panic needlessly.
The hot-headed gray tabby warrior hardly listened as Fallowstar called out the names of those invited to go to the Gathering. Prickleclaw; Birdbelly; Hemlocktail; Ibiswing; Jadesong (too stubborn to stay behind); Acornwhisker; Piketail himself; Deltapaw; Hailpaw; Mistpaw; and Oatpaw. None of the elders were able to attend this time as they were either too ill or too old. Even Sleekstorm, a middle-aged she-cat who had retired early due to a chronic disease didn't tag along; though she often still did her best to try hunting for the clan. Echosky wasn't going either, opting to stay back to continue treating the sick cats. Without all of them, the little group of warriors and apprentices felt barren and incomplete.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and night began to creep up the sky, the RiverClan cats all left together and Piketail found himself retracing his steps back to the Gathering island. Crossing the tree bridge back over to the island was done without a thought, and not once did the muscular gray warrior's paws slip on the slick bark. Once there, the marshy stench of ShadowClan filled his nostrils. He glanced scornfully around the clearing at the ragged-furred, pine dwelling cats. One face stood out right away—Slicktail.
Beside him, Acornwhisker nudged his shoulder and whispered, "Don't pay that piece of rat-dung any attention."
The RiverClan warriors folded into the crowd of ShadowClan warriors like waves on the lake lapping into one another. Fallowstar and Amberstar convened near the tree where they addressed the clans, sharing quiet greetings.
Piketail decided to stay close to Acornwhisker's side and the two toms sat down on the edge of the clearing, waiting patiently for the Gathering to start. It wasn't long before WindClan showed up, and finally ThunderClan as well.
Every single cat present looked somehow down and defeated. The ThunderClan cats seemed especially bedraggled, their bones showing clearly beneath their pelts. WindClan looked skinnier than usual, and—ever since the last Leaf-fall—their numbers had declined after the battles with RiverClan over prey-theft. It was in one of those battles that Piketail could plainly remember getting the scar across his right shoulder from a vicious WindClan bite. He had been a pretty young apprentice at the time, but he had fought valiantly—skilled for such an inexperienced cat. His fighting prowess had only grown better as time went on. Even though Prickleclaw had expressed doubts about him beating Slicktail when they had talked a few weeks ago, Piketail was certain he could hammer the crooked black warrior into the dirt. If this weren't a Gathering, he would have done it right then and there too; anything to regain his lost dignity from his embarrassing encounter with the ShadowClan tom.
Despite those shameful memories rekindling in Piketail's angry head, he couldn't help but notice that the ShadowClan cats looked to be in poor health too. Though they weren't wearing skin over their bare skeletons like the ThunderClan cats, their ribs were visible beneath their fur, and many of them were unkempt, their claws clotted with dried mud and their pelts dirty. Among them, he spotted a cream tabby queen who looked the worst of all the ShadowClan warriors. Though her pelt was groomed half-heartedly, her dark amber eyes were the picture of a deep, murky depression. In all truthfulness, the fact that every single clan was suffering stood out like a fish that had sprouted wings.
So, it went without saying that the usual cacophony of the Gathering was more of dim throb on this very night. It didn't take long for the leaders to clamber up into the tree, the ThunderClan leader, Maplestar, helping to propel WindClan's far more ancient leader, Hickorystar, up to his post. The poor, old gray tabby nearly didn't make it. Even Piketail felt himself let out a sigh of relief when the elderly tom finally got situated safely.
With the full moon backlighting the clearing under a veil of creamy, white light, the Gathering began as Amberstar called for every cat's attention.
"Greetings everyone! I would like to begin the Gathering by announcing the birth of five new kittens, all healthy, the kin of Fernberry and Mudtalon. There were two she-cats and three toms in the litter and they have been christened: Shinekit, Blackkit, Dapplekit, Molekit, and Cloudkit."
A few of the ShadowClan cats whistled out the name of Mudtalon, who Piketail presumed was the dark gray-brown tabby sitting across the clearing with his chest puffed out in pride.
Amberstar continued, "Besides that, though ShadowClan admittedly struggled a bit through the arduous Leaf-bare, StarClan has been kind to us and we have fully recovered our strength, if not, grown even stronger as Newleaf has melted away the last of the frost."
As she said those words, the tip of Amberstar's mottled tail twitched nervously. Piketail could tell that most of it was a lie, and the way some of the ShadowClan warriors glanced away or down at their paws only solidified the suspicions in his mind. Of course, Amberstar would want to put on a front of being well-equipped to handle any cat who might be thinking of foul play, but in such a sorry state, could any of the clans really pull something like that off? If anything, ShadowClan would be the one to prey on the weaker clans, seeing how underfed and sickly the other warriors looked.
"That is all the news I have for ShadowClan," Amberstar meowed, sitting back down on her tree branch and dipping her head at the three other leaders.
Fallowstar stood up next.
"Is it alright if I go now?" he asked, his voice terse, "I have something important to say."
Maplestar nodded his head in a gesture that read as though it were meant to speak for both him and Hickorystar, "But of course, Fallowstar. Go ahead."
What is he going to say? Piketail wondered. He'd be foolish to reveal how much we're struggling right now. I swear, if he gives anything away I'll—
But his train of thought was cut off as Fallowstar began speaking, "Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you Amberstar, and ShadowClan, on the new additions to your clan. The birth of new kits is always something to celebrate and I send my sincerest hope, or rather, I'm quite sure, that they will grow to be brilliant warriors."
Fallowstar looked so serene in saying this, and it reminded Piketail of how much his father truly valued young cats and their potential. I mean, sure they're something to value, but he doesn't need to be so soft about it. Does he always sound like a mooning kittypet when he mentions kits? I guess I just never noticed this weakness of his. Oh well, no cat is perfect…though I would expect a good leader to not behave so emotionally when his clan is in a such a poor position and faced by cats who could decide to drive us out at any possible moment. At the very least, it seems like he picked up on Amberstar's lies.
"In RiverClan, one of our queens, Sandystream, is due to have her kits before the next full moon."
Next to Piketail, Acornwhisker was near bursting with gratification, and even though Piketail still resented the lanky brown tom from their argument earlier, he couldn't help but feel a sliver of happiness for his young friend worm its way into his heart.
"Also, RiverClan has two new warriors. What's more is that they're my kin! Piketail is here tonight, while Frostpetal opted to stay back in camp. Either way, I could not be prouder of them," Fallowstar mewed.
Eyes turned to face Piketail, and he ducked his head down, his fur growing hot and ears turned back with embarrassment. Why did Fallowstar have to dote on him during the Gathering? As cats around him cheered his and Frostpetal's new names, he caught a glimpse of another cat sneering at him on the other side of the island. Slicktail! The jet-black tom's orange eyes blazed with amusement, as if Fallowstar had just told a side-splitting joke. He remembers me, Piketail realized, good. I'll never let him forget me! Especially when a shove his carp-tailed muzzle into the mud!
Before Acornwhisker could notice the fury boiling in his friend's eyes, but likewise before Piketail could get to his paws and hurl himself rashly at his ShadowClan rival, Fallowstar said something that shocked every cat present at the Gathering.
"Lastly, and most importantly, I must ask you all for help," Fallowstar admitted, lowering his head. His pale, yellow eyes darkened, losing their signature composure.
Whispers of surprise and apprehension arose from the crowd of warriors. What in StarClan's name is he talking about?! Piketail gawked up at his father in horror.
"Any cat with two working eyes and a nose can tell that all of us are struggling" Fallowstar continued, his voice strong, though Piketail could hear it waver just the tiniest bit, "The lake has not filled out as it does every Newleaf, and there are very few fish to be caught. Though the frosts have dissipated, plants have not sprung up as readily as they usually do, and so even ground-dwelling prey is scarce. I can see it in the eyes of every cat here: RiverClan is not the only one suffering. Besides the prey shortage, I regret to inform you that some of my warriors have taken ill with a late bout of Whitecough. That being the reason Echosky is not here tonight. Though they're expected to make a full recovery in a short amount of time, RiverClan needs as many able-bodied warriors as it can get in order to feed the entire clan."
Why is he telling them all this? Piketail's brain was reeling in turmoil and dismay at his father revealing the weakness of RiverClan. Your clan mates are relying on you to keep them safe and you're leaving us vulnerable by openly spilling information about our clan's handicap! Please, Dad, redact all the nonsense you're spewing and show the other clans that RiverClan is as strong as ever!
But Piketail's silent plea was not to be honored.
"And just what are you proposing we all do to help RiverClan?" Amberstar questioned, her silken voice laced with a threat, "Did you not just hear me say that ShadowClan is thriving? Or have you got feathers in your ears, Fallowstar? In what way would ShadowClan benefit from your plan? And I know that you've got one!"
"But of course, Amberstar," Fallowstar responded dryly, "As I'm sure all of you have heard the story of the beavers our ancestors drove away many moons ago, I'll spare you most of the details. As you'll remember, there was once a time when the lake was drying up and every cat from every clan was hungry and incredibly, incredibly thirsty. Each clan sent two warriors upstream to find that the river feeding the lake was being blocked by large animals building a structure made of trees and mud. Together, the warriors from all four clans drove off the creatures and broke through their dam, and all the water returned to the lake. I am wondering if, perhaps, after so many years have passed, those creatures have come back and are blocking the stream again. That would certainly explain how shallow the lake has grown and how little fish have returned. I think it would be in the best interest of every clan to follow in the paw steps of our ancestors and send two cats apiece upstream to investigate."
"Pshh, that's just a tall tale told by elders," Amberstar hissed, though interest sparked in her eyes.
"It is not!" a creaky voice rasped out from the crowd. Piketail glanced over to see an elderly ginger tabby she-cat, Furledleaf, rise shakily to her paws, "Don't be frog-brained, daughter! I raised you better than that."
Annoyance sprouted in Amberstar's eyes, but she didn't retort back to her mother. Piketail couldn't help but chuckle inwardly, I guess even leaders still have to listen to their parents. Though he also realized with a twinge of regret, I wouldn't have to…if I were leader, that would mean Fallowstar was already dead.
"I see no issue with it," Hickorystar rasped out from his spot on the great oak tree.
"Please," Fallowstar insisted, staring straight into the fiery depths of Amberstar's eyes, "It will only be to scout, not to confront the problem. They should be back within a week. You would be exemplifying your capacity for nobility by helping the rest of the clans. As you know, if one of the clans falls, the rest will follow shortly thereafter. We were all taught that as apprentices. And like I said, this is just as a precautionary measure. If there really is something blocking the stream again, we can't just ignore it. We need to stop this, before it's too late."
Fun Fact #1: Even though Piketail and Frostpetal were mothered by Roseflower alongside her kit (now Swallowstorm), neither have ever considered Roseflower as a maternal figure nor Swallowstorm as a brother. Swallowstorm has always been just a really close friend to Piketail.
Fun Fact #2: Acornwhisker said it once in this chapter, but he shortens his mate's name to just "Sandy" as a term of endearment.
And, a bonus question/food for thought. Do you think that Prickleclaw telling Piketail the meaning behind his warrior name was a good thing or a bad thing?