CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Night was falling. Russet hurried through the drifts of snow, knowing he needed to return to camp before the sun vanished beneath the horizon. He had spent too much time caring for Fogpaw, and he was sure that Baron would want a detailed account of his whereabouts. Baron... he remembered how Fogpaw had known the name, and shuddered. The way she had spoken to him had been strange. He hadn't asked what had happened to her, why she looked the way she did – a spectre of her former self – but in retrospect, he should have. She was different in a way that he couldn't place, and it unnerved him.
He had been patrolling, checking the borders to make sure no Clan cats were after the rogues, when he had found her buried in pile of snow, her fluffy grey fur peeking up from underneath the piles of white. It had been a strange moment for him, and his heart had been torn. On one hand, he couldn't afford to take care of her. On the other, he knew her, and he couldn't just leave her there... in the end, his loyalty to his former Clanmates had won out. It had been a very telling moment for him, one that he wished had never happened.
Ever since the battle, Russet had been feeling doubt, doubt about his actions, about his loyalty to Baron, even about his decision to assist Falconswoop. Killing had seemed so easy before he had actually had to do it. Ashpoppy's face still lingered in his mind, haunting him, and he remembered how easy it had been to kill her – and how sick it had made him feel. His stomach churned whenever he thought about the battle, and he wondered what would have happened if he had been able to kill Hailstripe, if his life would have been different. Bile rose in his throat. Others had died that night too. Mintpool. Mudpaw. Cats he had met at Gatherings, cat with whom he had laughed and traded stories.
Cats that died because of him.
He shut his eyes.
"I'm Mudpaw," said the tom, voice shy. He was clearly in his first moon as an apprentice, and his inexperience showed as he regarded the assembled cats with wide eyes, drinking in the sight and the scents.
Russetpaw smiled and sat down, wrapping his tail over Lilypaw's flank. The she-cat was beside him, her golden eyes bright, and she leaned in so that their shoulders touched. The contact was enough to make Russetpaw dizzy. "I'm Russetpaw, of RiverClan," he mewed. "This is Lilypaw."
"Who's your mentor?" asked Mudpaw, curiosity seeming to get the better of hesitant nature.
"Toadstripe," said Russetpaw proudly.
Mudpaw's eyes lit up. "The deputy?" he asked reverently.
He opened them.
The rogues had suffered losses too, three or four cats, but Baron couldn't seem to care less. Instead of burying the bodies as the Clans did, they had simply disposed of them, tossing them in a nearby ravine to let the crows feast on the flesh. Carrionpaw had supervised, and it seemed as though the tom found some perverse satisfaction from the act. The lack of respect for life made Russet sick.
He had thought he could do this, thought he could handle it. It was what he wanted – recognition of his strength, respect, and power. That was all he had ever wanted, and RiverClan hadn't provided that for him. But RiverClan had never asked him to murder anyone either. Baron had. In fact, Baron insisted. If Russet was to ever become an important member of the organization, he was going to have to get used to blood, Baron had said. Hence the ritual...
Russet swallowed heavily, pushing the thought from his mind as he quickened his pace. He wasn't far from their temporary camp now. Baron and the others would be waiting. The blizzard had weakened them, though they had saved up enough fresh-kill to last until prey returned. The rabbit Russet had caught earlier for Fogpaw had been the only one he had seen all day; part of him felt guilty for giving it to her instead of the city cats, and again his heart was torn between the two things he wanted. Everything was breaking down around him, and Fogpaw had only made it worse...
He should never have saved her. Russet grimaced. No, he had only thought that in anger, and he was angry because he thought that she could be right, that maybe he shouldn't be doing this, that he was better than this. The muscular tom ground his teeth. How had she known just what to say?
It was clear that he had two choices: he could stay with Baron's band or he could leave. If he stayed, he would have to commit, have to learn to desensitize himself to the bloodshed, have to kill. If he left, where would he go? Not back to RiverClan; they would never take him back, or any of the other Clans. He would be on his own again, wandering, and if Baron's band found him after he had deserted...
Maybe he only had one choice after all.
Run, said a little voice in the back of his mind. Run now, while you can.
But he didn't. He just kept heading back to where Baron waited for him, and he hated himself for it, hated himself more with every step.
.
They were waiting for him. While other cats milled around, tending to their own affairs, Flynn and Carrionpaw stood in the centre of camp, their eyes fixed on Russet from the moment he came over the ridge and began to trot down toward them. Their gazes were unflinching and Russet felt a feeling of dread pool at the bottom of his stomach. They weren't sure of him yet. No matter what they said, they were not on his side, and they were not his friends.
"Where were you?" asked Carrionpaw in his rasping voice.
"Hunting." Russet's reply was defensive.
Flynn said nothing, just let his gaze drift from Russet's eyes to his empty jaws and back. Russet felt even more defensive now, a prickle of unease running down his spine. "There's nothing out there because of the snowstorm. You know that."
"We do," said Flynn lightly, but his tone was not that of a concession. "Are you ready?"
The ritual. It sounded religious, but it was anything but. These city cats had no need of StarClan or any gods; all of their sacrifices functioned either as a rite of passage or to appease Baron. Tonight, it was a way for Russet to prove his worth to the band and to Baron.
He dipped his head. "Yes."
.
They led him to a secluded grove of trees. Flynn took the lead while Carrionpaw hung behind Russet, just in case he chose to run away at the last moment. The sun was gone now, and night had overcome the land. Far in the distance, he could make out part of the lake's shining surface. The sky was dark, and the stars shone. Silverpelt. Were they watching him? Did they still even care? Would he go to StarClan when he died, or to the land underneath it, or would he just be caught somewhere in the middle, unclaimed for all of time?
Fear gripped him them. I want to go to StarClan. He had never thought about dying before – why should he? As an apprentice, he had been the strongest in the Clan, powerful and confident. As part of Baron's band, he had been proud, arrogance satisfied by the attention that Baron gave him. He hadn't thought of death, not until seeing Fogpaw. He ground his teeth once more. She just had to go and ruin everything, didn't she? Something was off about her, and it made his skin prickle.
But now wasn't the time to think about that.
They entered the grove, Russet trying to beat back the strange fear that was clutching his chest in a vice grip. The trees rose around him, bent and gnarled, the moonlight casting their shadows onto the snow where they loomed as large as giants. In the centre of the grove lay a slab of rock, weather-worn but unnatural. Had the Twolegs put it here? Suddenly he wanted to be anywhere but here, but Baron was standing by the rock, his grey eyes cold, and Russet knew there was nowhere to go but forward.
He stepped up to the rock. Flynn and Carrionpaw flanked him while Baron stood there, unspeaking. After a few moments had passed, Baron jerked his head, gesturing to one of the few cats that accompanied him. Another few seconds passed, and then a cat was brought out of the shadows and led on to the rock.
Russet watched in revulsion. The prisoner was a young cat, barely older than a kit. He was covered in fluffy white fur, his face and paws pointed with ginger tabby markings. His eyes were a terrified bright blue and with a start, Russet saw that he had been declawed. His stomach lurched. This was no forest cat, but a kittypet. He tore his eyes away from the struggling tom, plump and soft compared to the city cats, and looked at Baron questioningly.
The reddish-brown tom caught his look. "A house-cat," he explained. "Wandered too far from his owners, if you ask me. Ah well, it's time we asserted our dominance around here."
Russet's stomach rolled with disgust. "He's innocent," he said quietly. Behind him, Carrionpaw let out a barking laugh that carried far across the still plains.
"He is," Baron said, nodding, which surprised the ginger tom. Then Baron narrowed his eyes. "But that shouldn't matter to you. Hold him down." He addressed the last part of the comment to the cats escorting the kittypet across the clearing.
The flame-pointed tom was brought to the slab. He struggled against his captors, but they were far stronger than he was, and they shoved him down with minimal effort. Steel eyes glinting, Baron looked up at Russet. "Do you know what to do?"
They had prepared him for this moment. Russet ran it through in his head: keep him alive as long as possible, open the stomach first, eviscerate him, and taste the blood. He shuddered again. He couldn't do this, but he had to. There was no other choice. "Yes," he said, meeting Baron's eyes.
Baron nodded, giving him permission to continue. Russet took a deep breath and then approached the stone, conscious of how he must appear to the kittypet. He was a hulking forest cat, scarred, with eyes that spoke of brooding anger. He saw the blood drain from the young tom's face as he approached. The kittypet tried to free himself once more, but his resistance was only met with a blow to the face from once of his guards. Letting out a low whimper, the kittypet fell silent.
Russet stood over him, watching as the moonlight fell upon his plump form. He could do this so easily, could make it hurt, could torture this young tom. He had the physical strength to do it, but did he have the fortitude? That was another question completely. To take an innocent life... the young tom was so scared.
And then it was Hailstripe in front of him, so wounded, waiting for death. And then Hailstripe transformed into Ashpoppy, and Russet remembered tearing out her throat, how the blood had felt as it spattered, steaming, on his throat. His knees quaked and he hoped that Baron couldn't see it. He wasn't like this cats, wasn't as heartless. RiverClan had instilled him with a set of morals and values and they were still with him, despite everything that had happened.
He remembered meeting Falconswoop after the battle, how the tom had hit him around and beat him for his failure to do his duty. He remembered thinking that he just needed to endure, to do it for Lilypaw and Toadstripe. He remembered what Falconswoop had said, the words that had burned in his ears for a moon after. "You're not a killer, Russetpaw. No matter how much you pretend."
And then a third option came to him, one he had never considered, and he realized it was the only thing he could do.
He bent over the young tom until his jaws were by the kittypet's ears. His breath hitched and he only hoped that no one in the clearing had an uncanny sense of hearing. Russet's gaze flicked to Baron, and he knew that those grey eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life. Then he turned back to the tom. "When I move, you need to run. Go down toward the trees. Don't look back or stop for even an instant. Blink twice if you understand me."
The kittypet blinked twice.
Here goes nothing.
And with that, Russet threw himself at the nearest guard, a wiry black tom whose name was unknown to him. They hit the ground hard and Russet, heightened by adrenaline, tore at his shoulder and neck. The guard had been unprepared, and Russet found his fangs sunk deep into the soft flesh of the black tom's throat. He ripped it out and realized just how easy killing was, when you were killing for the right reason.
He turned to see the other guard, a grey she-cat, barrelling at him, and behind him, the slab of rock was empty. Russet saw a flash of white vanish against the snow, and then suddenly the other guard was on him, and they were wrestling, turning over and over in the snow. Then he used his strength to gain the upper hand and he held the she-cat down in the snow, raking his claws down the guard's underbelly. She let out a yowl of pain as the blood spilled out around them, staining the snow.
Russet pushed off of her, getting to his paws. Flynn and Carrionpaw had surrounded him, though Baron hadn't moved. "See?" said the tom. "You can kill."
Anger coursed through his veins, his head pounding with the thrill of it. The blood tasted good in his mouth, unlike Ashpoppy's, which had been thick and sour. His eyes darted between the three cats, judging his distance to the rolling hills, where he was sure he could escape. He could move faster than them, he was sure, if he got the upper hand. Would they bother to chase him?
"Why?" asked Baron, tilting his head.
I swore to protect the weak. But he had never made that vow in front of StarClan, had never earned a warrior ceremony. But Russet had sworn it to himself once, long ago, when he had first received his apprentice name. The words of the vow had been lost to him over time, but he had never forgot what it meant. It was why he had sold himself to protect his Clan. It was why he couldn't kill Hailstripe.
Russet didn't answer, just faked a move to the left before throwing himself to the right, aiming for the space in-between Flynn and Carrionpaw. He moved like the wind, but they were faster, and soon Flynn had knocked into him, pushing him down to the ground. Russet struggled, but the lieutenant was far stronger, and he soon gained the upper hand.
And then something surprising happened.
Baron called Flynn off. "Let him go."
Russet scrambled to his paws as Flynn backed away. The handsome tom was clearly confused, upset that he had lost his chance to tear out yet another throat. "What?" he snarled, angry.
"I want to see what will happen," said Baron, his cold eyes never leaving Russet's face. "I'm interested."
His words chilled Russet to the core, but he had been handed a momentary reprieve from fate, and he wouldn't argue with it. He backed away from the three cats, eyes scouring the plains for any sign of the kittypet – but there was no body to be seen. He must have escaped. Russet felt a sigh of relief, and was surprised by how good the knowledge felt. He had done the right thing.
When he was far enough away, he turned tail and ran as fast as he could, hurtling over the moorland, snow cracking beneath his worn paws. He didn't know where he was going, only that he wanted to get as far away as possible. He stumbled a few times, over stones hidden in the snow, but somehow made it to a small Twoleg farm, where sheep stumbled back and forth, baa-ing anxiously as they huddled against the cold.
Russet found a pile of their dung and rolled himself in it to disguise his scent, wrinkling his nose as he did so. Then he turned his attention back to the land around him, trying to locate the lake and the Clans. There was a certain cat he needed to visit.
x x x
The next morning was even nicer than the last. Kitetail looked up at the sky, a purr in his throat as he regarded just how blue it was. The snowstorm seemed no more than a memory now, and he felt as though he could have been happy, had it not been for the threat of greencough which hung over the camp. Nettleclaw had been getting worse, though the others showed no signs of their condition deteriorating. Beechclaw followed Kitetail's advice about avoiding the nursery, though he complained about it to anyone who would listen. They had enough catnip for the next couple of days, and Kitetail had left it with Galepaw to distribute to cats in need.
The medicine cat, meanwhile, was on his way to ShadowClan.
He reached the border and paused, waiting for his companion to catch up. Slatestar had ordered a warrior to go with Kitetail, just on the off chance that ShadowClan was not as receptive as was expected, and so Larchstripe was his guard. It was also – though this was unspoken – protection in case any rogues or WindClan cats showed up unannounced. Though the blizzard must have weakened them as well, giving ThunderClan a few days of respite, the risk was always there. It was just a precaution, but Kitetail wasn't sure how ShadowClan would take it.
Would they be offended that he had brought a warrior with him? Would they even be open to him at all? Or was he now just a ThunderClan cat to them, an enemy in their eyes? Medicine cats were protected by the warrior code, but the code didn't require the other Clans to be anything but polite, and Kitetail knew, from his time in ThunderClan, that ShadowClan had a reputation for being cold.
What if Birchcloud no longer cares about me?
Birchcloud's approval had sustained him for so long, and now it was gone, and Kitetail was on his own. That was his greatest fear, he realized with a start. His greatest fear was that his family had moved on.
"Kitetail." Larchstripe caught up to him and they crossed the border together. He sized up the she-cat as they were walking, glad for her protection. The silver tabby was a great warrior, though she kept to herself, and Kitetail didn't know very much about her. He knew Slatestar confided in her and that she commanded the respect of his Clanmates, but that was it.
Maybe now was the time to ask. "Tell me about yourself," he prompted.
She shot him an exasperated look. "Now?"
"What else are going to do?" he said with a shrug. Then Kitetail sighed. "As medicine cat, it's part of my duty to get to know everyone in ThunderClan. Please let me do my job."
"Alright," she said as she led the way across the clearing. She then seemed to realize that Kitetail knew the territory far better than she did, and she paused to let him go first. "What do you want to know?"
"Family. Mate. Kits," he mewed, taking a stab at all of the obvious ones. They were entering the ShadowClan forest now, and the pines rose above him, tall and comforting. A thrill ran down his spine. Home.
"I took a mate once," Larchstripe mewed softly. "I was still young then, and the tom who had been my mentor... let's just say he was a very charming cat. We had a kit together, but she... she didn't make it. If she had, she would be about Thickfur and Cherrytail's age now. Their mother and I were friends in the nursery. Afterwards, I guess something in my just decided I didn't want kits anymore, and I started working on my skills as a warrior."
"Thickfur's mother," repeated Kitetail, zeroing on that part of her story. It might not have been his place to know about Thickfur's past, at least not by asking around, but he could tell it was sensitive and was curious. What had made the grey tom so cold?
"Yeah, Flamefur," mewed Larchstripe absentmindedly, not seeing what he was driving at. But before Kitetail could ask another question, they were interrupted as a wave of ShadowClan scent wafted over them.
He turned to see three ShadowClan cats emerging from the pines. Larchstripe tensed, but Kitetail gestured to her with his tail: it's alright. He knew them all, and he could see from their faces that they were happy to see him. Redfur led the patrol, followed by Greywing and Nightpaw. The black she-cat had an eager look on her young face, glad for any excitement to break the dull routine of patrolling.
"Kitetail," said Greywing, dipping his head as a gesture of respect. Nightpaw followed suit, and Kitetail felt another thrill run through him. They recognized him as a proper medicine cat!
Redfur stepped forward and touched noses with him. "Welcome," she mewed, a purr rumbling low in her throat. Then she stepped back at look at the silver tabby beside him. "Welcome, Larchstripe," she added, and there was a hesitant note of friendship in her tone. "What brings you here?"
He took a deep breath. "Redfur, there is an outbreak of greencough in ThunderClan. Nothing major, however I have come to seek advice from Birchcloud as well as any catnip he can spare."
Nightpaw muttered something to Greywing, to which he frowned and replied: "Yes, greencough. You haven't witnessed it before because you're lucky."
Those words sent relief running through Kitetail's veins. ShadowClan did not have it as well, meaning Birchcloud would be more likely to spare catnip. "Will you take us to your camp?"
Redfur nodded. "Come with us."
.
It didn't take them long to reach ShadowClan camp, though judging by the amount of unasked questions shining in Nightpaw's eyes, Kitetail felt as though he had been travelling for eons. He would answer some for her later, when her mentor wasn't around to give her flak for interrogating a medicine cat. In the meantime, though, Kitetail turned his attention forward, where they were entering a small clearing. Again, the thrill ran through him. Home.
ShadowClan camp was as he remembered it. Trees grew tall into the sky, their roots curled above the ground. Moss boulders sat on the edge of camp, which was lined by a wall of bramble. The dens were low in the ground, constructed from branches and ferns and occasionally supplemented with mud. The ground underneath his paws dipped and he remembered, despite the snow, the feeling of loam compressing with each step. The air was the same, cool but still, and he tilted his head up, looking at the ever-familiar canopy spread out above him. It smelled like mud and peat and moss and it made his heart flutter. He missed this.
Cats that were still in camp came out of their dens to see him. Kitetail recognized Sprucetail in the nursery, though he didn't recognize the two shapes flopping over her paws. He saw Flowerpelt run out toward him, her eyes shining with affection and excitement. Kitetail touched noses with her and then pressed his muzzle into her shoulder. He was aware of Larchstripe watching, but didn't care. This was his homecoming. Flowerpelt stepped back. "I missed you," she said.
He smiled. "I miss you every day," he said, words honest. Flowerpelt had been his best friend for so long. Then his eyes caught sight of another figure, Eaglestar, who was watching him with a concealed expression. Before Kitetail could make a move toward him, Redfur reached him and spoke to the tom in lowered tones, clearing explaining the situation. Eaglestar nodded slowly.
And then - "Kitetail."
It was the voice Kitetail had been dying to hear ever since Slatestar gave him permission to go to ShadowClan. He recognized it instantly and felt his heart race as he turned around. A dark grey tom stood in front of him, muscled and powerful, with bright amber eyes. "Sootclaw," he breathed.
And then they were embracing, Sootclaw's muzzle pressed firmly against Kitetail's shoulder as the brown tabby inhaled his brother's scent. He had changed in these past few moons, had filled out and grown ever stronger. He was an impressive sight, and yet there was a softness to him that had been missing all those moons ago. Kitetail let out a soft sigh and let a purr rumble in his throat. They stayed like that for a moment before Sootclaw pulled away.
"You look well," said Sootclaw. "What brings you here?"
"I've come to ask Birchcloud for supplies," explained Kitetail. He noticed Sootclaw shooting a confused glance in Larchstripe's direction and decided to explain. "A precaution. Just in case."
Sootclaw nodded, but there was a frown on his face. "Is ThunderClan alright?"
"I..." Kitetail hesitated. He wanted to tell his brother the truth, wanted to get the weight off his chest, but he had to be loyal to ThunderClan. "Yes. Everything's fine. A couple of cats have come down with greencough but it's nothing serious." He thought of Nettleclaw and flinched internally, wishing he could tell Sootclaw just how scared he really was.
The grey tom didn't look convinced, as if he knew there was something beyond the sickness, but then he shrugged and forced a smile. "Well, Birchcloud's in his den," he mewed. A pained expression crossed his face then, as if there was a question he wanted to ask but didn't dare. Then he pushed it away. "But how are you? How's life in ThunderClan? Are they treating you well?"
Kitetail nodded, relieved for a change in subject. "Slatestar has been nothing but kind to me. There are a couple cats who still haven't adjusted to my position," he mewed, thinking of Thickfur, "but it's nothing serious. They're getting there. It's really neat, Sootclaw – cats are respecting me, listening to me, coming to me for advice. It's a lot of responsibility."
"Well, you earned it," Sootclaw said, amber eyes washing over his brother's face. They were filled with nothing but affection – another marked change from the time when Falconswoop had still been alive.
Kitetail dared to ask. "Do you think about him? Falconswoop?"
The question took Sootclaw by surprise. The dark grey warrior tensed. "I try not to," he said, at length. "It's over now."
The brown tabby nodded. "Alright," he mewed, trailing off.
Sootclaw's eyes flashed, and there was that look again, like he desperately wanted to know something but couldn't find the words to ask. Then it vanished and Sootclaw turned his head. "It was good to see you, Kitetail."
"Yeah," Kitetail agreed, but he was distracted, his head suddenly filled with thoughts of Dawnpaw. He frowned. Where had that come from? "I should go find Birchcloud." Sootclaw nodded and the medicine cat padded off toward his former mentor's den.
He paused before entering, remembering all the times he had come here as an apprentice, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Falconswoop wasn't watching. But Falconswoop was gone now, and Kitetail had every right in the world to enter. He took a deep breath and strode in.
Birchcloud was waiting for him. The light grey tom looked the same as he always did: soft, slender, but with unusually sharp eyes. "Welcome, Kitetail," he mewed, respect and affection intermingled in his voice. Kitetail dipped his head, but Birchcloud chided him. "No need."
"Did Redfur or Eaglestar tell you why I came?" asked Kitetail, taking a seat. He had seen the deputy enter the den when he had been busy talking to Sootclaw.
Birchcloud nodded. "And I have catnip that you can take back with you. ShadowClan has been fortunate this leafbare; no one has come down with greencough."
"Thank you," murmured Kitetail, watching as Birchcloud padded over to the side of his den and removed a packet of herbs from its resting place, putting them down in front of the ThunderClan tom.
"Is there anything else?" asked the grey tom.
Kitetail hesitated and then nodded. If there was one cat he could trust with his worries and anxieties, it would Birchcloud. "I'm scared," he admitted. "What if it gets really bad and I can't handle it? What if someone dies?"
Sympathy clouded Birchcloud's gaze. "You're young, Kitetail, but I wouldn't have left you alone and recommended you receive your full name if I didn't have faith in your abilities. You're an exceptionally gifted medicine cat; as an apprentice, you were already better than the average medicine cat apprentice. You don't realize it yet, but you will soon. And as for death... every medicine cat has lost a patient. It's hard, but life goes on. No one will blame you."
"They will," Kitetail insisted. "Not everyone, not most, but some will. They'll blame me because I'm from ShadowClan and I'm inexperienced and they'll say that Brindlefeather could have saved the cat."
"They're wrong," said Birchcloud softly. "Brindlefeather is dead, and that isn't your fault. Sometimes cats will take out their anger by blaming you, but they don't truly believe it, and you shouldn't believe it either."
Kitetail thought of the look in Nettleclaw's eyes, when the deputy had become sick and had known that Kitetail wouldn't be able to save him, that the dark brown tabby didn't know enough. He flinched. "How can I get them to trust me?" he asked.
"That takes time," said Birchcloud, and this time there was sadness in his voice. "All you can do is wait it out. But I have faith in you."
The tabby nodded. "Thank you," he mewed, feeling better for having poured out his feelings. He got to his paws, ready to take the catnip back to ThunderClan.
"Kitetail, wait," said Birchcloud, and there was a seriousness in his voice that made Kitetail freeze.
The ThunderClan tom sat back down. "Yes?" he asked, remembering the last time Birchcloud had spoken to him like this, when Birchcloud had confessed his feelings about Cricketsong. He swallowed heavily. What did the grey tom have to say?
Birchcloud looked outside to make sure no one was listening, and then he pulled Kitetail closed to him, speaking in a low voice. "There's something I need to tell you, a secret I've been carrying for far too long. I want you to promise me that you won't tell Sootclaw until the time is right."
Unease trickled through Kitetail. "What's going on, Birchcloud?"
"Promise me," said ShadowClan tom, voice firm. "You know him better than I do." Was that regret in his tone?
"Okay. I promise," said Kitetail, the words drawn out of him slowly. He felt as though he was falling into an abyss, dragged down into the darkness below.
Birchcloud took a deep breath. "You know how mating works, that a she-cat can carry a litter from multiple toms?"
"Of course I know that," Kitetail snapped. Apprehension had gotten the better of him and turned his words into an attack. "Sorry."
The grey tom nodded, seeming unconcerned with Kitetail's tone. He was distracted, as if this secret weighed heavy on him, churning in his mind and pulling him back to a time long ago. "When I told you about my history with Cricketsong, it wasn't entirely true. She did start to realize the truth about Falconswoop, but it was too late. They had already mated. Still, in a last-ditch effort, she came to me, in the hopes that the kits could be mine instead of his. I loved her. I couldn't refuse, not even for StarClan."
"You broke your vow." Kitetail's voice was heavy and flat, and he wanted to be disappointed in his mentor, but he understood. He knew what Falconswoop was like, knew that Birchcloud must have been aware of his sacrifice.
Birchcloud nodded. "Yes. And you remember when I told you why I hated Sootclaw so much, that I always saw him as his father in another skin? That wasn't the whole truth either."
No. Kitetail felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. His legs buckled and it was all he could do to stop himself from collapsing onto the floor. No, no, it can't be true. But it made sense, explained why Sootclaw's pelt was grey, not brown...
"I couldn't tell him earlier," said Birchcloud, "not when Falconswoop was around. It wasn't safe. And now I just... I don't know how. That's why I'm giving it to you, because you know him best."
No, screamed Kitetail again, but he couldn't tear himself away from Birchcloud's soft voice. He knew he should run, leave before Birchcloud could utter the words that would change everything and condemn him, but he couldn't. So he sat there, screaming internally with agony.
Birchcloud continued. "The reason I hated Sootclaw so much was because whenever I looked at him, I saw a miniature Falconswoop in the body of my son."
XX XX XX
A/N: Holy long chapter, Batman! Especially since I wanted to include a Chantelle scene in this chapter – scratch that, this entire chapter was supposed to be Chantelle, and I ran out of room. She and Elmheart were going to come to a decision, but 5500 words later, yeah no. We'll see them soon though!
Anyway, There's a lot to say about this, so I'll start with Russet. He's on the path to redemption, sorta. As for the kittypet he saved, we'll see him again, but it won't end up the way you expect. Why did Baron let him go? Baron's not worried about Russet, he knows he can kill him easily, and there's a part of Baron that's very interested to see what Russet will do. It's almost an experiment.
As for Kitetail and Birchcloud – AH! Wow! Did you see this coming? No? It's a big revelation, especially because Sootclaw's identity is so firmly built on being Falconswoop's son. It's also harsh for Kitetail – he had always wanted Birchcloud as a father instead of Falconswoop, but the way it turns out, Sootclaw gets that instead. Now we'll just have to see what Kitetail does with this secret.
Thanks to everyone still here, reading and reviewing! You rock, so enjoy this update!
Also, would you believe I started this story almost two years ago? That's... wow... that says a lot about how bad I am at finishing things.
Thanks for reading and please review!
- PV :)