SUNFIRE

He could've snickered all the way back if not for all the feathers in his mouth. They buried their ill-gotten fresh-kill outside the lodge for safekeeping, and then took turns helping each other groom the filth, leaves, and sticks out of their fur.

"Ugh, I'm going to taste lavender in the back of my throat for weeks," Sunfire complained.

"Maybe it'll freshen your rotten wildcat breath."

Sunfire should've headed straight back for camp, with how long he'd been away already. But if he was being truthful with himself, the drooping, ramshackle face of the old Twoleg nest was the only place that he wanted to nap off his nighttime adventure. The thought of trekking back through the forest alone in the pre-dawn gloom made him want to collapse on the spot.

Besides, he had to see through their little joke on Goosebelly and the others. That's what all their hard work, preparation, conspiring, and training had been for.

Even at this hour, with the others scattered who knew where, the lodge didn't sleep. There was Miss Mittens, of course, the closest thing to the Twoleg nest's keeper. Other cats made their nests there, maybe only for a few days out of a moon, or maybe almost every other night. Rogues and loners were drifters by nature, rarely shackled down to one place, like how LeafClan had sheltered in the same green hollow for so many generations.

Tradition, titles of respect, they simply didn't exist out here. There was no code except the law of claw and tooth. That had made the very concept of a rogue a terrifying, fascinating image in his kit-mind, but the first time Goosebelly took him here as an apprentice, it ignited a whole new world of imagination within him.

Fog pooled in the overgrown garden and forest floor beyond, rising in a gray haze that seemed to cloak the lodge from the rest of the world. Besides Miss Mittens, there was Dolly creeping through one of the open windows, pale ginger belly fur low to the ground, muttering foul curses and Twolegplace words that he only half-understood.

But when he raised his tail in greeting, Dolly could've beamed like the sun itself, returning the gesture with a warm purr. She slipped between curses and endearment with seamless, familiar unpredictability that never failed to make him laugh.

Snare was a pale gray shadow with a kittypet collar, but no one set of housefolk to account for. She went from door to door, the term Socks had just turned him on to, eating the food the Twolegs left for her.

Why should Twolegs do a thing like that? The idea of leaving his fresh-kill for a Twoleg or some other predator to eat went against every instinct in every muscle.

So why?

"Well, they like us, that's why," Snare mewed when he pressed her. "They think we're cute. And we eat rats, and they hate rats. Have you ever been petted by a Twoleg, Sunfire?"

Pet? Like, how classmates groomed each other? He couldn't resist curling back his lip at the thought. Sure, he'd let a Twoleg touch him—then he'd ask a fox to take over for the queens in the nursery.

Between Socks, Snare, Dolly, and Fang—a raggedy long-haired rogue with yellow teeth and yellow eyes—they spent at least an hour just passing jokes, tall tales, stories.

They told him about Twolegplace, and they asked him about the forest.

"My mother always told me about those bleeding, feral, bat-mad wildcats," Dolly crooned. "Fierce and big and humorless as badgers, but that can't be right, can it? You're the most impish little stray I've ever come across."

Back at camp, they'd be rising from their dens. Beethorn would be calling together the dawn patrol; his father would be stirring from the roots of the Ash.

He told them about the four Clans, StarClan, the warrior code, camp and all the strange characters that haunted it. They seemed to get a thrill from their warrior names, so mundane to his ears; names like Deadnose or Nettlefang.

That, and there was plenty of LeafClan gossip to share.

"It sounds wonderfully freeing, doesn't it?" Snare sighed. "To be a wildcat."

"Freedom?" Sunfire scoffed. "A warrior's duty is the enemy of freedom. There's no you. There's only the Clan, the needs of the Clan."

Those were Rowanstar's words in his mouth. It made him queasy.

"But you have a purpose, don't you? You got something to get up for every day." Snare flicked her tail lazily. "Kin who will stick with you, loyal friends, that's rare. I barely know any street cats or house cats that know their own father."

Sunfire sighed, gazing out the window into the early morning haze, toward the shapes of trees cloaked in mist. "Well, how about this? You practice hunting, fighting, and learning to get yourself out of that Twoleg collar before a MireClan warrior chokes you with it. Me, I'll go practice mewling like a kit for Twolegs and spend my time sunning on rooftops and sleeping indoors and eating for free. Sounds like a deal?"

It was a joke, but a part of him almost wanted to approach one now. Just to see how it'd react. The curiosity burned him up from the inside out.

"Are there any roofs in the forest?" Snare asked, more hesitant now. "On second thought, I hate to be out when it rains."

Miss Mittens soon appeared in the window, raising her tail in a silent signal. The rest of the lodge cats raised their heads in her direction.

"Goosebelly and the others are coming," she mewed.

Socks and Sunfire exchanged looks, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Shall we be merry?" Sunfire mewed.

"As merry as crickets," Socks agreed.

They heard Goosebelly outside before they saw him, bellowing, "Mouse-hearts! Greencough on all mouse-hearts!" He appeared in the window, huffing, his fur ruffled, nose bleeding. His squished, rumpled face seemed to get lost in his neck fur. "Get me a rat, Snare. Mouse-hearts!"

Snare brought out a rat from their makeshift fresh-kill pile, if one could dare call it by that term. Goosebelly swatted it away with a hack of disgust. "That rat's half-turned, you flea-bite. Are you eating that crowfood?"

"A rat's a rat," Snare complained. "What's wrong with it? Not fresh enough for you?"

"This rat's not fresh enough for the maggots. Are you nose-blind? Get me an edible rat."

In after Goosebelly, there came Petey, Sneezy, and Nimble, with nosebleeds to match, pelts still smeared with mud and flecks of red. It was curious, since he didn't remember laying a claw on any of them.

"Greencough on all mouse-hearts!" Goosebelly snapped again, as Snare came back dragging another equally revolting rat by its tail.

"Welcome, Gooseygoose," Socks mewed blithely. "Where have you been?"

"What's the matter, Goosebelly?" Sunfire mewed, innocent as a kit.

"You call yourself a LeafClan warrior," Goosebelly burbled, kneading at the ground. "You! Are you not a mouse-heart? Tell me that. You, and Socks there?"

Socks whipped his tail, standing to his paws with a roll of his shoulders. "Call me a coward? By your dead starry ancestors, I'll claw you."

Goosebelly's hackles were up. "I didn't say the word 'coward', but I'd stake my tail that I couldn't run as fast as you. Do you call that backing us up? You were supposed to support us! Where did you run off to?"

He stopped just long enough to swat away Snare's second offering of day-old rat, hissing.

"We thought you were adequate enough for a little skirmish with kittypets," Sunfire mewed. "What's the matter? What happened?"

"What's the matter?" Goosebelly growled. "The four of us, Nimble, Petey, and Sneezy, and I, we had a Clan's worth of fresh-kill just before sunup!"

"And where is it, then? Gobble them up yourself?"

"It was taken from us," Goosebelly wheezed, gazing around the lodge now, the gathering of rogues along the dark shadows and cozy spaces of the old Twoleg nest. "An entire Clan of them, against just the poor four of us!"

Yes, here it was. He always loved the little fables, even as a gullible apprentice. Especially as a gullible apprentice.

"What, an entire Clan?" Sunfire echoed in mock admiration.

"I am a rogue if I were not claws deep in a dozen of them, fighting for hours. We escaped by… a miracle."

The rogues of the lodge gathered around now, perking up and pivoting their ears.

"I'll admit, I've been clawed half to pieces, but it's nothing I didn't pay back tenfold," Goosebelly went on, pacing as if to flash his fresh cuts. The provenance of which was totally unknown to Sunfire, but some of the other rogues gasped, immediately taken in by the warrior's words. He gestured toward Petey, Sneezy, and Nimble. "Let them speak. If they speak more or less than the truth, they're rats, not cats."

Sneezy nodded his head eagerly, snuffling between words, voice thick with congestion. "We four set upon some dozen…"

"Sixteen, at least," Goosebelly interjected.

"And made them grovel in front of us!" Sneezy finished.

"No, no, they ran straight away in terror," Petey mewed.

"No, they groveled," Goosebelly growled, "or I'm a newt."

"As we shared in the spoils," Sneezy went on, "some six or seven cats came upon us!"

"And were joined by the rest of the warriors we attacked!" Goosebelly finished.

Warriors, was that right? A mighty fine compliment for a batch of kittypets who'd never seen beyond the Twolegplace fence. "What, and you fought with them all?" Sunfire mewed.

"All? I don't know what you'd call all, but if I didn't fight with fifty of them, I'm a pawful of cobnuts. If there weren't two Clans worth of warriors upon poor old Goosebelly, then I'm no four-legged creature."

"Pray you haven't murdered some of them?" Sunfire mewed.

"That's past praying for," Goosebelly mewed gravely. "Two I've killed. Two plain brown rogues smelling like wild tansy. If I tell a lie, spit in my face. Four rogues came driving at me."

It was all he could do to keep from snickering. Socks wasn't quite so self-disciplined, giggling to himself as Goosebelly unspun his heroic saga.

"Four? Or two?" Sunfire inquired.

"Four, I said four," Goosebelly insisted.

"Yes, he said four," Socks confirmed with a roll of his eyes.

"These four came all afront, trying to drive me back," Goosebelly mewed. "But I didn't flinch. I dug in my claws and swatted all seven of them away." The warrior got into a fighting stance, rearing back and swiping his claws furiously through the air, complete with sound effects. "Hyah! Hyah! Hyaaah!"

"Seven now?" Socks scoffed.

Sunfire slid him a glance, placating him with a touch of his tail. "Leave it alone. We'll have more soon enough."

"Seven," Goosebelly insisted. "Do you hear me, Sunfire?"

"Yes, and mark you well, Goosebelly."

"Good, for it's worth listening to. These nine brown rogues were unprepared for my warrior training, and began to give ground, but I was relentless in the assault. Seven of the eleven I left bleeding on the ground!"

The gathered cats gave a mix of jeers and hoots of approval.

A monstrous litter grown out of two, Sunfire thought to himself.

His mentor wasn't done, however. "But as fate would have it, three slinking, tabby fox-hearts crept up behind me, and drove me to the edge of the garden. It was so dark, you couldn't see your own whiskers in front of your face."

That was far enough for him. Sunfire gave a languid stretch before standing up, speaking casually. "These lies," he started, "are like the fat queen that kits them. Great, heaping, and obvious as a mountain."

"Heh?" Goosebelly mewed, jolting up, whiskers twitching.

"Don't you have any shame, you clay-brained bunch of guts?"

"What, are you bee-brained?" Goosebelly mewed, his voice pitched half an octave higher than before. "Is not the truth… the truth?"

"How could you know these cats were tabbies if it was so dark you couldn't see your own whiskers?" Sunfire challenged. There was a chorus of snickers from the cats around the lodge now.

"Come, give us the reason," Socks mewed in support.

Goosebelly lashed his tail, sticking up his nose. His voice warbled between incredulous, hurt betrayal, and fiery indignation from sentence to sentence. "What, upon compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I-I wouldn't give anyone a reason upon, upon compulsion… If I were—"

"Listen all," Sunfire mewed, projecting his voice across the lodge. "This huge blob of a cat, this nest-flattener—"

"You starveling, you minnow…!" Goosebelly hissed.

"Let him talk, Goosey," Socks mewed, barely concealing his smirk.

"Here's the truth. We two saw you four ambush those kittypets, and scatter them like birds," Sunfire acceded. "Then we two set on you four, and can show you the prey buried outside the lodge. And Goosebelly, you carried your guts away as nimbly and with as quick dexterity as I'd ever seen, roaring for mercy…"

The lodge was an eruption of cackling laughter and howls now. Goosebelly was bushed up like a hedgehog.

"What do you have to say to this, Goosebelly? What trick, what story, what lie, what little hole do you have to hide your shame in? What do you think the Clan would say?"

Socks' tail whipped back and forth, stifling chuckles. "Come, Gooseguts, let's hear it. This should be good."

Goosebelly was silent a moment, eyes darting from side to side like cornered prey. But just as quickly, his expression melted into that languid self-confidence, voice ringing with an unbreakable self-assuredness as he spoke again, strutting across the table.

"By the stars," he scoffed, flicking his tail. "I know you as well as them that made you. You think I didn't? But listen, should I have killed my own apprentice? Turn my claws on my friend and clanmate? Our future leader?" Goosebelly gave Sunfire a playful bat across the ears. "Listen, you all know I'm as deadly as a badger, but I have a warrior's keen instincts. My instincts told me not to harm you, and aren't we all better for it?"

Sunfire could only sigh, not able to fight the touch of a smile to his face.

"But, by StarClan, friends, I'm glad you have the fresh-kill," Goosebelly purred. "There's a good crowd here today. Shall we celebrate? A little show, perhaps?"

"Sure," Sunfire mewed. "We can re-enact you running away."

"Ah, no more of that, Sunfire," Goosebelly said with another bat over the ears, less playful this time. "I know you love me."

Who couldn't have a soft spot for the old lunk? Whatever else he might be, he wasn't boring. Here in the lodge, in this other life, there was joy and laughter. Friendships, not kin-bonds, not rank and hierarchy, and no commitments.

There was a flicker across one of the windows. Miss Mittens slipped inside, ears perked and alert. "Sunfire," she mewed. "I scented a strange cat outside the fence. A wildcat. They've been lingering outside for a little while now."

That made his heart quicken a beat, but he dismissed it with a flick of his tail. No LeafClan warrior would waste their time poking around a rotten, old Twoleg nest. But had they picked up their scent?

"Strange cat indeed," Sunfire said with a bored flick of his ears. "Leave them to poke around the dirt, and they'll be gone soon enough."

"Just one lone warrior?" Goosebelly mewed, getting to his paws with a long stretch. "Shall I see to it, you think, Sunfire?"

"Please do, Goosebelly."

"Worry not then. I'll send them scuttling away." The old warrior waddled to the window, pressing down to squeeze through the open gap that Miss Mittens had slipped through so easily.

As soon as he'd disappeared, Sunfire flicked his eyes to Nimble, the rogue that had set them up for this score. "By all the stars, you fought well. So did you, Petey, and you, Sneezy. You have keen instincts too."

"I ran when I saw others run," Sneezy confessed.

"Honestly now, tell me, because I've been wondering…" Sunfire started. "Where did you all get nosebleeds? We barely touched you."

"We pushed through a bramble patch on the way back, and he swore to the moon and back that he'd make everyone believe we were in a fight for our lives," Petey said. "I didn't see why not."

"Yeah, and we tickled our noses with speargrass to make them bleed, and beslubber our pelts with it," Sneezy went on. "Oh, I'm ashamed of his monstrous schemes…"

"You've been prey-stealing for so long, you never learned what shame is," Sunfire said with a playful prod. "Don't start learning now. It was all worth the laugh."

Goosebelly was back quicker than he might have guessed, wriggling through the gap with a huff.

"So?" Sunfire pressed. "A friend of ours?"

"Certainly not one of mine, but nonetheless. It was Hawkwing, sent by your father. There's terrible news back in camp." His intonation on the word 'terrible' almost had a spark of excitement, a choice morsel of dramatic gossip to share with the lodge rather than a disaster. "He wanted me to return with him, but I gave him the slip easily enough. He said Rowanstar wanted a word with you as soon as you've returned to camp."

Sunfire perked his ears. "What? Something happened?" Something always seemed to be happening when he was away.

"Nettlefang, and Nightbird, and Larkfeather, Jaywind, Thrushear," Goosebelly listed gravely. "They've rebelled against Rowanstar's leadership, freed Burdockstar from captivity, and it's feared they're linking up with our enemies MireClan and HillClan. Sparrowflight and the medicine cat have disappeared along with them. No doubt, your father's coat has turned white with the news."

It turned his own bowels into knots, making him rake his claws through the wood, but he kept his face still.

"Doesn't your blood thrill at it?" Goosebelly mewed. "Are you not afraid?"

"Not a bit. I suppose I lack your instincts."

"Well," Goosebelly mewed with a twitch of his whiskers, "I suppose your father will shred your pelt the next time he sees you. Practice an answer."

His head was spinning, but he recovered quick enough with a glance around at the lodge cats. "How about you stand for my father, and we practice together?"

"Shall I? Very well, then." Goosebelly pounced onto a chair, climbing a slumping mountain of pillows. "This lodge will be my camp, these cats my warriors, and this chair will be the Hollow Ash. Let all cats old enough to hunt gather to hear my words!"

The lodge cats gathered around, mewing among themselves. Back in camp, this would be called a kit-game. Here, it was just entertainment.

"Oh, this is excellent fun!" Miss Mittens trilled.

"Quiet, sweet queen," Goosebelly said with a haughty wave of his tail. "This is serious LeafClan business. Gather, my warriors. Know me as Rowanstar, leader of LeafClan."

"That's Sunfire's father!" Miss Mittens mewed, exceptionally pleased with herself for remembering. "How he holds his countenance!"

"Peace, you tickle-brain!" their leader commanded once more. "Your leader speaks!"

Sunfire gave an exaggerated bow of deference, almost nuzzling the ground. "We await your very command, your majesticalness."

"Sunfire, my son," Not‐Rowanstar, the great and mighty leader of LeafClan, pronounced in flinty tones. "I don't only marvel at how you spend your time, but how you're accompanied.

"That you are my son, I have partly your mother's word, and partly my own opinion… but chiefly, your light fur, the reptilian look in your eyes, and the way your ears are too big for your head."

Spikes of laughter rippled up from the surrounding rogues. As if they'd know their own fathers whatsoever.

"Then if you are my son, here lies the point. Being son to me, why are you so pointed at?"

Dolly and Socks both let up a long 'ooo' with the rest of them, giving him a rough shoulder each.

"Shall the son of the great Rowanstar cavort with rogues, and eat stolen prey? Will a warrior of LeafClan play the kittypet? The crowfood of Twolegplace diseases every cat that eats it. So it is with the company you keep!"

The ooo's turned to indignant aaa's.

"Sunfire," Not-Rowanstar moaned, even as the rogues cackled around them. "I speak in earnest. Despite the vile rogues you name as friends, there is still one virtuous warrior in your life…"

"Which warrior would that be, your greatness?" Sunfire asked flatly.

"A good portly warrior, exceptionally handsome, and valiant…" Not-Rowanstar went on. "And his age, some five newleafs…"

A chorus of scoffs and hissing. "Or, perhaps inclining to nine leaf-bares," he relented to the input of the crowd. "You know who I mean. That Goosebelly, if he has ever had a thought contrary to the warrior code, then he deceives even me… Keep him. The rest, banish!"

A drone of meows and chattering. Not too different from camp, if he had to be honest. Maybe warriors weren't so much more disciplined than outsiders after all.

"Do you speak like a leader?" Sunfire scoffed. "Change of plan. You stand in for me, and I play my father."

"Depose me?!" Goosebelly roared, leaping to his paws. "If you speak half so gravely, so leaderly, then hang me up by my tail and call me a squirrel."

The senior warrior leaped to the floor in front of the chair, and Sunfire climbed his place atop the hill of old, musty cushions. He swept his eyes around the cats gathered below him, his Not-Clan, and staring down at… himself. Or Goosebelly pretending to be him, at least.

Sunfire gave an exaggerated clearing of his throat. "Now, Sunfire," His voice came out cold and cheerless as the new moon. He almost surprised himself with how closely he imitated the real Rowanstar's voice, almost without effort. "Where have you come from?"

Goosebelly gave an exaggerated flourish of his tail. "Dear father," he mewed, raising his voice to a shrill, kit-like timbre. "From Twolegplace!"

The rogues raised a ragged cheer at the mention of their home.

"The complaints I hear of you are grievous," Sunfire growled down at the poor imitation of himself in Rowanstar's voice.

"StarClan's ticks, Father, they're lies!" Not-Sunfire mewled back, his voice like air escaping a pinned mouse. That was enough to elicit laughs from the gathered rogues.

"Hare-brained fool! Never look upon me or LeafClan territory again!" Not-Rowanstar barked, standing to his paws. One of the cushions slipped to the floor with a muted thud, as if to punctuate his point. "You have been led down a path of thorns. A shadow haunts you in the shape of an old, fat kittypet… An absolute chunk is your companion!

"Why do you converse with that bag of fleas, that hutch of beastliness, that bunch of guts, that tick-bitten gray-pelt, that ruffian, that lumbering moth-chaser?" His impression slipped as the insults streamed out, struggling to keep up Rowanstar's unflinching mask. "What is he good at, besides eating? What does he live for, besides napping? When is he cunning, except in lies? When is he living by the warrior code, except never? What is he worthy of, except nothing?"

Goosebelly, Not-Sunfire, cocked his head and twitched his whiskers. "Please, Rowanstar, I'm not sure I follow… Who could you possibly mean?"

"That villainous, abominable, misleader of youth, Goosebelly. That old gray-pelted rogue masqueraded as a warrior."

"Ah," Not-Sunfire mewed with a note of revelation. "My mentor, of course I know who you mean."

"Yes, all too well."

Goosebelly paced around the chair now, his voice still high and ragged in imitation of his former apprentice. "But to say I know more harm in him than myself, that would be saying more than I know. That he's old, more's the pity; his white muzzle is proof. But that he's a code-breaker, I utterly deny."

Sunfire almost laughed himself, cracks almost breaking his Rowanstar facade.

"If enjoying fresh-kill is against the code, may StarClan help the wicked. If being old is a crime, then there are many clanmates I know…" Goosebelly settled his tail-tip on Miss Mittens' shoulder for emphasis, "who are guilty."

She swatted at him, claws sheathed, and he ducked away with a younger cat's agility.

"And if to be fat, is to be hated," Goosebelly went on, "then skinny HillClan cats are to be loved. No, Rowanstar. Banish Petey! Banish Sneezy! Banish Socks!"

Goosebelly knelt at the foot of the chair now, looking pleadingly upward.

"But for sweet Goosebelly, kind Goosebelly, true Goosebelly, valiant Goosebelly… and therefore, more valiant, being old Goosebelly… Don't banish him from your Sunfire's company. Don't banish him. Exile plump Goosebelly, and exile the entire Clan."

His not-warriors chimed in now, standing to their paws.

"Pardon him, Mister Leaderstar! Don't banish him!" one of the rogues cried.

"I do," Sunfire growled, pitiless. Even as he said it, even in mockery, it sent a spike of ice through his chest. I will.

They might have gone on, if not for a loud thud that nearly scent the gathering of cats scattering in all directions.

Snare and Sneezy, closest to the window, ducked their heads out and then quickly scrambled back in.

"Wildcats outside!" Sneezy wailed in sudden terror, scrambling across the room. "A hundred of them!"

"Not now," Goosebelly complained. "I'm not finished defending brave Goosebelly."

"W-wildcats?" Miss Mittens mewed, wide-eyed. "Are they coming inside?"

"It's likely Hawkwing," Goosebelly said. "Wanted me back at camp as soon as possible, like a clinging burr. Sunfire, you'll distract him for me, will you?" The senior warrior was already disappearing behind a curtain, without waiting for an answer.

The other rogues were quick to follow his lead, leaping over Twoleg rubbish and furniture and through rotted gaps in the walls, fleeing just the mention of LeafClan warriors. Real ones, at least.

When the room cleared out, there was only Petey sitting in utter squint-eyed confusion, and Miss Mittens petrified in place with her tail straight in the air. The warriors appeared in silence, distorted shapes against the cloudy and broken glass, slipping in through the windows.

Hawkwing looked worse for wear, his plain tabby coat complimented with fresh wounds. There was Boulderstep behind him, his brother Sorreltail, and his sister Honeypad, all of them wearing sour expressions. He felt an instant spike in tension, hackles rising up along the LeafClan cats' spines as they eyed the remaining rogues.

The noise and mirth of the lodge chilled, died, and necrotized within a breath, and now he was standing in a rotten old Twoleg ruin again, dark and dingy, dust dancing in shafts of weak light.

"How do you do?" Miss Mittens managed first, going unanswered.

"Hawkwing," Sunfire mewed, almost choking on the greeting. He felt his stomach knot. "Not your usual hunting ground."

"As it should be, since it's outside our borders," Hawkwing snapped. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"You know who."

"The fat one," Honeypad mewed flatly, her voice strangely scratchy. "Why do you smell like lavender?"

Sunfire lashed his tail, nodding good-naturedly, while his brain screamed as he clawed and raked for excuses. "Goosebelly. Yes. Well, I can tell you he's not here, because we've been… hunting. He told me about what happened in camp. Terrible stuff."

"When we couldn't find the two of you, we feared you'd defected with the rest," Hawkwing said in hushed tones. "Hunting can wait. We need every warrior back at camp immediately. Rowanstar desires a moment with you."

"And he'll have one. I'll come and collect Goosebelly and we'll meet you back at camp."

Hawkwing's stare could have bored straight through him. It always set his hackles on end, how this warrior snapped and lectured him at every opportunity, practically since he took his first steps out the nursery. He wasn't even his mentor.

"And so, you can leave now," Sunfire hissed.

"Very well," Hawkwing relented, turning away with an agitated lash of his tail. "I expect you both back before sunhigh, or I'll drag you back."

The warriors slipped out as silently as they appeared, and the cats stood silent in the lodge for a tortured heartbeat after they'd left.

"Ticks and fleas," Petey cursed with a shiver, letting out a long breath. "You see how the big gray one was looking at me? Like he was going to eat me alive, bones 'n all, pupils all wide. Eyes like a rabid fox, that one. I'm not sticking around next time I scent one of those forest cats that isn't you. No offense."

"None taken." He'd almost wished he'd bolted himself. "Goosebelly!"

No answer. Sunfire and Petey approached the curtain, no movement stirring. "Goosebelly!" Petey hissed, and still no reply. He poked his head behind the curtain, and then backed away with a snort of laughter. "Fast asleep, this one. Snoring too."

"Unbelievable," Sunfire sighed. "Let the dormouse nap there until I return. I'm going to dig up my fresh-kill." A Clan's worth of fledglings would at least keep his clanmates from asking questions about how he'd spent his time.

"Will you be here tomorrow, Sunfire?" Petey asked.

"Can't say," he mewed with a shrug. "We'll be at war."