NIGHTBIRD

They washed their bloody paws in a brook and followed its course all the way to the border. A weak, pale sun struggled over the treetops, near sunhigh now, but daylight brought no warmth. Nightbird couldn't seem to shake the chill from under his pelt, trailing close behind Rowanthorn and Elderheart.

By rights, a night full of running and murder and conspiracies should've made a cat feel tired. But he felt strangely rested as he moved alongside the makeshift patrol, or else adrenaline suspended the inevitable crushing wave of exhaustion sure to follow.

Right now, he'd race to the end of the territories and back again.

This close to Clawtower, now an overgrown stone wall beyond the LeafClan scent markers, he felt oddly exposed. The tall grass grew up almost to his shoulders in places, with clumps of undergrowth and the occasional thin, supple pine or sycamore for cover, but nothing like the thick forest around LeafClan camp.

Elderheart held up his tail, tasting the air. Nightbird was first to see the returning shape, Nettlepaw, his own son, rushing through the tall grass to meet them.

"Nettlepaw," Rowanthorn greeted as the apprentice approached. "What could you scout out?"

"Signs of Rosestar and all the warriors chosen for the raid," Nettlepaw said with fire in his eyes now. "As well as the medicine cats; it looks like they made a run around us. No sign of any HillClan fleapelts anywhere near here."

"How far off?" he pressed.

Nettlepaw gestured with his tail to a distant rise near the foot of Clawtower, a bramble-lined embankment over a muddy creek bed. A defensible position. "Gathered there for now, so many tree-lengths back."

"You've brought us good news, Nettlepaw," Nightbird purred. "The weasel hides in his hole."

Elderheart turned on him with a furious glower. "That warrior you call weasel is still the leader of our Clan."

Nightbird let the deputy's wrath wash off his pelt like water from a duck, answering with a shrug. "It's only an expression, Elderheart. I meant no disrespect."

The deputy continued to glare. "An expression that would have you shredded into mouse-meat any other time."

"Don't mistake our clanmate more than you should, Elderheart," Rowanthorn said.

"And don't take more than you should, unless you mis-take," the deputy growled in return. "Our warrior ancestors judge our next pawsteps. Tread carefully."

Rowanthorn turned to Nightbird now, speaking with a ringing voice that gathered the rest of the LeafClan patrol around them. "Nightbird, go ahead of us and give my message to Rosestar, if he has ears to hear sense. Tell him that I swear my true loyalty to him, and if he lifts my banishment and restores me as a warrior of LeafClan, I will serve him faithfully as I always have."

Nightbird nodded, blinking in surprise at the charitable offer, but saying nothing. After a moment's pause, Rowanthorn continued on, golden eyes turned to chips of flint.

"But if he does not, then more LeafClan blood will be spilled today, and he will only have himself to blame."

"Then we're resolved," Nightbird mewed, as cats traded murmurs and sideways glances. "I'll convey your message and return with our leader's response."

Our leader. But what was a leader who was led and dictated to by his clanmates?

The dark warrior parted without delay, following the route his son had pointed out, toward the muddy bank in the distance. He made no attempt to hide himself in the tall grass or take cover as he approached, straining to see any movement from the trees.

A chilling breeze tousled his pelt, stirring the grass, and he knew Nettlepaw had been correct. A hint of Asterstripe, Shrikepaw, and Murkpool, Rooktuft, Splitears, and Rosestar. Rosestar most of all.

The creek was only a trickle at the moment, green weeds and sprouts budding from the mud and stones. Its bank rose steeply ahead, a root-studded wall of loose soil with overhanging brambles flowing over its face.

Nightbird stopped at the edge of the water, his paws sinking into the mud, and waited.

Rosestar did not keep him waiting long, which might have been a first. The leader appeared between the briars and thorns with Asterstripe close at his side, looking down at him from a reed-tall height.

No words were exchanged at first, only glares. Rosestar's eyes gleamed with green fire, head held high and haughty as ever, his eyes narrowing down on Nightbird as if he were crowfood lying in his path.

"Nightbird," Rosestar mewed at last, uttering his name with the same enthusiasm one might use for the word ' greencough.' "It seems a MireClan warrior must have hit me in the head and rattled my brain, because my memory's become terribly confused."

"Your memory?" Nightbird asked haltingly.

"Yes, my memory." Rosestar's voice dripped with contemptuous mockery. "It seems I remember being Stormstar's deputy, and when he died, I communed with my warrior ancestors at the Moonshard, received the name Rosestar, and woke with nine lives. I remember making Rowanthorn an exile, and commanding he could not step foot on LeafClan territory for six seasons. That, and I remember sharing tongues and fresh-kill with you only a half-moon past, Nightbird."

When Nightbird didn't answer except with a tilt of his head, Rosestar continued with an undercurrent of scorn.

"But none of that could be reality, could it?" Rosestar mewed. "Because if it was, then that would make you and the rest traitors to your Clan and the warrior code, and you would be condemned in the eyes of your warrior ancestors. Tell me, when did StarClan make an exile, a rogue, and a murderer leader of LeafClan in my place? Just last night?"

Nightbird lashed his tail indignantly, but bit back the poison words fermenting in his mind. The time for that would come; now was time for gentler words.

"Stars forbid any more LeafClan blood be spilled," the warrior called back. "Rowanthorn sends me to tell you that he humbly swears his allegiance, and will serve LeafClan as a faithful warrior again if you repeal his banishment. As your warriors and Rowanthorn's clanmate, we all credit him in this."

He was not sure what to make of the expression on Rosestar's face. He didn't twitch a whisker, but neither did he answer. Asterstripe looked all the more lost, as if searching the leader's face for his intentions the same as Nightbird was.

"Nightbird, you may return this message to him," Rosestar said at last, his voice slipping into a new tone entirely. "Tell Rowanthorn he is welcome home, and that his fair demand is justly met, and give him all my kind commendation. Let him approach so we can speak face to face."

Nightbird tilted his head again. Was this more sarcasm? A barbed joke he couldn't understand? A trick? Or had he heard him wrong? He waited for Rosestar to speak more, to twist all those words of sooth into some fang-sharp polemic, but the leader just stared down at him with an even gaze.

"So I will," Nightbird acquiesced at last, and turned.

Could it be that easy?

Somehow, he thought not.