A/N: So! It's been a long time since I've officially touched this fic. The reason being: I've been intent on planning out every last nook and cranny of it in advance, so I'm not just flying blind, and while I'm almost done typing its massive outline... I missed actually working on it. So I decided to pick it up again, actually rescue this chapter from its dust collecting in my Google Docs - and whaddya know, it's working out for me!
(There's your writer's tip of the day: it's good to plan, but things'll come easier in the moment than you think they will.)
My writing's changed a lot since I last updated this story, in a way that I hope isn't too jarring - I don't have any intention of rewriting the earlier chapters, because... to be honest, I just like seeing my writing evolve, haha.
To anyone who took a look at this fic back in 2020 and decided to stick around: Thank you! And to anyone just reading it now: Thank you, too! I wanna make 2023 the year of working on Spottedfur's Pride - hope you enjoy what's in store!
Sunhigh came too quickly and too slowly, Spottedpaw found. He'd nearly slept through the dawn Clan meeting, much to Cloverfoot and Brightclaw's disapproval, but save for that, all Spottedpaw had to do that day was wait for Heronpaw's plans. He wasn't sure if he found the prospect exciting or dreadful… but it felt more like dread.
He just didn't like Heronpaw, and couldn't shake the fear in the back of his head that this was a set-up. He'd take Spottedpaw out to that training spot just to laugh at the look on his face, or make fun of him for being small, or for being a scaredy-mouse, or for being too quiet, or for apparently having a dumb brute mentor. In theory, that treatment shouldn't have been excused in ElmClan, the cat colony that prided itself on respect and camaraderie, but that was just it — in theory. In practice, Heronpaw was spoiled by his mother, and while Spottedpaw wasn't about to defy his own leader, she did let him get away with things no other apprentice would.
Not like he could blame her. There were more pressing issues on Falconstar's mind, surely, that she had no room to discipline her son. Even Brightclaw seemed to have his paws full more often than not, a thought that hadn't occurred to Spottedpaw before. It was just… an unfortunate part of life.
At least I won't have to put up with it forever, he thought, looking down at his paws. He'd grown since he was a kit, he realized, no matter how much cats picked on him for his size. He'd grown, and he'd continue to, and… then he'd be a warrior, and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Warriors didn't have to worry about being picked on — they had adult cat things to worry about. Maybe Heronpaw would grow up to be a better cat, maybe he wouldn't, but at least he wouldn't have the time to peer pressure Spottedpaw into some shady rendezvous at the IvyClan border.
He felt stupid, just sitting outside his den and waiting. Distantly, he could hear Dawnpaw and Sorrelpaw chattering with Sycamorepaw in the medicine den… Spottedpaw hadn't seen his denmate since her apprentice ceremony, swamped as healers' work had left her. He didn't envy the molly in the least, but he'd take as much interaction with his denmates as he could get… they needed eachother.
What he didn't need was Heronpaw. Falconstar and Brightclaw's spoiled brat, who seemed to regard the other apprentices as little more than competition, dumb little kits to clamber all over and prove his worth… Dawnpaw would complain every time Moleface set her up to spar with him - if Sorrelpaw's bloody nose from yesterday was bad, then training with Heronpaw was…
Just about to ask himself why he even agreed to what that stupid tom wanted, training to fight IvyClan be damned, a familiar skinny white paw prodded him in the shoulder.
Turning his head, Heronpaw was glaring like he'd been waiting all day, when truth be told Spottedpaw wasn't even sure where the tom came from. "C'mon - Comfreywing's gonna think I'm lazy!" He huffed, roughly pulling Spottedpaw to his feet — already, complaining wasn't going to be an option with him, Spottedpaw reckoned.
Heronpaw didn't move with the fear that he was being observed, or judged — the blue-gray markings splotching his ears and the fur on the back of his head resembled Falconstar's perfectly, as did the confidence with which he carried himself as he simply bound out of camp like no cat was watching.
He had been the oldest kit in the nursery, to Spottedpaw's faint memory — bragging all through the night when he finally got his apprentice name, never going a moment without jeering at his fellow kits. And there was no mother prouder than Falconstar, for all she doted, making sure every cat in the Clan knew the little white-and-blue tom was going to be her proudest successor.
…if she had her way, anyway. The confidence in ElmClan's head family had always felt off to Spottedpaw — Falconstar knew more than any cat that ElmClan's enemies were always right around the corner, and sitting peacefully in camp in broad daylight wouldn't even keep them safe… yet, Heronpaw gleefully skipped through the snow, snickering like a kit, with no adults to stop him.
Leaf-bare wasn't gone yet — no matter how much Spottedpaw wished it was. The white slush on his paws and the empty, dreary-looking fog hanging in the sky only made him miserable — to say nothing of the memories the harsh season brought. IvyClan shadows lurking about… Tawnyfur and Maplepelt's bodies resting only tail-lengths below his paws… he shuddered to imagine their dead eyes, the ice freezing their fur, StarClan's chill keeping them from ever rotting…
As much as he didn't like Heronpaw's chatter, the silence that hung between them now felt like a third cat — perhaps even an IvyClan warrior stalking after them…
"...where are we going?" Spottedpaw asked, hoping his voice didn't betray his nerves as he sniffed the cold air. He recalled Heronpaw saying they'd be off herb collecting for Comfreywing, but… well, just one look at the older apprentice gave him the feeling that wasn't what they were here for. None of the apprentices listened to Comfreywing's herb lectures that much — save for Spottedpaw himself — much less Heronpaw.
"Past the Twoleg docks, right on the edge of IvyClan's forest." Heronpaw's sneer fogged the air, hazel eyes glittering with excitement. "It's the best place to train." Thin white paws clambered up a stony slope with ease, while the back of Spottedpaw's mind tugged with the concern of how Comfreywing would feel when they came home empty-pawed. "Brightclaw taught me."
Flashing his fangs as Spottedpaw's stubby legs struggled against the rocks, Heronpaw knocked a small pile of snow into his face. "The rocks here are good for it. That's the thing about training, 'specially with a cat like Cloverfoot — you know the moves, but only on soft dirt with sheathed claws. IvyClan won't have sheathed claws." As Spottedpaw shook the powder out of his eyes, he could just make out a sneer from his fellow apprentice — and could only just dodge the swipe of his paw as he climbed up to join him.
He would call the look in Heronpaw's eyes proud — if he didn't know better. Slinking away, Spottedpaw could only watch as anything even vaguely resembling a spot for herb-collecting disappeared in the snow. For lack of anything better to do, he watched his paw prints, feeling the snow more squelchy than crunchy this time of the season. "Your mentor ever take you out to the docks, Spotty?"
Spottedpaw shook his head, before realizing Heronpaw's back was turned to him, and instead offered a measly "no." "But my parents did. Dappleflower loves the lake. She takes every patrol she can out here, just to watch the sun on the water."
Heronpaw snorted at the overcast clouds, tail swishing through the wet snow. "Sucks to be her today then, huh."
Cold stones nipped at Spottedpaw's paw pads. Dappleflower could probably find beauty in even that… "Do you know if the lake's still frozen over?" he asked.
Pausing, Heronpaw tilted his nose to the skies, flicking his ear to an imaginary tune, before motioning with his tail for Spottedpaw to follow further into the thicket. "We're about to find out."
How much longer would the sun be up? Spottedpaw kept finding himself casting worried glances back in the camp's direction — never did he wander this far without his parents or mentor present… or a friend, at least. Sorrelpaw, Dawnpaw, Thymepaw, and Nettlepaw would at least make the trek entertaining. All Spottedpaw felt in the bristles of Heronpaw's fur in the cold was annoyance — Dawnpaw, Sorrelpaw, and Sycamorepaw were probably cozying up in the latter's den by now. Sycamorepaw had always been eager to share it…
Grinding his fangs in annoyance, Spottedpaw was raring to ask just how approximate a measurement of time "about to find out" was, before Heronpaw snagged a bush in his teeth and yanked it aside to let Spottedpaw pass.
Through the gap was the lake — to an apprentice so small, it looked like more of an ocean. ShellClan lived on the other end of the bank, and he could just barely squint to see a small crew of cats wandering the shoreline. One's blue eyes seemed to shimmer through the fog, and the squeals of a pair of apprentices at their side were muffled by the roaring water.
Apparently the lake had thawed, and the noise prompted Spottedpaw to flatten his ears. Drops flew into his face, and he bemoaned being out in this weather. It was too chilly for prey to be around — how fish could manage in that freezing water, the young apprentice didn't know. Where did they even go in leaf-bare…? Dirt marbled through the melted snow, leaving Spottedpaw's toes caked in slop…
"Not here." Heronpaw snapped, the moment his cohort stopped to shake the mud out of his paws. The white tom's whiskers glinted in the murky sunshine as he pointed his chin away. "It's this clearing in the forest, this-a-way. It's got these tricky rock faces — perfect for sparring." An excitement shone in his eyes, which Spottedpaw couldn't process as anything other than cruel.
Bounding through the mud like he was a kit seeing fresh snow for the first time, Heronpaw continued, "I bet Cloverfoot would never show you this place!"
Between rolling his eyes at the obligatory insult and his paws getting tired, it took Spottedpaw a second to process the other's words — and then, following that, the horror stories from his parents… how beloved ElmClan warriors had been slain over those rocks… "Wait, those crags — that's IvyClan territory, isn't it?"
"They sure wanna think it is. But I heard, from Brackenclaw, that it was ours first. Way back when the war began. And they just kept tryin' to take it from us." Heronpaw's claws scraped against the dirt as they reached a beaten path beyond the lake. "To keep your fur flat, no, it's not IvyClan's territory. Falconstar said they gave it to us a few Gatherings ago — to make up for Ivyfur."
That didn't soothe Spottedpaw's pounding heart in the slightest… Falconstar would say to hold onto that anxiety, channel it into the sparring. But… was this worth a mere apprentice's sparring session?
Flattening his ears to muffle the inevitable insult, it took a few seconds for Spottedpaw's next words to come out — how predictable, him of all cats not wanting to take risks… "I… don't know if we should be here."
"It's ours." Heronpaw hissed. "Fair and square. If those IvyClan rats want to give us dirt for it, they'd have to go to Falconstar."
That's what I'm afraid of, Spottedpaw thought. More IvyClan cats coming into our camp 'cause they're mad at our adults… leaving more apprentices without mentors and kits without parents. All over some stupid rocks. The tortoiseshell bit his tongue — he knew Heronpaw took those rocks being ElmClan's to heart, and he'd stomp over them as much as he wanted… with or without Spottedpaw.
"See, they're right through here." Heronpaw gestured with his tail through a thinning bundle of bushes. "If you wanna be a mouse-heart and walk all the way back to camp by yourself to go pick flowers with Comfreywing and Sycamorepaw, be my guest." Through the leaves, thick slabs of rocks had been left slippery with ice, with bundles of snow huddling in their crevices — at their highest points, a fall could break a cat's neck. "But the next time IvyClan comes, they'll eat your soft fat kittypet guts, 'cause Cloverfoot's pampering you like a queen."
Scrambling up the stones with ease, truly the son of a leader and a senior warrior, Heronpaw's tone was the harshest Spottedpaw had heard it — not in calling him a mouse-brain, or in laughing at his lingering behind in training just to relax in the sun, but shining with conviction in claw-sharp edges. "Cats with mentors like Cloverfoot don't live through wars, much less win them."
Spottedpaw couldn't shake the height of those crags — or how Heronpaw looked smaller and smaller as he hopped from stone to stone with ease. Agility that Spottedpaw could only hope to mimic — with his short, stubby frame, heavy, fluffy fur, and a tail long enough for any IvyClan warrior to snatch in their paws. His claws flexed into the dirt with shame — if he'd trained like Heronpaw, with a mentor closer to Pinestripe or Brightclaw than Cloverfoot, then… could he have fought to defend his territory?
Would Sorrelpaw still have parents?
Heart roaring in his chest like a monster on the Thunderpath, Spottedpaw exhaled, his breath fogging in the air. Crouching, resisting the urge to cringe at the wetness touching his chest fur, he leapt up towards the first crag. His claws scraped against the slick ice, making him fear he'd fall — but Heronpaw looked proudly down at him, and it was enough to let him bound to the next rock face, and then the next.
"I saw how scared you were when they came last moon. How they had t' pick bits of Maplepelt's skull outta that rock." He shook his head. "Bet you're glad it was Sorrelpaw's parents and not yours."
Thin limbs stretching against the stones, settling on the uneven crags like the softest dirt of the nursery, the wind whistled through Heronpaw's whiskers, fluttering ears the same blue-gray as his mother's. "I'll help you protect 'em." Eyes narrowing, the apprentice's growl sounded like a battle-worn warrior's — and, in a way, he was. "You'll never see a mother like that again."
Spottedpaw tensed — the way Heronpaw's claws flexed, the way his tail twitched, he was raring to pounce. Fur stood up along Spottedpaw's spine, every ounce of self-consciousness that only grew stronger with Cloverfoot's babying leaving him in an instant. This wasn't apprentice sparring — this was training for war. This was leader and deputy. This was IvyClan and —
" — ElmClan!?" A hiss cut through the air — behind Spottedpaw, and he could just make out Heronpaw's eyes widening as he swung his head to meet it.
A thin, wiry brown tom with striking dark-green eyes — pupils with golden rings like a solar eclipse — glared into the duo. Thin stripes stroked down his sides, then coiled around his tail in a manner that reminded Spottedpaw of a deadly snake. A familiar black-and-white cat stood at his side, their presence making Spottedpaw's heart drop — the least intimidating, a small silver molly who looked smaller than even Spottedpaw, lingered behind her massive Clanmate, but her ears were sharp, flattening against her head in preparation.
As the wind seemed to still, it took another terrifying second for the pieces to click in Spottedpaw's mind — the brown tom, he'd seen in Gatherings… Firwhisker, IvyClan's deputy… A scar twisted across one of his ankles, right where Spottedpaw recalled seeing Falconstar grip him in her claws as he retreated with the rest of his Clanmates…
"Is Falconstar not teaching her kits these days who this clearing belongs to?" The apprentice molly spat, as her deputy's glare remained fixed on the two others.
"Yeah-huh." Heronpaw replied, keeping eye contact with the deputy like it was a competition as he stepped down the crags. "She said you gave 'em to us, fair and square." Lips baring into a dirt-eating snarl, he continued, "I can train wherever on my territory I want."
Spottedpaw elected to hop down as well, paws swallowed by the freezing mud, and he looked down — unable to bear the sight of Heronpaw digging a grave big enough for the two of them.
"That what she says?" The black-and-white cat hissed, Spottedpaw's tail curling around his paws as he just caught their claws unsheathing.
"Mmmhm." Heronpaw nodded, flashing a cruel grin all-too reminiscent of the one he'd bully Dawnpaw with. "I think you owe us after what you did last moon." Cockily, his tail thrashed from side to side as Spottedpaw internally begged him to shut up. "Come t' think of it, I saw all you guys in camp just then! Stormstar let you out on parole? Or was her big retreat just some play of sympathy?"
Baring his fangs back, Firwhisker's scowl made Spottedfur want to run all the way home to camp. He was the highest authority in the enemy's Clan, and could do whatever he wanted to them — especially after they'd pissed him off…
"Take them to Stormstar," he spat, and the black-and-white cat nodded. Spottedpaw couldn't shake how sharp Firwhisker's eyes were, how tense his limbs stretched with how hard his claws flexed into the snow — over cats only a few moons older than the apprentice at his side, who watched them with as much hatred as her Clanmates did. "Thistlecloud'll help ask them what they're here for."
"Training!" Heronpaw whined, sounding closer to an irritated kit as the fear began to set in — Spottedpaw could catch his paws trembling, likely not from the leaf-bare. "Falconstar doesn't care where I train!"
Firwhisker's expression — smooth, sharp, and unrelentingly cold as the cliff crags, with pupils like the overcast sun — didn't waver. Tail lashing with barely restrained anger, Heronpaw conceded, padding after the patrol with Spottedpaw in tow — who wished more than anything that he'd stayed in camp.
"We. Do."