Chapter 26

It felt like Tinyclaw had slept only for a blink when he opened his eyes. A cool breeze touched his fur, and the sky was filled with billowing white clouds. The rain had stopped. The reeds swaying in the breeze startled him for but a moment before he recalled what had happened, and where he was. He lifted his head, breathing in RiverClan scent. A voice broke through Tinyclaw's groggy awakening – Smallear.

"I told you all that StarClan would show their anger!" the old cat was rasping. "Our home is in ruins! The forest is gone."

Near him, Speckletail fretted. "Tigerstar should have stuck to the customs," she worried, ears flat. "He should have appointed our new deputy before moonhigh!"

Tinyclaw got to his paws, belly burning with frustration. This argument again? He understood their need for an explanation in this, but would they really try to pin this on him and Tigerstar's depressed state? That's not—

"That's not fair," Sandstorm cut in. Tinyclaw swallowed as he saw her green eyes narrow at the elders. Brackenfur was beside her, ears tilted to the conversation. If any cat was an expert on what StarClan had to say, it would be him. Sandstorm went on: "Smallear, Tinyclaw saved your life! Are you really going to be so ungrateful?"

"He nearly drowned me!" Smallear spat back, ears flattened.

"So you would have rather burned to death?" Sandstorm countered. Smallear faltered, jaws closing. Sandstorm's eyes flickered over the complaining cats. "If Tinyclaw hadn't smelled smoke in the first place, where do you think we'd be? You would be dead if it weren't for Tinyclaw – maybe think about that before blaming him for all our Clan's problems!"

"I'm sure Patchpelt, Halftail, and Yellowfang are deeply grateful." Sandstorm's green gaze narrowed on Longtail – but the silvery tabby looked more tired than hostile. Sore from all the loss.

But it was clear he'd hit a sore spot with Brackenfur. The golden brown tabby raised his voice: "Yellowfang will thank us when we find her."

"If we do," Longtail countered. "Who knows if she was able to escape the fire?"

"I would rather think she had," Brackenfur said pointedly, "than go on sowing seeds of despair amongst our Clanmates. Nothing is certain yet." And then, with a sorrowful sigh, "If she is gone, then StarClan will welcome her spirit."

Tinyclaw swallowed before clearing his throat loud enough to be heard. Smallear and Speckletail shrank visibly, clearly feeling guilt for their outburst – Longtail held his tail low. Brackenfur and Sandstorm met Tinyclaw's eyes.

"Brackenfur is right," Tinyclaw stated. He pushed down the frustration that threatened to color his voice. "We cannot focus on the tragedies when the Clan needs us stronger than ever."

Smallear and Speckletail stared awkwardly at one another, tails flicking. Longtail nodded gently before slinking away to the rest of the Clan. Brackenfur gave him a nod, and Sandstorm held his gaze, whiskers twitching.

Tinyclaw could have drowned in that green gaze, but Graystripe's mew burst through the moment: "Tinyclaw!"

Graystripe wove through the reeds, fur damp from the river. His eyes were bright looking at his old friend, and Tinyclaw turned to meet him.

"Have you been on patrol?" Tinyclaw wondered.

"Yeah, and hunting," Graystripe chuckled. "Not everyone gets to sleep the day away."

Tinyclaw grunted, "Says you, the one who would sleep the day away any chance he got."

Graystripe purred and then nudged Tinyclaw with his shoulder. "You've gotta be hungry – come on." He pointed his muzzle towards a modest pile of fresh-kill, arranged just outside the RiverClan camp. Tinyclaw blinked – had RiverClan done all this, just for ThunderClan? "Leopardfur portioned this out for you."

"How generous," Tinyclaw admitted. "Didn't think she had it in her."

That earned Tinyclaw another nudge. "C'mon," Graystripe offered, "she's prickly and I'm pretty sure there's an oak branch stuffed somewhere beneath her tail but… this is a crisis. She knows when to take off her brambles."

Tinyclaw chuckled at that. "Seems you're getting used to things here," he meowed. "Let me tell the Clan." Tinyclaw raised his voice so that the rest of the cats could hear him: "Graystripe has told me that this pile of fresh-kill is for us."

"Thank StarClan!" Frostfur breathed gratefully.

"Better than asking Crookedstar for hunting permission," Sandstorm decided, tail flicking.

Whitestorm, beside her, meowed, "We'll see that each cat gets a share."

"Thank you," Tinyclaw offered, blinking gratefully at the white warrior. Tinyclaw sometimes wondered where he'd be without Whitestorm – and, noting their shared glance at Tigerstar, who lay curled up in the reeds, Tinyclaw had no idea where Tigerstar would be without Whitestorm, either.

Graystripe padded towards the fresh-kill pile and plucked out a mouse, tossing it at Tinyclaw's paws. "Come on, you can eat this in the nursery – there's some kits I want you to meet!"

Tinyclaw blinked, ears pricking. The kits! He took the mouse in his jaws and followed Graystripe as the big gray tom padded into the RiverClan camp. Their nursery was a tangle of reeds, nestled in the crook of a willow tree's roots. A dry streambed ran just beside it, shallow enough for kits to play. Before they could enter, two silver-gray bundles darted from the nursery's entrance, tiny tails sticking straight up behind them.

The kits bundled into Graystripe so hard that they knocked him off his paws – or perhaps Graystripe was playing along. The big gray warrior hit the sandy earth with a huff. Tinyclaw's whiskers twitched – it was fairly easy to tell whose kits these were.

"How did you know it was me?" Graystripe purred, getting back to his paws.

"We smelled you!" mewled the stockier tom. Tinyclaw chewed his mouse thoughtfully. The tomkit had Graystripe's thick fur and amber eyes, along with that darker stripe down his spine. Almost a copy, really, if that copy were a little darker. The she-kit was smaller and more slender, even underneath a thicker coat – her silver tabby pelt was far more marked than Silverstream's, but otherwise she looked just like her mother, right down to the bright blue eyes.

"Very good!" Graystripe mewed proudly. "Now, there's someone I want you to meet – Stormkit, Featherkit, this is -"

"Tinyclaw!" Featherkit answered promptly. Her big eyes were on Tinyclaw now, and he swallowed the last of his mouse in a sort of… proud astonishment. Graystripe had already told his kits about him? No doubt he exaggerated a little bit.

"He's shorter than you said," Stormkit decided.

Yep. "Hello, you two," Tinyclaw offered.

"Father told us all about the stuff you got up to as apprentices!" Stormkit went on. "And as warriors!"

"We want to do stuff like that too!" Featherkit mewled excitedly. She pounced on her brother, fearless of his greater size. "Saving our Clan and our friends and -" her proclamation cut short as Stormkit nipped her ear.

A striped silver head poked out of the nursery. Silverstream. "Calm down, you two!" she said sternly. "Mosspelt is trying to sleep!"

"Sorry," Stormkit offered.

Silverstream padded out of the nursery, looking Tinyclaw up at down. "There you are," she said. Her slender frame had filled out since the last time Tinyclaw had seen her – but then, of course, she had been stuck in a nest and ill, recovering from the hard birth of her kits. Tinyclaw wondered how often she and Graystripe thought of the one they'd lost by the river – Icekit.

"Hello, Silverstream." Tinyclaw dipped his head.

Silverstream nodded to him. Then, she ushered her kits back inside. "It's going to rain again soon," she promised. "Don't wake Mosspelt, or you deserve what you get!" Stormkit and Featherkit both groaned, but they obeyed.

"They're lovely," Tinyclaw stated proudly, looking at the two. He couldn't be more happy for Graystripe and Silverstream – the turmoil their relationship had caused aside, they were happy and their kits were alive and healthy. What more could they ask for?

"Crookedstar loves them," Silverstream purred. "He plays with them almost every day."

"That's good," Tinyclaw agreed. He'd hate to think that Crookedstar would ignore his own grand-kits.

"I'll be back soon," Graystripe promised, brushing his muzzle against Silverstream's. "I'm going to catch up with Tinyclaw for a little bit."

"All right," Silverstream mewed. "Be careful."

"Always."

Graystripe nodded to Tinyclaw, and the two headed outside of the RiverClan camp. Graystripe led Tinyclaw up a small slope, dotted with reeds and rushes and short yellow-green grass. They settled at the top – and the view was surprising. Tinyclaw could see down the lowlands and across the river from here. Sunningrocks was obscured, but the treeline behind it was visible – what remained of it, anyway.

"Where's Yellowfang?" Graystripe wondered. "Did she… make it?"

Tinyclaw swallowed. "I don't know," he replied. "I lost her in the fire when we went looking for Halftail and Patchpelt. A tree blocked her into the camp with Halftail." Was there really any way she could have survived? Grief swelled in his chest. "I don't suppose you caught any scent of her on your patrol?"

"No," Graystripe answered quietly. "I'm sorry."

Tinyclaw looked out over the landscape, eyes glued to the forest. Some plumes of smoke still rose above the trees. "Do you think it's still burning?"

"No idea," Graystripe admitted. "We don't want to investigate until there's no more smoke. It's going to rain again – that ought to put out any remaining fire."

Tinyclaw couldn't stop his voice from cracking. "Do you… think anything is left?"

"I don't know," Graystripe said sadly. He might live in RiverClan, but that didn't stop his heart from aching for ThunderClan and his old home. Was he imagining the camp in ruins, scorched and burned away by flames? "But I know it'll be all right, Tinyclaw. ThunderClan will survive this."

Tinyclaw sighed. "Some cats think it's a sign of doom," he admitted.

"There's always going to be one or two cats who think stuff like that," Graystripe scoffed. "Don't listen to them – listen to yourself. And if you can't do that, listen to me! I'm confident you'll be able to pull ThunderClan out of this."

"Oh?"

"Well, yeah." Graystripe shrugged. "You've pulled them – and me – out of worse before."

A drop of water landed on Tinyclaw's nose. One drop became another, and another, and another; until a light rain was pouring down. Graystripe brushed past him. "Come on, before we're soaked."

Tinyclaw turned to follow, feeling the rain on his back. Graystripe's words made him feel better – but at the moment, it felt as if StarClan themselves were weeping at all the loss.