ShadeClan's activity is hidden somewhere beyond a pale haze. The rising sun rains down in pieces, illuminating one thing at a time, and a murmur rises into a crescendo before falling again and again in the background.
Stonetail wants none of it. She wants peace. She wants stillness. She wants the dark and the quiet so she can mourn without everyone's eyes passing over her hunched form. There is pity out there, hollow pity that is weightless next to the grief and fear snaking its way into every cat's heart, not that Stonetail can quite feel those things now. Beside Thrushpaw's body, even with Streamheart pressed close at her side, the grey warrior is rigid, face set into a stare that might kill a mouse on the spot. And she wants to kill. Her expression does not betray the desire, but she wants to find whoever murdered Thrushpaw (murdered! this is no accident, it cannot be, it cannot be, it cannot be…), and when she does, she wants to rip them in two. StarClan help their soul, whoever they are, because her revenge will not be swift. It will be slow, she promises herself, and it will be every bit the justice the small apprentice deserves, and then some. She failed Thrushpaw in training, but she won't fail her in death.
No matter the sympathies extended to her for the first hour or so, no matter the wailing from Morningfur and Grasspelt, no matter the gentle reassurances from Streamheart, Stonetail stubbornly remains unresponsive. When Robinfoot trudges out, ritual herbs clamped between his jaws, the grey warrior glances his way. After a fleeting moment of eye contact, they both decide to carry on as they were. Stonetail retreats behind her invisible wall, and the medicine cat sets about dressing the body with herbs, sans the lavender Thrushpaw never brought back, the lavender Stonetail can't bear to smell any longer. However, he pauses while placing the chervil and coltsfoot at Thrushpaw's feet. With trembling paws, he tugs at something between her claws only to crawl back with a horrified expression on his face as he peers at what he has discovered.
It is Robinfoot's wide-eyed stare that calls Stonetail back to full consciousness. His stance mirrors that of a cornered rabbit, all weak knees and trembling whiskers. "What?" she snaps, her first word since arriving in camp. But at that, Robinfoot drops his gaze and scampers off, leaving behind whatever he has discovered. He starts heading towards Greystar's den, but paralysis washes over him for a long moment. After that, he peels away to the medicine den, fur standing on end.
The harried actions, unusual even for Robinfoot's nervous nature, draw the attention of those closest to Thrushpaw's body, including Morningfur and Grasspelt. The golden queen, whose body looks heavy with the weight of loss and exhaustion, turns away, but her mate sniffs at the spot where Robinfoot stood moments ago. Squinting at the ground, he hooks a tuft of grey fur between his claws and lifts it up for all onlookers to see.
"What is it?" Streamheart asks softly, looking over Stonetail's shoulder to see what Grasspelt holds up. The older warrior does not answer immediately, studying the fur with intense concentration. Something eventually falls into place. With a long look at it, he sets the scrap down gingerly.
And then he tackles Stonetail, raking his claws down her side with an earth-shattering yowl.
She screeches, and suddenly everyone is watching as one of ShadeClan's senior warriors bears down on the leader's daughter, claws flashing in the sun. Even Streamheart, too dumbfounded by the sudden attack, is no help; she remains seated by the body, gaping at the fight with round blue eyes.
Left to defend herself all on her own, Stonetail does so. Grasspelt may be a Clanmate, but the moment his claws drew blood, that tie was cast aside. Spitting and rolling to her feet, pine needles adhering to her new wounds with sap and stinging like a thousand bitter wasps, Stonetail meets Grasspelt's next blow with a vicious headbutt to the stomach, dropping low and plowing straight ahead to catch him squarely. He flies back with a cry, but does not stay down for long. Hopping onto his feet again, ignoring his mate's confused cry, the brown tabby lunges, sinking his teeth into Stonetail's foreleg. Again she yowls, but now he's close. Operating on base instinct, she grabs hold of his scruff and shakes with all her might, eliciting a short choking noise as he fights against her pull to reassert his grip.
"Stop!" someone shouts, but neither warrior is willing, not when they're both seeing red and tasting blood. Baring her teeth, Stonetail doesn't wait for Grasspelt to strike again, instead leaping at him, tearing claws down his shoulder before he can twist free of her path.
"Are you going to kill me?" he shouts, spit flying. "Are you going to kill me like you killed my daughter?!"
It seems like everyone takes a collective breath, Stonetail included. Kill Thrushpaw? Why would she kill her? She didn't! She would never! But Grasspelt is a father blinded by the loss of his daughter, not to mention a skilled warrior. All he needs is an opening, and he gets it during that collective breath. With a screech fit to raise the dead, he barrels into Stonetail and pins her to the ground, claws diving into her shoulders. "Traitor!" he screams in her face, raising one paw.
She can see the coming strike as clear as day. Grasspelt wants like for like, and nothing will stop him from tearing Stonetail open, not now. Lost in the sequence of events, unsure of how it turned out this way and baffled by the empty and vague sense of disappointment filling her chest, she can only watch as his paw comes flying down. Hazily she wonders if she should kick, make use of that risky move she borrowed from Coal so many days ago, but her limbs lie in frozen shock, and still Grasspelt comes ever closer.
And then he is lying a tail-length away in the pine needles, Greystar towering over him with a paw flat on his chest. "Attack a Clanmate again," she says, "and I will not be so lenient." Her paw flexes, and though no one can see their leader's claws walking across the skin, beneath Grasspelt's fur, everyone knows they are there, especially Grasspelt.
"Look at the fur!" he cries all the same. "Robinfoot pulled fur from between her claws, and it's Stonetail's!"
"It isn't," Streamheart shoots back, finally coming to her senses and inspecting the tuft of fur lying in the grass. "Did your nose run off with your common sense? This smells nothing like Stonetail!"
"I saw her leave by the dirtplace last night, and she never came back," Grasspelt continues to protest. "Who else had the chance?"
"And I was with her!" Streamheart storms over, barred only by Greystar's lashing tail and icy gaze. "We went looking for Thrushpaw because no one else did!"
"Who here has bloody paws and fresh wounds? I don't see anyone else!" Grasspelt insists, voice breaking.
"Enough!" Greystar barks over the rising din. The onlookers, who had begun to chatter and argue sides, fall silent, many looking at their paws shamefully. "Grasspelt, until the vigil, you are to stay with Morningfur at all times. After that, I want you out on patrol with Stormfoot and Darkfeather. Don't come back until you've cooled off." The grey leader allows Grasspelt to rise to his feet, but as he limps back to Morningfur's side, he curls his lip in disgust, glaring coldly at Stonetail.
"And you," growls Greystar, remembering her daughter. "Get cobwebs and marigold from Robinfoot, and then come meet me in my den. We need to talk."
What feels like a lifetime ago, those words would have been the prelude to a shouting match. However, Stonetail's skin crawls, and she forgets her wounds for a moment. There is no shouting match to be had here, and as she watches Greystar sniff at the mysterious fur only to recoil, she gets the creeping sense that this will be really will be a talk, and a heavy one at that.
Chin in the air, a hitch in her step from aching bite in her foreleg, Stonetail limps to the medicine den without looking back. On her way, she catches Featherstar sitting off to the side with her tail curled neatly around her paws. They stare at one another a moment, but the WillowClan leader breaks eye contact first, rising to her feet and heading to Greystar's den.
Whatever talk is going to occur once her wounds are treated, Stonetail is certain that it will not just be between herself and Greystar. And certain of that, she is certain of one other thing.
This will not just be about her fight. This, whatever this is, it is far bigger.
She takes her herbs from trembling Robinfoot without a word, and marches back across camp to find out just how big a conversation Greystar wants to have.
»»««
Featherstar is still in the den when Stonetail arrives, and Greystar sits beside her secret sister, tail sweeping an arc through the moss as she fidgets. However, they are not the only ones waiting. Seated against the far side is Coal, and he lifts his head when the grey warrior pads inside. They nod to one another, and then Stonetail looks squarely at her mother as if no one else is there.
"I'm not a killer," she begins firmly, "but if Grasspelt attacks me again, that might change." Better to clear the air of that particular point now rather than later. The longer the idea festers, the easier it might be to believe, and that will only hinder their already rocky conversations.
"It had better not," Greystar growls in reply, "but that isn't the point."
"No? Then what is? I know it isn't a heart-to-heart." She almost adds "because you haven't got one," but that would be foolish, and Stonetail is finding she lacks the energy for foolishness today. Everything she has, she resolves, is going towards sharpening her claws and finding answers. It's for Thrushpaw, she reasons, and that's a good enough reason.
After a moment, Stonetail realizes that the silence of the den is not the imperious kind, meant to shame her into quiet so Greystar can speak. It is not the kind that signals the calm before the storm, a preamble to their shouting matches. Looking back and forth between Greystar and Featherstar, she presses, "Well?"
And it is a silence of hesitation she has broken.
"We know you didn't kill her." Where Greystar seems unable to find the words, Featherstar smoothly steps in. "There are plenty of cats with grey fur, and even then, it's not your scent."
Stonetail pins her ears back and falls back on her haunches, wincing when she lands. The cobweb bindings on her wounds slip. "So if this isn't about Thrushpaw, then…" She allows the question to hang in the den's heavy air.
"Except it is." Coal finally chooses to speak. "You didn't kill her, but we know who did. I…I knew as soon as I saw what happened." He crosses his paws, tail coiled tight around them, and avoids anyone's gaze. "That's how my mother died. Chin to tail."
The two leaders must have already heard this information because they do not stare at Coal like he has grown another tail from the center of his forehead. Stonetail, however, can't bring herself to look away. A hundred questions blossom on the tip of her tongue, but in their race to escape, they tangle up and fizzle out, leaving the grey warrior staring at the loner, fighting to keep her jaw from dropping.
Coal looks up at her for a heartbeat. "He had grey fur," he says. "And now he's here."
She had almost forgotten the day Coal and Clay arrived, seeking shelter. They had been running away from a murderer, hiding in the hopes that he might pass them by. Clearly, the killer has not.
Suddenly Stonetail wants to shout. Her throat is raw from holding in every bitter emotion, but she can't bring herself to care about that pain. Thrushpaw is dead because two unfortunate loners chose her Clan as their sanctuary. "You brought him here," she says hoarsely, glaring at the black tom. "He followed you." It goes unsaid, but the accusation in her voice is unmistakable: it is your fault.
And so Greystar speaks, finally. "If you want someone to blame–"
Stonetail cuts her off. "What? Blame myself? Blame how I taught Thrushpaw?" Her voice cracks. "What do you think I've been doing since I found her?" Feeling immediately that this talk is a mistake, she moves as if to leave, only to catch Featherstar's eye. The white she-cat shakes her head almost imperceptibly. In the dim light, her green eyes are washed out, but the gravity in her gaze keeps Stonetail from storming out and returning to her numb haze at Thrushpaw's side.
Greystar clears her throat, not to command attention, but as if she cannot find a particular word. Then she says softly, "Blame me."
"Blame…you?" Despite the fact that Stonetail has blamed her mother for a great many things in her life, it immediately feels like a foreign concept. What is she to blame Greystar for? Offering Coal and Clay shelter from their parents' killer on her own daughter's advice, born of spite? If so, Stonetail will not. She is the root of that decision. It is not Greystar's responsibility to claim, nor is it to be used as a feeble attempt at consolation.
The grey warrior sighs shakily. The swings between despair and rage are wearing on her. This meeting is doing nothing but sapping what little is left of her energy. Yet, for some reason, she stays.
"Blame me," Greystar confirms. "This cat may be after Coal and Clay, but it is my fault that he knows ShadeClan well enough to kill in our own territory. That is…solely on me.
"The cat who did this is named Torch," says Greystar, an icy edge returning to her voice. "When I was first made leader, after Flowerstar disappeared, he moved onto the ShadeClan borders, staying out of the way. No one knew he existed for moons; he was quiet and careful, and his scent was weak. He was only discovered when I went on a solo hunt and walked right into him. We were scared, and we fought, but he was skinny and he knew I was strong. He surrendered quickly.
"I didn't tell anyone about him. I assumed he had learned his lesson and moved on after getting a beating, but I was wrong. He started to show himself more often, always just barely escaping the patrols. Windfur, Thrushpaw's grandfather and the cat I would choose as deputy when Wrenheart died, came the closest to catching him. They once traded blows before Torch ran off again, and he wasn't seen for two moons. In that time, Wrenheart died in a raid and I chose Windfur to guide me."
Greystar eases herself to the ground, stretching out into a more comfortable position. She looks tense, though, and coupled with Featherstar's obvious unease beside the ShadeClan leader, the den seems to close in a little. The walls press gently at Stonetail's back as if to push her closer to her mother's tale as the older grey tabby continues.
"He came back, though, and when he did, he was different. He still enjoyed teasing the patrols, which forced me to search for him myself, but he was more focused. The lazy quality that made him feel harmless was gone, and he was no longer twig thin. He also had a small scar on his cheek. A burn scar, he said, because he'd gotten too close to a fire once." Curling her lip, she growls, "It's a shame he hadn't gotten any closer."
"You didn't know that then," interrupts Featherstar.
Coal ducks his head and swallows hard.
"I wish I had. I would have finished what the fire started, but I was a mousebrain instead. I took pity on him, on that scar, and promised to bring him healing herbs if he promised to stay out of ShadeClan's way, which he did for a while. But that was my mistake. I trusted him. I tried to be benevolent and different than my mother, so I allowed him to stay just outside the borders without fear of persecution. This went on for half a moon, him hiding, me bring herbs to help his scar. I got them myself. I lied to Robinfoot and pretended to take herbs for my pregnancy. After that, after the kitting, it…got worse."
There is no way to ease into the rest of the tale. Greystar's voice empties of everything but vitriol, and her claws sink into the moss underfoot. Stonetail finds herself poised to recoil in the event that her mother lashes out, even though she knows Greystar is more precise and controlled than that. There's something in the pale leader's posture that sings with taut, harsh energy.
"He killed Windfur."
From there, all but spitting, Greystar tells her sister, her daughter, and unobtrusive Coal the story of Torch's fall from her graces. She tells them of his radical shift in behavior, his possessive streak, the way he thought himself king of the small patch of territory he was so generously allowed and then some. It was his pride, his arrogance, Greystar explains, that ruined the fragile peace. Where Torch had once been an odd but somewhat endearing cat, he transformed into something mighty and ugly, something that grasped at more than his lot in life afforded him, and only when he sailed clear past his boundaries did it become clear that something ought to be done. Windfur's death, performed less surgically than Thrushpaw's but with similar intent, was violent, forceful, gruesome.
Here Greystar falters, as does her anger. Something more hesitant replaces it. "Windfur did not need to die," she says. "He died on nothing more than a rumor because I made the same mistake as my mother. I kept quiet."
Featherstar shakes her head. "The mistake Flowerstar made was not the same. Her mistake was one of oversight." For the benefit of Stonetail and Coal, both of whom she assumes know nothing about the leaders' sisterhood (in Coal's case, she is right), she looks to them and says, "Flowerstar had Greystar by a forest rogue. She never named the father, and never led any cat to believe it was one tom or another. She also had me by a WillowClan tom, and repeated the process. Her mistake was in allowing us to believe our Clans in that pure blood makes a warrior. When we learned we were far from pure-blooded, we had nothing to protect ourselves from self-loathing. We had to keep secrets."
In the pause, Stonetail chances a look back at the loner tom. He was not born with the stigma of tainted blood hovering over his head, whispered behind his back by nosy elders. A mild interest flickers in his eyes as he recognizes the severity of the situation, but on the whole, he appears nonplussed by the potential for scandal. Stonetail wishes she could feel the same. There is a squirming in her gut, though, alongside the uncomfortable sensation with knowing that her grandmother chose forbidden lovers, with knowing that her lineage is not the straight and narrow descent she once perceived it to be. When she first discovered Greystar and Featherstar were sisters, it had troubled her, but now, to have it spoken to her face and laid bare and free, her unease is mounting.
Trying to catch up with the twisting conversation, to follow it back to its source, Stonetail scrunches up her muzzle and picks at a clump of dirt caught between her claws. The talk of mixed blood has nothing to do with Torch murdering Windfur. Windfur. "Why did Windfur die, then?" she asks, latching onto the solid ground the question affords.
"Jealousy," Greystar replies. "He died because Torch was jealous and petty."
"About?" Stonetail presses. But Greystar hangs her head, as if something in Torch's envy is unspeakable.
"This is the mistake I meant. My mother's mistake," she mutters. "I tried so hard not to be like her, and yet I don't see the difference anymore."
For a second, the den is absolutely silent. All eyes are on Greystar, who looks so small in the dark. This is not the hardened leader any of them know. This is something much more vulnerable, built from the ground up by a heady mixture of desire, regret, and frustration. She lifts her head slowly.
"Stonetail," she says, "I don't expect you to forgive me for much, but when I said to blame me for this, I meant it. If I had made just one different choice, then things would have been so different." Looking to Coal, she adds, "And I'm sorry I didn't do what I should have. Maybe it would have protected your parents and spared you all the running.
"Torch killed Windfur because he believed Windfur was your father, Stonetail. I should have told you this sooner, given you something to protect yourself with."
"Protect myself from what?" Stonetail asks, though her throat is parched and her heart seems to have stopped. She knows. The pieces have aligned, a warped constellation never meant to hang in the night sky. It was not meant to be this way, and yet it is. If it had gone any differently, she would not even be alive to know the truth, and the brothers would have never lost so much so early. Windfur would not have died. Thrushpaw would not have died.
But she is alive, and the brothers have lost much. Windfur is dead, and Thrushpaw is, too. Revulsion and horror and bloodlust mingle in her knotted gut, but Stonetail cannot, absolutely cannot, be at all surprised when Greystar says, "Torch killed the cat he thought was the father. He had no idea that he was the father.
"I'm sorry."