ROWANSTAR

Every muscle in his body screamed at him that he should be out there leading them. It was not right that his warriors should risk their lives for him, again and again. Owlswoop, his old friend, and Sorreltail, his son… There might not be more capable pairs of paws in all of LeafClan. He knew he could trust them with this task.

But still, it burned in his gut watching them leave out the bramble tunnel, as a dark moonless twilight settled over the forest.

He gathered in the Hollow Ash with his warriors, those who remained at camp, and were no doubt as sleepless as himself. Rowanstar might have hoped to lean on Close-eye's wisdom, but the elders were nowhere to be found tonight.

If StarClan gave them success in this bleeding struggle that threatened to lap at their borders, he would lead his young warriors to flowery meadows. To conquer, and prosper as they once had, not to battle for their own survival. After all the hardship, LeafClan was growing strong again, he could see that. And he remembered StarClan's words, the spirit of Lionpelt who had promised a purpose for him still.

You will give your life among flowers. He thought he'd walked to his doom once, standing among the poppies the previous newleaf, but against all reason, he'd survived. And so he would still survive.

Only, while his Clan grew stronger, he felt himself fading. He could only hope that once the danger to LeafClan was quelled, his own health would bounce back. Then he might be a leader again, and not a burden.

"Honeypad," Rowanstar mewed, eyes searching the faces gathered in the gloom of the leader's den. "Where is your brother, Sunfire?"

Honeypad answered with a blink, "I think he's gone to hunt at Tumblestone."

"Who is part of his patrol?"

His daughter glanced uncertainly around, before murmuring, "I don't know, Rowanstar."

"Isn't Ryebreeze with him?" Rowanstar asked. His other daughter was heavy with kits, but still insisted on catching her own prey, with the rest of the warriors overworked with double patrols. A necessary precaution in these times, with HillClan harassing them in the uplands, MireClan menacing them from the border, and MeadowClan poised across the river.

Honeypad shook her head. "No, Father, she's here."

Ah, curse his foggy mind. At dusk, he felt his thoughts weigh down. Ryebreeze pressed forward among the warriors. "What would you have of me, Rowanstar?" the young queen asked gently.

"Nothing but good to you, Ryebreeze," Rowanstar purred. "How come you are not with Sunfire? He loves you, and you neglect him. You have a better place in his heart than many in the Clan; cherish it, Daughter."

She might be the best positioned to support him and mediate his relationships with the Clan, after he was dead. Sometimes his Sunfire could be a stranger to him, but he knew his habits well. A part of him yearned to please, and when paid with kindness, he was gracious in return. He had a tear for pity and a soft, melting heart for cast-offs and misfits.

But when he was antagonized, he could be hard as flint, cold as leaf-bare, and changeable as snow at daybreak. He was ruled by passions and feelings, and as leader one day, his temper would be delicate. And when venomous disloyalty showed its fangs, which seemed inevitable in these wicked moons, Sunfire would need advocates who understood him.

"I'll watch over him with all care and love," Ryebreeze assured him.

"Why are you not at Tumblestone with him?"

"He's not there tonight," Ryebreeze murmured, shuffling her paws. Hesitation stretched out every word, as she turned her eyes downward. "He's in Twolegplace."

Rowanstar felt his hackles begin to rise. "Accompanied by who? Can you tell me that?"

She lowered her voice. "With Socks, and the other rogues living in the old Twoleg nest."

Weeds always rooted in the richest soil, and his youthful deputy was overspread with them. His grief would stretch on beyond his hour of death, then. Did he not give his word, his solemn vow, standing in the Ash before the battle?

Had he been so blind to fumble after omens? When he closed his eyes, he pictured the unguided days and rotten times that his Clan would look upon when he was sleeping with his ancestors. When his headstrong riots had no curb, when rage and hot blood were his counselors, when lavish whims met with means…

They would fly headlong into peril and decay.

His claws were out, his fur was up, lips curled in a snarl, a growl building in his throat.

Sensing his rage, it was young Swiftstorm who rose to speak some calm. "Rowanstar, I think you misjudge him," she said. "Sunfire studies these rogues, practices the leadership he will need for LeafClan… And he puts them to use, by playing with their trust. When the time comes, he will straighten out. A little misbehavior will only live on as valuable lessons for him, when he's in your place."

Rowanstar could only sink back into his nest, almost quivering in simmering anger. Nothing but false comfort. It's seldom when a tabby changes its stripes.

He saw the other warriors swivel their ears, heads turning toward the den entrance. "Who's here?" Rowanstar followed their eyes as another shape pressed through the mouth of the Ash. "Owlswoop?"

"Good health to you, and new happiness," the senior warrior mewed with a reverent bow of his head. "Sorreltail sends his love. Jaywind, Shrikewing, the deputy Toadfoot, and others are searching for Silverpelt tonight. There's not an enemy claw left unsheathed. Peace is ours."

"Owlswoop," Rowanstar said with a sharp exhale. "You are like a robin in the haunches of leaf-bare, flying to announce lighter days."

His warriors exchanged excited chatter, and it was not long until the next messenger arrived. Young Tansyslip, almost breathless, came rushing in with orange eyes alight.

"May StarClan keep you from your enemies, and when they stand against you, let them fall as they fell tonight. Nightbird was found and finished. We didn't count him among the raiding party, but when everything was done, he showed his head… He saw all was hopeless and threw himself at his own destruction."

And why should this good news make him sick? Rowanstar leaned back into his nest, his breath short. Did fortune never come with both paws full? A sharp pang in his head, a sharp stone behind his eye. The den began to spin around him, the faces of his warriors blurring, his brain turning giddy, all sensation numbing to needles of ice across his face.

"Are you okay, Father?" Honeypad asked, her voice sounding a hundred tree-lengths away.

Rowanstar fell in a swoon, collapsing halfway across his nest of moss and feathers.

"Father!" Ryebreeze cried out, rushing to his side.

"Rowanstar, look up!" Owlswoop was shouting, but all sight had dimmed from him, all capacity for speech.

"Get the medicine cats," Swiftstorm urged. "Be patient, please. You know these fits are ordinary with him. Give him space, let him breathe. He'll straight be well."

"No, no, this isn't ordinary," Ryebreeze said desperately, her voice choking with emotion. "It's all these worries and cares, weakening him while his body is sick…"

"The weather has been volatile," Honeypad said gravely. "Murkpool has been speaking of ominous signs…"

Ryebreeze's voice was barely distinguishable. "The river's flooded three times this moon, no ebb between. And the elders say it did the same when Stormstar took sick and died."

"Speak lower, he recovers," Swiftstorm hissed.

"This will be his end," Honeypad wept.

"Please," Rowanstar managed at last. "Help me to my nest."

Paws pressed against him, tucking his awkward, unresponding limbs back into the hollow dip where generations of leaders had slept and dreamed.

"No noise, gentle friends," the leader rasped. "Unless one of you would stay and speak quiet words."

"We will be quiet, and close, Rowanstar," Swiftstorm said, as Rowanstar's eyes forced themselves close again, feeling himself plunge toward unconsciousness.

"His eyes are hollow, and he changes much," Ryebreeze fretted.

"Less noise, less noise," Swiftstorm said.

The den and warriors around him faded; all sight, all sounds, all feeling, everything.