NETTLEFANG
LeafClan was raked with open, unhealed wounds. It wasn't hard to pinpoint where the pain and hate was sourced.
When he was a kit, Rosestar had seemed as constant as the northern star, as omnipotent as the sun. But in just one night, he'd lost it all, when Rowanstar swept in like a flood. A leader was only as strong as the loyalty of their warriors, and Rowanstar had propped himself up on a pillar of shifting sands.
The trunk was already rotten from the stump up. It just needed a push, and it would crumble from the weight of its own hubris. If Rosestar could fall, then Rowanstar was no different. No, it was an even easier task.
Larkfeather, one of Rosestar's old favorites. She had spent all the cold seasons eating her prey alone, friendless, and when Nightbird and Nettlefang asked to speak to her in private, she seemed to already know their intention. She hardly uttered a word as Nightbird went through his spiel, about the time to strike, about how they would set their Clan back to its proper place.
"Finally," was all she had to say. "I knew the moment would come one day."
By contrast, Jaywind and Thrushear listened with wide eyes and bushy tails, the young warriors exchanging apprehensive glances. Both of them had lost a mother and a mentor, Leopardfoot and Briarstalk, and Rowanstar was the cause of it all.
Time was, at the end of Nightbird's speech, they both swore their loyalty to their cause.
They would help end Rowanstar's leadership. The leader who never should have been.
When they caught Asterstripe hunting by himself near Tumblestone, he thought it would just be a matter of speaking the words. The whole Clan knew how close he'd been to Rosestar, and remembered his complicity in the plot against Rowanstar's life. It might have just been by virtue of Shrewnose's begging that his life was spared, when they'd killed Splitears and Rooktuft on the very rocks where he was hunting.
Tiny lizards lurked on the yellow rocks, but every LeafClan cat knew there were adders lurking between the gaps. Dangerous hunting, and not worth it to most.
This was where he'd scented Rowanstar so many moons ago, still an apprentice, thinking he'd stumbled on some rogue's tracks. He'd filled his head with dreams of tracking some trespasser down and driving them off with his own claws, and then he'd get his warrior name.
But that rogue was his leader now. How'd it get so bad? Was this the happy future Rowanstar promised?
"Asterstripe," Nightbird mewed from behind the blue-gray tom, lashing his tail. "I have news that I think may please your ear."
Asterstripe didn't break out of his hunting stance, not at first. But finally he eased out of his posture to stand, slow to turn, yellow eyes looking them up and down.
"Somehow I doubt anything you think up could bring me joy, Nightbird," Asterstripe mewed flatly. "But I'll listen. Speak."
And just like with Larkfeather, Jaywind, and Thrushear, Nightbird spoke. Spoke about how LeafClan had wilted, how StarClan had cursed them, how all the other Clans disrespected them, how their hunting grounds would only bleed away. He spoke about how Paleface was taken and left for dead, and Rowanstar's pride and envy, and the promise of something better.
The chance to make it right again. With Shrikewing, Larkfeather, Jaywind, Thrushear, Sparrowflight, and all HillClan and MireClan, there was no chance they could fail. Rowanstar's end was coming, and this was their chance to catch the shooting star in flight.
"What do you say?" Nightbird finished. "Will you join our enterprise?"
Asterstripe stared back with half-lidded eyes.
"For all the love I have for Rosestar," he answered softly, "I could."
Could? "But will you?" Nettlefang pressed.
"But your purpose is dangerous," the warrior started, "the friends you've named are uncertain, the time is unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the river of blood you're going to have to spill. You will fail."
Nettlefang felt his hackles rise, his claws unsheathe. He could have launched himself at Asterstripe right then and there.
"You say so?!" Nettlefang barked, lips curling back. "Well, I say you are a shallow, mouse-hearted hare, and you lie!"
He whirled off, storming back through the forest toward the direction of camp.
What a mouse-brain is this?! He would rather throw his lot in with Rowanstar, after all he'd lost, after all they'd told him? Nettlefang pounced into a patch of weeds, tearing them up beneath his claws with furious motions, until they laid in trampled tatters underneath his paws.
It was as good a plot as any ever laid! Certainly better than the one Asterstripe had caught himself in, at the start of the last leaf-fall. A good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue…!
He dove into another patch of weeds, hacking the heads off flowers, tearing up ferns and grass by the roots, scratching at the bark of trees and wishing it was strips of Asterstripe's pelt he was peeling.
Would Asterstripe go to Rowanstar and tell him their proceedings? Perhaps he would, if it meant saving his own fur. The mouse-heart! He'd pay for his mistake.
He had to speak with Burdockstar and leave that very night. It was already sundown when Dovefeather finally tracked him down to a stretch of wood near the Father's Oak, still muttering and re-litigating the argument over in his mind.
"Nettlefang!" she hissed.
"What, Dovefeather?" he grumbled.
"You have been avoiding me like I have fleas!" she snapped. "Why have I been exiled from your nest? I can see it in your face. Something's the matter."
"You're overthinking things," Nettlefang growled through his teeth. What could he say? Lately, his eyes had been leaning toward the earth, starting and twitching when he sat alone, dreaming of battles and gasping awake. But what could he say to her?
"You're carrying something heavy," Dovefeather said. "If you love me, tell me."
He couldn't tell her.
As soon as he did, she'd be his accomplice. More than that, if he told her he was planning for the battle of his life, she'd run to fight alongside him. Kits or not.
Nettlefang let his gaze linger on her for a heartbeat too long, not answering. He'd hoped it'd be a large litter, like Beethorn's. Lots of little Nettlekits and Dovekits to terrorize the nursery; and he knew his mother would dote on them like they were her own. She did as much for other queens' litters so many times already.
He couldn't have her follow her. Maybe when it was all over, she'd forgive him. Nettlefang turned away from her with a lash of his tail, silent. That thorn prick of rage still prodded his heart, making him sheathe and unsheathe his claws.
"Are you listening to me?" Dovefeather growled.
"What are you saying?" he mewed distractedly, focusing on some distant trees, padding in the other direction.
"What carries you away?"
"Why, my paws, my love. My paws."
Maybe he should've expected it, but the next moment, a weight crashed into him and sent him flat into the grass as Dovefeather lunged at him. Kits or not. He felt his muzzle press into the earth, the wind knocked straight from his lungs.
"Out with it, you hare-brained weasel-spleen!" Dovefeather yowled. "I will know your business! I fear you're about to do something foolish for my brother Paleface, and if you go—"
"No more of this," Nettlefang growled, unsuccessfully trying to slither out from under her.
"You testy sparrow, answer me directly!" she demanded. "Tell me the truth, or I'll rip your tail straight out!"
Oh no, it wasn't some empty threat. He felt teeth grasp at his tail tip, and he snatched it away with a yelp, wriggling free.
"Away!" Nettlefang exploded when he found his paws, whirling on his mate. "I do not love you, Dovefeather! I do not care about you! I don't have time for moonlit strolls and nursery gossip; there is going to be bloody noses and cracked bones! I am leaving tonight! What do you say now? What would you have with me?"
Dovefeather staggered back as if he'd struck her, copper eyes brimming with furious tears. "You don't love me? Then don't, and since you don't, I won't love myself." She turned away as if to bolt, only to throw her head back over her shoulder, the tears flowing freely now, voice breaking. "You don't love me? No, tell me if you're joking, or—"
He felt his heart sink into the pit of the earth, and with a groan, he closed the distance between them, pressing his nose into her neck fur.
"Come, will you see me off tonight?" Nettlefang whispered. "And when I go, I'll swear I love you infinitely."
She seemed to deflate at his touch, voice still strained. "But where are you going?"
"Listen carefully, Dovefeather…" Nettlefang mewed under his breath. "You can't ask me these questions right now. It's not safe for you, and I don't want you swept up in this. I know you'll keep my secrets, but they can't hold anything against you if you truly don't know."
"They?" Dovefeather repeated with an edged tone. "You mean—"
He held up his tail close to her muzzle for silence.
"Trust me, please," Nettlefang said. "I'm sorry."
"Well, clearly you trust me so far," she answered, voice dripping with sarcasm, but her eyes had softened now.
"Not a whisker further," Nettlefang mewed with a twitch of his whiskers. "But wherever I go, I want you with me. Wait for me at the border hills at sundown tomorrow—if it's safe, I'll take you with. Will this satisfy you?"
She pressed her nose into his fur now, with a heavy sigh. "I suppose it must."
For the first time, feeling her pressed against him, he was afraid of losing something.
At last, LeafClan camp was asleep.
Now when they made their next move, there was no turning back. They'd be sucked into the current, swept inexorably toward battle against their own clanmates, and then there were only three fates that would await them.
Exile, death, or victory.
But there was no balking now. They could only walk forward.
Nettlefang moved alone. The rowan tree was budding with newleaf growth, bright green serrated leaves like rows of teeth as he approached the entrance of the medicine den.
Just as Beethorn ordered, there were two cats standing sentry now. Honeypad and Ryebreeze, both Rowanstar's kin.
"What's your business, Nettlefang?" Ryebreeze asked gently.
"A word with Shrikewing, if you'd please," Nettlefang said. "My poultice fell right off while I was hunting."
The medicine cat's eyes blinked out from the dark, between the two sentries. "Probably because I specifically instructed you to give any physical activity a rest," the medicine cat said flatly. "It's held up with spit and cobwebs. You can't run with it, hunt with it, or fight with it, I told you that. Let him inside."
"The prey isn't going to catch itself," he mewed, following the gray and white tabby into the shade of the medicine den. And of course, they weren't alone. A pair of blue eyes glared at him, Burdockstar's head resting on her folded paws.
"If it isn't young, bold Nettlefang," the MireClan cat growled, her voice like crunching gravel. "Did I scratch you deeper than I thought?"
"Why has my den become a prison for leaders?" Shrikewing sighed, pulling a bundle of blackberry and elder leaves, along with another spiky stem he didn't recognize. "This is catchweed. The burrs will help the poultice stick without irritating you. Well, irritating you too much."
Nettlefang's eyes flicked from the LeafClan medicine cat to the MireClan leader.
"No, I think I know your type," Burdockstar mewed. "A real warrior. Not the type to care about patching your every little cut and scrape. You've come to gloat over your prize, haven't you? Well, here I am." She stood up to her full height, cocking her head. "Perhaps you'd like to try me again? Do you think you'll be lucky twice?"
"You have me wrong," Nettlefang said, matching her gaze unflinchingly. "I'm looking for a powerful friend."
Both the medicine cat and the leader perked their ears. He'd practiced the speech in his head, listened to Nightbird repeat it three times that day, recited it over under his breath, but it all flooded out of him at once.
"I'm going to get you out of here. You're going back to MireClan. Then you're going to come back and help me kill Rowanstar."
Shrikewing's hackles stood on end, but he said nothing. Burdockstar stared in silence, mouth parted in shock… until heavy, booming laughs began to convulse her body.
"Treacherous LeafClan!" she mewed between guffaws. "Yes, StarClan hasn't forgotten me yet, it seems."
"Have you got bees in your brain, Nettlefang?" Shrikewing whispered. "You'll put the whole Clan in danger."
"And have you forgotten Briarstalk?" Nettlefang challenged. "I know you have no love for Rowanstar. The plot is already in motion; half the Clan warriors stand beside us. Now, will you come with us? There's no time for indecision; tell me yes or no!"
Yes, maybe he should have talked to the medicine cat first like Sparrowflight had tasked him, but his thoughts had been a whirlwind the past few nights. The moment was now. Now, or never.
Shrikewing mouth opened and closed, speechless. Then he set his jaw, tail lashing.
"Frog-dirt on it all, fine," he hissed. "You're doing it like this? Fine, then yes."
Nettlefang gave the medicine cat a rough shoulder, almost knocking him off his paws, then a playful bat over the ears with a sheathed paw.
"I knew we had a friend in you," he purred. "Now come, Burdockstar. There'll be one guard for each of us."
"Don't trouble yourself," the leader growled, already lunging out through the mouth of the medicine den. It was so fast that Ryebreeze barely got in a yelp before flying into the grass. Honeypad tried to raise the yowl of alarm, but Burdockstar gave her a sharp jab in the throat, and her voice came out like a frog's croak. Coughing and spitting, she fell back.
The others were swarming out of the bramble thicket, where they'd been waiting for the moment. Nightbird, Larkfeather, Jaywind, and Thrushear streamed out from the warrior's den, the medicine cat scrambling after them, falling into line behind them as they made for the bramble tunnel.
Hawkwing stood sentry, baring his teeth in a snarl. "Traitors!" he yowled, flinging himself toward the MireClan leader. All Nettlefang could think was how long Burdockstar had been waiting, praying, manifesting this moment since they'd dragged her disgracefully to the LeafClan camp. She flashed forward like TigerClan, unbelievably fast for a cat her size and build, and Hawkwing almost seemed to roll over her.
That's when she fell on him, slamming down her weight, and laying him flat on his back.
"Come, the real battle's still to come!" Nettlefang urged them. "Leave him and go!"
Burdockstar tore away from her enemy and sprinted out alongside Nettlefang, out into the darkness of the woods, all to leave LeafClan half-empty.
He couldn't help but cast a glance over his shoulder before the camp entrance was swallowed up by the leaves. They'd come back as heroes, or as corpses, or not at all.