ROOKTUFT

Nothing ached as good as a fight. Almost nothing, she should say. It made sore limbs refreshing, relishing the rawness in her throat, every breath sliding out like razors, but every breath well earned. Victory, sending another warrior scurrying away beneath one's claws, carrying away their fresh-kill. Nothing tasted that sweet.

HillClan and LeafClan warriors crept over the stinking bogs in single file, watched by the bent and blasted trees that seemed to rake out toward the trespassers with reaching hands. A pale, sickly lichen clung to the birch leaves and pine needles, bearding the pale bark like cobwebs. Nothing like the trees at home, and the ground beneath her paws was spongy, slick, disgusting—potted with stagnant pools of water, half-concealed in duckweed and dead leaves.

They caught them in their dens, sending the frightened shrieks of their kits and queens into the night, LeafClan and HillClan warriors streaming back out with yowls of victory.

Victory! LeafClan's victory, Rosestar's victory. A well-earned nap, and some fresh-kill in her belly, and some poultices for her scratches, and she would've been content.

Larkfeather turned that sweet taste to bile in her mouth, from the moment she sighted her on the far edge of the bogs, rushing alone to meet them. She knew it couldn't mean anything well.

"Rowanthorn defies his banishment," Larkfeather heaved between breaths, throwing herself at Rosestar's paws. "But your warriors flock to his side to support him."

That might have been moons ago, in her mind.

Rooktuft had run almost without stopping, almost without breathing, chasing the HillClan scent trail all the way to the border. Sunrise threatened to break over their craggy, barren hills, but she sprinted into HillClan territory without hesitation, over the open heaths of gorse, heather, sprays of sweet-smelling lavender.

There.

She had caught up with them, making tracks over the rise of a distant hill. Rooktuft staggered to a stop, drawing in oxygen, nettles and thorns dragging down her windpipe with the effort, and yowled.

Her voice came out as a ragged mewl, as strained as a kitten, barely audible even to her. The distant shadows of HillClan warriors continued up to the rise, and she stood, unheard.

Tears stinging her eyes, her cuts all fresh again, her limbs twice as heavy, she drew breath into her lungs and yowled, and this time her voice rang over the hills and plains.

The HillClan raiding party all turned to look at her, and soon they were running back in her direction. She let herself fall back onto her haunches, into the spiky grass and dust, letting them approach her.

Dawn caught up with her then, bleeding red into the overcast skies. At first she thought it was a trick of her exhausted imagination, but her breath hitched in her throat as she watched stars streak from Silverpelt, falling somewhere in some distant territory. One, and then another, and another.

Beautiful, and beautifully terrifying.

The HillClan warriors were faster than she would've guessed, and soon formed a ring around her. Wiry coats, long-limbed, leaner than LeafClan cats, all sinew.

"You're much too forward, LeafClan mouse," one of their warriors growled.

Rooktuft only had eyes for one tom, a broad-shouldered gray-brown warrior who fixed her with a wilting copper gaze. Under any circumstances, she would've been trying her best to avoid his gaze. Something about that stare frightened her, something beyond the ordinary that she couldn't place.

But her words were for Duskstar only.

"Duskstar, fight one more battle with us," Rooktuft said, daring to stride forward among the ring of bristling HillClan cats. "Fight one more battle, and Rosestar swears you will have all the former territory taken in Stormstar's day returned."

The HillClan warriors exchanged whispers and surprised meows, but Duskstar just tilted his head, eyes narrowing. He held up his tail for silence, and the HillClan warriors ceased in a heartbeat.

"You LeafClan and your bargains. A battle? When? Against who?" the HillClan leader pressed, his voice rumbling like gravel down the mountainside.

"Now," Rooktuft mewed, "against LeafClan codebreakers."

Duskstar whipped his tail, sweeping his eyes over his warriors, and then back to the LeafClan trespasser. But before he spoke, he reserved one last long stare into the skies, the clouds above, the stars streaking overhead.

"We cannot help you in this," the HillClan leader mewed after a heart-burstingly long pause.

Rooktuft almost felt herself crumple to the earth. "Rosestar would be in your debt. Please. He puts his confidence in you."

"We cannot help you," Duskstar repeated. "If your leader is so desperate, then he has already lost."

The HillClan leader gestured up to the heavens, eyes wide as moons. Rooktuft followed his gaze, to where the moon sat low and leering over the distant hills, tinted red. Silverpelt had faded, except for the occasional streak of twinkling light across the sky which made her heart jump into her throat.

"Look above, and look around you," he mewed. "The moon looks bloody on the hills, and the leaves in your forest begin to wither from season's end. The very stars themselves weep and fall. Such signs foretell the death of great warriors and misfortune to Clans. So farewell. Be away from our hunting grounds. What Rosestar offers, we can take."

The HillClan warriors dispersed around her into the heather, leaving her sitting there alone on the barren moor. She kept her eyes inclined toward the dawn skies as dim sunup rose over the trees. Her eyes locked on the falling stars, trailing from Silverpelt above to the land below, sent shivers of fear through her from neck to tail tip.

Stars above, how it all seemed to crash down in just the course of a day. How could this be happening?

She turned her head back to where the blood-faced sun struggled to pierce gray clouds, painting the tips of the trees shades of red and gold. Back to where Rosestar waited with hope that she already knew was gone.

There was no faithfulness or loyalty in any beast's heart.

Forgive me.