Stonetail keeps her distance for two days. It is in part a request, quietly given to Streamheart the morning following the incident with Coal, and in part a command, passed from Greystar to Lakewhisker and ultimately to Stonetail.
At that time, Lakewhisker told her to "do something relaxing for a couple sunrises," and she had. Ignoring the tug in her gut when she caught sight of Streamheart and the loners training or chatting or simply being amicable, Stonetail rediscovered what it felt like to hunt and patrol in a functional unit. There was a freedom she had forgotten in the moons spent training Thrushpaw, and it breathed new life into her paws. So reluctant to step away from her duties as a mentor on the first morning, she found herself disappointed when her border patrol came to a close the evening after. Returning to camp meant that this brief excursion as an average, unburdened warrior was drawing to a close.
But then came the rain, putting her unconventional duties at bay.
Now, huddling within the warriors' den for warmth and awaiting the return of patrols trapped in the downpour, Lakewhisker says, "Greystar wants you to resume with the loners when the rain passes. She has also asked that you attend the Gathering tonight."
Lightning illuminates the den in brief flashes, but it is enough for Stonetail to see the old tom's concern by.
"What is it?" she asks bluntly. "You're worrying." She's seen the expression Lakewhisker is wearing many times in her life, but most frequently when he could only stand aside and watch as Greystar solidly ended yet another argument.
"She expects much of you," the old tom admits as a peal of thunder passes, "and I feel as if you think yourself…incapable."
"She demands much of me, more than any warrior ought to be capable of," Stonetail counters, though not without an uneasiness to her tone. Lakewhisker's troubled demeanor takes no reassurances from this.
"That is because she believes you are capable. Stonetail, look at your lineage. You are the daughter of Greystar, in turn the daughter of Flowerstar, in turn the daughter of two fine ShadeClan warriors. If you were to travel further down that line, I am confident you would find legends, warriors we can only dream to be. A family built on strength and greatness? It is in your blood, and your mother knows it. She only wants to draw it out of you."
"When you put it like that, it feels like she's only checking to see if I'm really her daughter at all. For someone with all that greatness," –here her lip curls into half-hearted snarl– "I've already lost one apprentice, been saddled with two more who aren't Clanborn, and caused arguments with all three in less than a moon. Some blood I've got." Stonetail drops her chin to her paws and stares out at the pouring rain as it drills into the earth. It creates a shimmering curtain so thick that seeing across camp is impossible; the grey tabby lets herself gaze absently into the haze. Somehow, between the constant motion of the rain, the shrieking winds, and the symphony of thunder overhead, it's easy to get a little lost, so easy that Lakewhisker's voice is jarring despite the way it retains its usual, soothing tone.
"Please try to understand," he says, "because it may do you more good than you realize. And…"
"And what?" Stonetail avoids his plea, and with it the expectation of a promise she might not keep. Beside her, Lakewhisker sighs in defeat.
"And the Gathering will be good for you, too."
With that, the old warrior curls into himself and appears to drift off to sleep. Stonetail is left awake, watching raindrops burst against the ground. For a brief, brief moment, she imagines the raindrops as every opportunity she's ever been given: bright, shining, and gone all too soon.
She turns her back on the rain to wait for moonrise.
»»««
The last patrol to make it home through the torrent is Greystar's. Long after the sky finally reclaims its expanse, sending the billowy clouds away to reveal rising stars, four sodden shapes become visible plodding through the camp entrance. Greystar is at the head, ears pinned back and eyes blazing, while Stormfoot, Oaknose, and Pineheart are close behind. All are equally bedraggled, and Oaknose's hulking form is especially comical with his fur plastered so close to his body. However, no one is laughing.
"Those going to the Gathering, get out here," Greystar snaps, dismissing Pineheart with a curt nod. Stormfoot and Oaknose remain, clearly set to attend the meeting, and Robinfoot appears almost instantly with Thrushpaw scampering along at his side. Stonetail's stomach knots at the sight; how could it not, seeing the little tabby so eager with her new mentor in spite of the dreary weather? But she doesn't allow herself to delay much longer, and instead trudges out to join the party. Behind her comes Sootwing, and from the loners' makeshift den, Streamheart emerges. Only Thornpaw, Brightface, and Poppywing are added to the entourage, and though everyone eyes Greystar uneasily, no one breaches the silence.
Her patrol must have seen something. She must have seen something. And each and every cat present knows that whatever that might have been, their leader does not like it. As such, the uphill route to the Gathering, one usually populated with easy chatter and hushed wishes for peace, is eerily quiet. An occasional bird call pierces the air, often discordant where it should be lovely, and there is a faint pitter-patter as rainwater trickles from the tops of the trees.
At the front of the party, Greystar holds conversation with her deputy and medicine cat in muted tones. Pricking her ears, Stonetail hears something about omens and danger, along with Robinfoot's assurances that, "no, that could not be from StarClan," before Streamheart slinks up alongside her.
"Do you think she's angry?" the silver tabby whispers, jabbing her nose in their leader's direction. Normally, she cares not for gossip, but the agitation rolling off Greystar in waves generates far too many questions, and of course, Stonetail is the resident expert on the grey leader's fury.
"I'm not sure," she replies honestly, straining to pick up the soft conversation once more, but it seems the discussion has ended. The grey tabby flicks a stray raindrop from her ear, disappointed. "This isn't angry like I've seen, though. I'm used to…cold angry. Not this." She can't remember a time in her life when Greystar looked so ferocious, hackles raised and fur bristling down to the tip of her tail. Never has her leader exhibited behavior suggesting anything other than the idea that she is in total control, and yet she displays her emotion for all of the Shadeclan party to see.
As the cats begin to crest the hill, Stonetail opens her mouth to admit that she does not like this strange development, but the pungent odor of smoke assaults her; she chokes instead. Around her, so do the others, and those who catch their breath are the first to cry out when the see the source.
Atop the rise, no one can ignore the blazing fire that consumes WillowClan's territory. It roars in the distance, licking at the riverbank, hungry and fierce. The waters glow golden by the inferno's light, and overhead, birds shriek and squawk as they wheel away.
But the ShadeClan cats do not wait long. Greystar chose her company well, and there is not a soul present who doesn't plunge down the slope. Even the elders, old as they may be, race alongside their Clanmates towards the base of the hill, at which point their leader veers away from the river, instead making her way towards the BreezeClan border.
"It spread!" Stonetail hears her shout. "Thornpaw, Brightface, Poppywing, Stormfoot, go to the border and turn them back! The rest of you, follow me." She flicks her tail towards the low hollow in the distance: the Gathering Place.
Stonetail's gut lurches. The trees surrounding the hollow are pines like those in ShadeClan, and in early greenleaf, they can be dry, even brittle in spite of the rain. If so much as a spark drifts across the river, the Gathering Place will be lost to the flames.
"BreezeClan might already be there!" Streamheart cries, likely coming to the same conclusion.
"WillowClan would go there first for help anyway," Greystar replies over her shoulder. "And they probably think crossing the river into neutral territory is safest."
Suddenly it strikes Stonetail that all along, Greystar had not been angry so much as she had been fearful. The flattened ears, the terse commands, the lashing tail; all had been a mask, donned to keep ShadeClan from faltering. Now, though, fear-scent hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the stench of smoke. The grey tabby smells her own fear intermixed with the terror of her Clanmates', rank and unwanted, and yet she continues to bound toward the hollow, where new fear-scent enters the air.
WillowClan is alone, gaunt and blackened by ash. They huddle together beneath the boughs of a pine, apprentices at the center beside an elder, a queen, and two mewling kits. Encircling them is a ragged group of warriors that wheeze with every movement. Among these cats is the WillowClan leader, Featherstar, her white fur turned dark and patchy with soot. "Greystar," she rasps, rising to meet the ShadeClan cats as they careen down into the hollow. There is a tremor in her step, but she holds her head high as if greeting her fellow leader to a proper Gathering.
Greystar wastes no time with formalities, though. "Gather your Clan and leave the hollow," she says, nodding at the cluster of cats. "The pines could catch fire any moment. It isn't safe here."
Featherstar looks as if she wants to refuse, but an ember drifts past her nose, shining bright. For a moment, she appears transfixed, and then a wave of heat suddenly blows through the clearing, accompanied by a storm of sparks. As predicted, the first pine begins to flame, and the WillowClan leader is left without a choice.
"Go!" she shrieks, nosing warriors to their feet. Most stumble, coughing, and of all the ShadeClan cats, Streamheart, Robinfoot, and Thrushpaw are the first to rush to their aid. An instant later, Stonetail dives forward with the rest, at first aiming to help a patchy black-and-white she-cat to her paws. But this is Cloudwing, the deputy, and she will take care of herself. As Stonetail swerves aside, her sights fall on a skinny grey apprentice who stands gaping at the rising flames. Taking the small cat's scruff in her jaws, she sprints toward the hollow's edge, where her Clanmates are slowly bolstering WillowClan up the uneven slope. As she goes, she spots Streamheart ushering old Sandstripe along, and Thrushpaw is not far behind with a tiny black kit in her jaws. The kit's littermate dangles from Robinfoot's mouth, and the medicine cat supports their mother as she crests the hollow's lip. In this manner, slowly but surely, all the exhausted cats remove themselves from immediate peril. However, they are hardly free from danger. Behind them, the pines left untouched by flame are slowly approaching their ends as their burning fellows tremble and creak, shaking stray bursts of flame onto the boughs of their neighbors. It will not be long until the entire Gathering Place is consumed.
Turning her back on the fire, Stonetail heaves a sigh past the bundle of fur still in her jaws. Her heart is pounding in her chest like a trapped rabbit, but at least the worst of the blaze is behind them. Shoulders sagging, she falls into the crowd of cats as they begin padding away from the hollow. Above the crackle and snap of the fire, she hears a wheeze to her left, a coughing fit to her right. The sounds of exhausted cats surround her, punctuated occasionally by Featherstar calling out the names of her Clanmates to be sure everyone is present. "Webfeather? Good, there you are. Frogthroat? Thank StarClan. Mistpaw?"
Here, the apprentice Stonetail carries makes a feeble sort of squeak, and somehow her leader hears. Acknowledging the small cat with a nod, Featherstar moves on, calling out, "Toadpaw?"
There is no answer.
"Toadpaw, speak up," the WillowClan leader says firmly, stopping at the head of the party to search for the apprentice in question. But Toadpaw does not make a sound. Instead, one of the bedraggled warriors, Webfeather, lets out a horrifying screech before pushing through the cats around her, racing towards the blaze. The fogginess of shock slows the reactions of those closest to the horrified she-cat, and before those at the tail of the group can come to their senses and move to stop her, it's already too late. Crying the missing apprentice's name, she dives into the hollow, and moments later, one of the first pines to burn shudders and sways before falling with an almighty crash.
The two Clans watch in horror as smoke climbs higher into the sky, beginning to blend with the gathering wave of storm clouds. Some make their loss known, yowling to the stars and moon. Frogthroat, the tom called on before Toadpaw, howls in outrage. "Tonight was supposed to be peaceful! Where's our peace, StarClan? Where is it?!" Even when BreezeClan arrives, accompanied by the remainder of ShadeClan's original Gathering party, Frogthroat is still cursing every last star in the sky. Not even his Clanmates can console him, and as if from within a bubble, Stonetail hears someone remark on how sad it is to watch a warrior fall apart so swiftly.
But she can't find it sad. She can see the anger and fear and budding hate for a world cruel enough to steal cats away in fire, but it isn't sad. Much more heartbreaking is the apprentice still hanging from her mouth. Since Webfeather charged to her death in the hollow, Mistpaw has said but two words in the plainest of whimpers.
The first was "brother."
The second was "mother."
And since then, she has said nothing at all. Even when the three leaders agree to divide the remainder of WillowClan among ShadeClan and BreezeClan until they can recover, even when Mistpaw is selected for the ShadeClan division, even when Frogthroat has to be ripped away from his mourning by Featherstar herself, the grey apprentice does not speak a word.
Rain breaks out again as the Clans diverge, first a drizzle and then a downpour, muddying the path home. Most of the WillowClan cats insist on holding their own over the slippery earth, particularly Frogthroat, who seems to steam as rain rolls off of his pelt. His anger has not abated; rather, it fuels each step he takes into the heart of ShadeClan territory. Beside him, a she-cat named Rivershine seems to share in his fury, lithe body taut with the effort of controlling her emotions. Stonetail can sense her turmoil, though, as she steps into the pawprints left in the mud; Rivershine's are wide and deep, pressed in with the force of fear and rage.
Eventually, despite tensions running at a high, the cats reach camp, soaked to the bone with ears pinned flat to their skulls. Featherstar and Greystar hold a brief council before the WillowClan cats break away to make themselves comfortable in whatever nests they can find; most follow Poppywing and Brightface to the elders' den, where they are more welcome than with warriors who have yet to learn about the terrible events that waylaid the Gathering. It is here that Stonetail finally, finally lets Mistpaw go, setting the pale apprentice down beside her Clanmates, who immediately pull her into their fold once more.
"Thank you," says a tabby she-cat as Stonetail moves to exit the den. The WillowClan warrior glances back at Mistpaw, who, in light of the tragedy, seems no older than a kit. Then she adds, "She lost her father tonight, too. Eelsplash. He was a good cat."
A number of responses come to mind, most some variation on "I'm sorry," but they all stick in Stonetail's throat. She stares at the tabby for a moment more, taking in the slump of the she-cat's shoulders, the dull film that has slid over her eyes. An apology won't do much to lift her spirits, and so Stonetail just bobs her head in agreement before replying, "Get some rest. You all need it."
With that, she leaves. Instead of going to the warriors' den, though, where a dry nest awaits her, she takes a seat beside Streamheart, who has placed herself staunchly in the center of camp. The silver tabby shakes her head when Stonetail opens her mouth to speak, gesturing to the sky with her tail instead. For a moment, the grey she-cat is struck with confusion, but her friend's meaning becomes clear when a break in the clouds and rain reveals a cluster of brilliant lights overhead. StarClan is watching this vigil, and so Stonetail adheres to the traditional silence. Even as other cats join her and Streamheart in stoic mourning, not a word escapes her.
By dawn, Featherstar, Rivershine, and Lakewhisker have all kept their silence, too.