Work Text:
Tallkit padded alongside Barkkit uncertainly as they headed for Hawkheart’s den to pester him… again. It was much more for Barkkit’s benefit than Tallkit’s--all he did was sit quietly while Barkkit begged Hawkheart to explain various herbs’ uses to him.
Of course, Hawkheart shooed them out pretty much immediately--only pausing to tell them about the deathberries in his herb store to scare them away from returning. “Go bother the elders or your mothers if you need entertainment,” he grumbled.
However, Brackenwing was out of camp stretching her legs, and Palebird was tired (like usual). That only left the elders.
On their way to the Elders’ den, they passed Shrewkit. Appledawn was pushing the kit out of her nest, despite his attempts to play in it.
Luckily for the tunneler, Shrewkit was easily distracted by the sight of Tallkit and Barkkit. “Oh, look, it’s Wormkit!” he crowed.
Tallkit bristled. “Stop calling me that!”
Shrewkit ignored him, turning to his littermate. “Barkkit, do you wanna play on the Hunting Stones?”
“Well, Tallkit and I were going to go ask the elders to tell us some stories,” Barkkit replied.
“Ugh, I guess I’ll come with you,” Shrewkit decided. “As long as they’ll tell us a really cool story. Like the one about Mapleshade!”
Tallkit shuddered as the three kits continued towards the Elders’ den. He hated that story. The idea of a strong, murderous ThunderClan warrior hunting and killing unsuspecting cats creeped him out.
“Scared, Wormkit?” Shrewkit taunted.
Tallkit fluffed his fur out in an attempt to look intimidating. “No way!” He pushed his way under the thickly interwoven branches of the gorse bush sheltering the Elders’ den before Shrewpaw could respond.
Lilywhisker was the first to notice the kits enter. “Well hello, little ones!”
“Hi Lilywhisker,” the kits chorused.
“Come to hear a story?” Whiteberry asked.
“Yes,” said Shrewkit, “But not a boring one! It has to be cool!”
Flailfoot’s whiskers twitched with amusement, and the other elders mrrowed with laughter.
“Of course,” Lilywhisker purred.
“The question is, what story should we tell?” Flamepelt mused.
“Do you have any stories about medicine cats?” Barkkit asked hopefully.
Shrewkit rolled his eyes. “A story about medicine cats would be boooooooring.”
Lilywhisker’s expression darkened. “Not necessarily.”
“Has anyone told you yet about the story of Swallowsun?” Flailfoot asked. The kits shook their heads.
“Really?” Flamepelt said, surprise evident in his tone. “He makes a good nursery tale for misbehaving kits.” He side-eyed the three tomkits as he spoke.
Tallkit jumped to his paws “I’m not a misbehaving kit!”
“Yeah, you and Barkkit are both cleanpaws,” Shrewkit snickered.
“Shut up, harebrain!” Tallkit snapped, tail lashing.
“Now now, kits, no fighting in our den if you want to hear a story,” Flamepelt warned.
Tallkit sat back down, forcing his fur to lie flat. “Sorry, Flamepelt.” Flamepelt twitched his ears, gazing at Shrewkit until he apologized as well.
“Sorry, Flamepelt,” Shrewkit muttered, ears flattened and tail twitching.
“Anywho, about Swallowsun--he only died, what? Four Leaf-falls ago?” Whiteberry wondered.
“I believe so,” Lilywhisker agreed, and Flailfoot nodded alongside her.
“Speaking of, Lilywhisker, are you alright with us telling this story?” Flamepelt asked.
Lilywhisker huffed. “As Whiteberry said, it’s been four leaf-falls since then. I’ve made my peace with it. In fact, I’ll tell the story myself.”
At this point, all three kits were gazing at the elders with wide, curious eyes. What had this “Swallowsun” done?
“Get comfortable,” Lilywhisker advised. “This story is a long one.”
“Here, come sit with me,” Flamepelt offered, and the kits obliged, happy to join him in his wool-lined nest. The ginger tom wrapped his tail around the three kits as Lilywhisker began her tale.
“Long ago, there was a medicine cat named Swallowsun--”
“You can’t start there!” Flailfoot interjected. “You’ll skip his whole apprenticeship, and--”
“Fine, fine,” Lilywhisker interrupted. “You tell it, then, up until--well, you know.”
“Uh-huh. Now listen closely, kits; our tale starts with a kit named Swallowkit,” Flailfoot began with a pointed look at Lilywhisker, who rolled her eyes. He ignored her, continuing. “Swallowkit and his brother, Strikekit, were born to a kind she-cat tunneler named Littlebee. Now, no-cat knows for sure who their father was…” Flailfoot tilted his head, looking away. “…Buuuuut if you ask me, it was a ShadowClan cat, or one of the loners from the loner group that visits in Newleaf.”
“What group?” Shrewkit asked.
“You’ll meet them after the snow melts,” Flamepelt said.
“Yes, now focus and be quiet so I can tell the story,” Flailfoot grumbled. “Littlebee was a good mother, and she raised her sons well. Both of them wanted to be warriors--Strikekit, a tunneler like his mother, but Swallowkit a moor-runner because even in kithood, he was already quite fleet-footed. Whiteberry and I were kits then too, you know--”
“You were?” Shrewkit gasped.
Flailfoot snorted. “Yes, even we were kits once. And anyways--”
“I thought Swallowsun was a medicine cat?” Barkkit asked.
Flailfoot groaned, tossing his head back. “StarClan above, we’re getting there!”
The old tom took a moment to let out a long, exaggerated sigh before continuing. “Any. Ways, I was a kit then too. My mother, Ashflower, was rather restless for a tunneler, so she’d leave camp frequently while Littlebee and Quailflight--Whiteberry’s mother--watched me alongside their own kits. We were all about the same age, so it worked out well, and we had a good time. But let me tell you youngins, Swallowkit had a pair of legs on him, like I was saying earlier before I got interrupted so many times. He was the fastest out of all of us kits, and he had good competition. Whiteberry’s littermate was almost as quick, and some days she could keep up with him.”
“You had a littermate, Whiteberry?” Barkkit asked.
Fondness filled Whiteberry’s gaze. “Yes. She was the only other kit my parents ever had, actually. Her name was Silverdawn, and she was a StarClan-made moor-runner.”
“She passed just this Leaf-fall,” Flamepelt murmured solemnly. The other elders nodded sadly.
“I wish you all could’ve met her,” Lilywhisker added.
Flailfoot sighed soberly. “We all miss her. But we’ll never get through any stories at all if we spent our time dwelling on our past Clanmates.”
Flamepelt nodded. “Of course. Continue.”
“Yes. Swallowkit, he was ever-so excited to become a moor-runner, y’see. He would constantly boast about how moor-runners were better than tunnelers.” The elders, all former tunnelers, rolled their eyes at Flailfoot’s words. “We all know that’s not true, of course,” he added, just as proud a tunneler as the other elders. “But when we all became apprentices, he became a moor-runner’s apprentice, as expected. He was apprenticed to Hillstep, who taught him well. And he was real good at that moor-running. But when it came time for his warrior ceremony, well. That was a different story.
“Swallowpaw was the last of us ‘paws to get his warrior name. Not because he failed his assessment or nothing, Breezestar just called him up last during the ceremony--that’s what I mean. But when it came time for him to be named--well.”
Flailfoot paused, taking in a breath. “Now, as you get older, I imagine you’ll see the moon brush pelts with the sun during the day a few times. Sometimes the moon, his fur touches the sun’s just ever so slightly, and it covers her light just a little bit. Maybe he gives her a friendly lick, and passes on his way. You may even see them share tongues sometimes--on days like those, you can see the half- or quarter-sun for a few mouse-lengths of time. And at night, when the moon sometimes turns red, that’s the sun sharing tongues with him.
“But that day, as Breezestar prepared to give Swallowpaw his new name, the moon swallowed the sun, casting all four Clans into darkness. Breezestar took it as a sign from StarClan that Swallowpaw was to be a medicine cat. As the light returned, Breezestar announced her decision, refusing Swallowpaw his warrior name.”
“But why?” Tallkit blurted.
“Didn’t she ask the medicine cat what it meant?” Barkkit added.
“You see, kits,” Flailfoot mewed, “Our medicine cat at the time, Larkwing, was old--so old that she was a full medicine cat already when Mapleshade roamed the forest--and frail. She was bedridden in her den, and did not witness the sun-swallowing. But Breezestar knew that she needed an apprentice, and assumed that StarClan had sent the moon to swallow the sun out of anger that the Clan had yet to provide her with one.
“Littlebee and a few of the other older warriors protested alongside me and my denmates, but other cats supported the decision, and Breezestar couldn’t be swayed. Swallowpaw was apprenticed to Larkwing, much to his dismay. She passed soon after, but continued to mentor him in his dreams, I reckon. He became a full medicine cat and earned his name, Swallowsun. He never liked Breezestar or much respected her, I don’t think, but he dutifully served as a medicine cat for a while before Breezestar reached her final life,” Flailfoot’s tone darkened, “and he allowed the grudge he’d festered against her all those moons grow into something more.”
“Love?” Barkkit asked.
“What? No,” Flailfoot immediately responded. “Why would he--nevermind. The answer is hate. It turned into hate.”
“Did he kill her?” Shrewkit asked, ears pricked with excitement.
“Listen if you want to find out!” Flailfoot hissed half-heartedly before letting out a tired breath through his nose. “Yes, Swallowsun came up with a plan to kill Breezestar.”
Barkkit and Tallkit gasped.
“I knew it!” Shrewkit yowled.
“Yes, yes, you’re very smart,” Flailfoot grumbled sarcastically. “Now, how do you think he, a medicine cat, planned to kill his leader?”
“Claw her face off!” Shrewkit answered immediately.
“No.”
“Ambush her?” Tallkit suggested.
“Not that either.”
“Oh, I know,” Barkkit piped up. “He was a medicine cat, so he’d use herbs to kill her, right? Maybe deathberries.”
Flailfoot nodded approvingly. “You’re right, Barkkit--at least, for the most part. He did poison her, but not with deathberries, for multiple reasons. Firstly, he wanted to hide the poison in a piece of prey by sending the poison down its throat. That’s a difficult task in and of itself, so the smaller the herb, the better. Secondly, while Swallowsun was the only medicine cat at the time, some of the warriors might recognize the symptoms of deathberry poisoning. Also, deathberries are something medicine cats keep in their dens due to the medicinal uses of their skins, so it might make him look suspicious. No, he needed an herb that wasn’t something you’d ever find in a medicine den, but that still killed a cat quickly.”
Barkkit leaned forward excitedly. “So, what was it?”
“Foxglove seeds,” Flailfoot answered. “While they’re not tasteless like deathberries--in fact, they’re rather hot and bitter--Breezestar’s senses of smell and taste had begun to fail her in her last few moons, so he figured she’d at least get a few down.
“Foxglove seeds are about the same size as poppy seeds--so, very small. It was unlikely that a warrior who cut open the prey would find the seeds, and even if they did, they wouldn’t know what they were, or that it was something prey doesn’t eat. It would be obvious with bright red deathberries, you see.
“For the next moon, every time he went out to gather herbs, Swallowsun searched for prey kits until he chanced upon a whole nest of leverets--that’s what you call hare kits--in a shallow burrow. He then did the unthinkable, sneaking into ShadowClan territory just to steal a foxglove flower. That’s another thing about foxgloves--they only grow in ShadowClan and ThunderClan territory.
“Just a moment, Flailfoot,” Flamepelt interrupted. Flailfoot huffed, but said nothing. “Which one of you kits knows the difference between a rabbit and a hare?” Flamepelt asked.
“Rabbits are forest-prey and hares are moor-prey,” the kits parroted.
“Correct. You might see rabbits in the tunnels or close to ShadowClan’s border, but moor-runners mostly hunt hares,” Flamepelt mewed. “Now, continue on, Flailfoot.”
Flailfoot rolled his eyes. “As I was saying, he managed to get foxglove and return to the burrow, where he force-fed one of the leverets the seeds and killed it. Then he found a nearby hunting patrol and had them kill the rest of the leverets. He carried the poisoned one to camp alongside the hunting patrol.
“When they arrived back in camp, he told one of the apprentices to take the leveret to Breezestar, who was resting in her den. She ate it without a single idea that it had poison in it. It took very little time for her to have a heart attack and fall unconscious. She didn’t make it to nightfall.
“Her deputy was Swallowsun’s brother, Strikekit, now Strikestorm. He and Swallowsun journeyed to the Moonstone, where he received his nine lives, becoming Strikestar.”
“Did StarClan not tell Strikestar what Swallowsun did?” Barkkit wondered.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Whiteberry answered. “Either he knew, but did nothing because it was his brother who committed the deed, or Breezestar never told him what happened.”
“I think he knew,” Flailfoot muttered. “I don’t know how he couldn’t find out about it.”
“I hope not,” Lilywhisker murmured.
“Only Heatherstar and Hawkheart know, I suppose,” Flamepelt mused.
“Why’s that?” Tallkit asked.
“If Strikestar acted to cover up his brother’s deeds, then I doubt he went to StarClan,” Lilywhisker replied. “He was the leader of WindClan before Heatherstar, so I’d imagine he would’ve been at her nine lives ceremony. If he wasn’t…”
“Don’t worry, when I go to StarClan I’ll come visit and let you know the truth,” Whiteberry joked. “If the answer’s good for gossip, that is.”
“Don’t talk like that, Whiteberry,” Flailfoot mewed, ears flat.
Whiteberry’s gaze softened. “Sorry.”
“You’d better be,” Flailfoot muttered. He shifted in his nest. “Back to the topic at forepaw, Strikestar became the new leader of WindClan. He appointed… eh, some senior warrior as his deputy.”
“Curltooth,” Whiteberry interjected.
“Yes, that’s right,” Flailfoot agreed. “Well, around the same time, Swallowsun took an apprentice, Chivepaw. Trained him up real good and named him Chiveclaw for no reason other than that it sounded like a warrior’s name, I bet you.
“After he finished training Chiveclaw, Swallowsun asked to become a moor-runner. Strikestar said yes, and Swallowsun finally got his wish. Around the same time, Curltooth died in a border skirmish with… RiverClan, I think, and Strikestar appointed Puddlesplash, another senior warrior, as the next deputy.”
“Did Swallowsun kill Curltooth?” Shrewkit asked.
Flailfoot shook his head. “No, the whole battle patrol saw that RiverClan snake-heart do it. It was a RiverClan cat, right?”
The other elders nodded.
“Right,” Flailfoot mewed. “Well, some fish-breath got her, and got her good--split her stomach wide open. You could barely see her white pelt under all the blood--”
“Flailfoot!” Lilywhisker snapped. “You can’t tell kits all that.”
Flailfoot grunted. “Shrewkit wants to be a moor-runner, and Barkkit a medicine cat. They’re going to see gruesome wounds sooner or later.”
“Yes, but not now,” the she-cat hissed. She let out a sigh. “I’ll tell the story from here.”
“Fine, fine…” Flailfoot muttered before curling up in his nest, facing towards the den walls.
Lilywhisker rolled her eyes before continuing the story. “After Curltooth passed, Puddlesplash was made deputy. He was one of the cats who’d supported Breezestar’s decision to make Swallowsun a medicine cat, so Swallowsun didn’t like him very much, and they often butted heads. They couldn’t agree on anything, it seemed.
“But in the end, Puddlesplash had his own life, and Swallowsun had his--a life that included Silverdawn. They became mates quickly after Swallowsun became a warrior, and were happy for many moons--before Swallowsun had a dream from StarClan, that was. In that dream, Swallowsun saw a kit--a kit that Silverdawn would someday bear him. That kit would become a warrior, only to be called by StarClan to the medicine den.
“Swallowsun awoke filled with fury. He refused to let any kit of his be forced into the medicine den the way he was. He reached desperately for a way to prevent such a fate for his kit, and found only one solution: killing any cat who’d support what happened to him happening again.
“Did he poison them with more foxglove seeds?” Shrewkit asked.
“Well, yes, but he didn’t go straight to those this time around,” Lilywhisker replied. “He decided to get the whole Clan sick first so that it wouldn’t be suspicious when cats died.”
“How’d he do that?” Barkkit wondered.
Lilywhisker’s eyes darkened. “With meadow saffron,” she answered. “It used to grow at the back of the Twolegs’ farm--StarClan knows how he found it--though it certainly doesn’t grow there anymore. We dug up all of it after what happened.” She sighed. “It was the perfect poison--safe for prey, dangerous for cats. All he had to do was scatter their seeds on the edge of WindClan’s territory at the beginning of Newleaf, and they sprung up like weeds. Before we knew it, the prey was eating it, and cats were getting sick for seemingly no reason.
“This all happened when I was in the nursery. Dawnstripe and Leafshine were queens at the time as well.” Lilywhisker shut her eyes, whiskers pulled forward in pain. “They each lost a kit to the sickness, and I my entire litter. Silverdawn was the only one not to lose a kit, even if she only had one to begin with.” She took a shaky breath. “Two elders and a warrior died as well before Swallowsun even started killing cats with foxglove. He volunteered to temporarily return to the medicine den to ‘help’ with the sickness, where he fed his victims the seeds, telling them it was medicine. He killed multiple cats, including Puddlesplash, before Chiveclaw--perhaps warned by StarClan--found the foxglove in the back of the medicine den’s storage and caught on to what was happening.
“He confronted his former mentor in front of the entire Clan. Strikestar asked him if he’d truly been poisoning the sick cats, and… Swallowsun admitted to everything, even killing Breezestar, because he wasn’t ashamed of himself. He was proud.”
Lilywhisker bowed her head in grief. Whiteberry laid his tail over her shoulders in comfort, continuing the story for her. “Swallowsun said that he’d had a dream from StarClan that his kit would become a moor-runner, but then be forced into the role of a medicine cat. All he was doing was protecting his kit from that fate by killing any cats who might once again support such a changing of roles. As for when he’d killed Breezestar seasons before, Swallowsun claimed that the Clan, especially her, owed him everything, even their lives, for allowing him to be miserable for so long in service to the Clan.”
Lilywhisker spoke up once again in a whisper. “‘But what of our kits?’ Dawnstripe cried. ‘They didn’t deserve this! They’ve done you no wrong!’
“‘They were a necessary sacrifice,’ Swallowsun replied without a hint of remorse.
“It was then that Leafshine let out an enraged screech and leapt for Swallowsun, tackling him to the ground. Dawnstripe and I…” Lilywhisker looked upwards, ears back, and closed her eyes, perhaps reliving the moment. “…We quickly followed. He’d killed our kits, and in that moment, all the three of us could think about was revenge.
“Eventually, we were pulled off by some of the warriors, but the damage was done. Though Strikestar requested that Chiveclaw treat Swallowsun, his wounds were severe, and a few days later, he succumbed to infection.”
“Thank StarClan he did,” Flailfoot muttered, apparently still listening. “Strikestar wanted to simply banish him after he recovered. Who knows what kind of havoc he could’ve wreaked, had he lived.”
“Did his plan work? Or did his kit still become a medicine cat?” Barkkit wondered.
“He did still become a medicine cat,” Flamepelt answered. “But he was much more accepting of the role than his father was, perhaps because he knew it was coming.”
“I certainly hope that’s the truth,” Flailfoot grumbled. “But if we all come down with another mysterious sickness, we’ll know who to blame this time.”
“Flailfoot!” Lilywhisker cried. “Don’t speak of him like that.”
“Is… is Hawkheart Swallowsun’s kit?” Tallkit blurted.
Lilywhisker froze for a moment before sighing. “Yes. But it’s a secret, alright? No cat wants to be treated differently because of who their father was. We don’t want you younger cats to be afraid of him now when the Clan is finally starting to forget what happened.”
The three kits nodded seriously--even Shrewkit. “Hawkheart is cooler than I thought,” he remarked.
“Uh-huh,” Flailfoot mewed. “And now that the story’s over, I want to take a nap, so you three can go find something else to do.”
“Okay,” Tallkit assented. The other elders said their goodbyes as the three kits left their den.
Shrewkit nudged his littermate. “Do you want to play on the Hunting Stones now?”
“As long as Tallkit can play too,” Barkkit replied.
Shrewkit rolled his eyes. “Fine…”
---
Far away, in a shadowy rotting forest filled with the spirits of evil cats long past, a long-legged black tom with a single white spot on his forehead sat at the edge of a small pool of murky water. Next to him sat another tom, black-and-white-furred and muscular.
“It’s rare they tell your story,” the second tom remarked.
The first tom’s whiskers twitched. “They tell it often enough.” He smirked. “Besides, you’re just worried they’ll start leaving you out of it. The mighty Strikestar, nothing more than a wispy, fading memory.”
“Is it so bad that I don’t want to fade away?” Strikestar retorted.
“Of course not. But you worry too much.” The tom put his tail over Strikestar’s shoulders. “We’ll make sure the Clans remember us. After all, we found this place where we can watch over the living Clans, didn’t we?” The tom leaned forward, staring into the pool in anticipation. “Trust me, brother. It’s only a matter of time before we find a way out.”