First Roots: Rewrite

by Flamejaybriar4Ever, JustADrunkDemon

Summary:

Cats with unnatural traits, powers, these creatures are seen as beasts by the normal cats and to be kept away and gettin rid of. These are Monstercats, creatures who are half cat and half monster.

Rusty was an anomaly, blood of many different monsters ran though him. When he joins the clans and has to deal with the conspiracy of a mystical monstercat race, He has to save both sides of the clans while keeping those lives separate.

Chapter 1: Prologue

A dim moon hangs high in the sky, the forest was quiet this night with birds sleeping and mice laying in there burrows. The only movement are six figures entering Four trees, one skittered up one of the four great oaks, they looked like a normal cat but... six spider legs came from there back and all eight of there eyes openned looking nervous.

The next cat phased out from the ground, there body transparent with thin strands of hair stretching out from them eerily, there glowing white eyes glancing around making sure no normal cat was nearby.

"Ah, I see I'm not the first to arrive this time." A She-cat purred approaching in her disguised state before going into a puddle near Fourtrees with her backlegs slowly melding together into a fishtail as she let out a relaxed sigh laying in the puddle in her true form.

"You youngsters sneak like an angry fox." A larger cat complained, almost double the size of the other cats with two tusks coming from the sides of his stretched out maw.

"Riverclan cats speak as elegantly as always." A tom muttered his red furred tail almost as notable as his piercing red eyes as he descended from the sky, his bat wings folding as he stood on great rock.

"So only six of us are here?" The final arrival was a She-cat, her tail slowly swishing but instead of being cat, she had the fish of a tail with two fins on the side of her head. Her voice alluring towards the spider like cat who unlike the others had no resistant to her voice's passive charm.

“Where are the other two?” she asked casually, her voice almost distracted as she ran a paw through the puddle at her side. “We were supposed to have two from WindClan with us.”

The spider-like cat, perched nervously on the rough bark of a tree, let out a shaky hiss. “They ran out. Brokenstar is leader now. I mean, they’re gone. They’re gone, and they ran out of WindClan.” His voice trembled as he forced the words out. His body shifted as though trying to hide further up the tree’s rough wood.

“Brokenstar?” The Siren's voice dropped slightly. “They ran? Hmm.” She glanced at her companions, worry clear on her features. She shifted her gaze toward the moonlight filtering through the canopy. “What could have forced them to flee like that?”

Before anyone could respond, the Vampire cat spoke up. "While that is concerning, we can deal with that when we're acting as clan cats, we have something more important to discus..." He paused taking a deep breath before continuing, "I had an encounter with The Hollow."

The moment the words left his mouth, the air shifted. All six of the figures turned toward him, their attention now fixed and sharp. The Siren's amber eyes narrowed, and her fins glistened under the pale moonlight as she shifted, pulling herself out of the puddle to sit upright.

"The Hollow?" she asked, her voice cautious yet filled with curiosity.

The Vampire's piercing gaze bore into each of his companions. "Yes. The Hollow." His voice was low and steady, carrying an edge of urgency. "They told me that there is a fairy in the clans."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with meaning. All six pairs of eyes turned toward him now, and the Mercat visibly tensed. Her voice was quiet but firm. "A fairy, are you certain?"

The Vampire snorted, his bat wings folding closer to his body. "Do you think I’d lie about something like this? The Hollow does not make idle boasts." His red eyes glimmered under the moonlight. "They confirmed it. A fairy is in the clans, and this changes everything."

The other cats exchanged glances, the tension between them palpable. The spider, perched nervously on his webbed limbs, let out an anxious hiss. His voice cracked as he spoke. "But, if there is a fairy in the clans, then we can’t let that slip away. A fairy means power."

The Toad's wide mouth stretched into a grin, his tusks glinting in the pale light. His voice was low and rumbled with excitement. "You’re all saying the same thing. If The Hollow is right, then we could all claim that kind of strength for ourselves." His grin widened further as he stared into the forest's darkness.

The ghost shifted uneasily, his translucent paws hovering above the ground. His voice was soft, wavering. "But what does this mean for us? A fairy is rare, and if it is here among the clans, others will be hunting for it. The Hollow can’t be the only force aware of this."

Before anyone could reply, The Vampire's voice grew sharper, cutting through the speculative air. "And that is exactly why we need to move quickly. The fairy has been hiding among us, and if we find them, the others will be none the wiser until it’s too late. I can feel it, my paws. This is our chance, and I won’t let it slip by."

The Siren let out a slow, weary breath. Her tail swished lightly, the fishtail glinting in the moonlight. "You all speak of power, but you’re all very eager to find a creature like that. A fairy is in constant danger, and you speak of eating her to gain power?" Her voice was tight, her words tinged with unease. She looked directly at The Vampire as she continued, her tone colder now. "You all speak as if it were so easy."

The Vampire narrowed his eyes, "You say that despite having lured and killed two apprentices not even two moons ago. Your lucky a fox was in the area to hide your tracks."

The Siren glared at The Vampire, her pale green eyes sharp and unyielding. The tension in the air was like the first prick of a storm, crackling and uncertain.

"Do not test me," she hissed, her voice low and bitter. "You all have blood on your paws, and don’t pretend you’re any better than me."

The Vampire let her words hang, his red eyes unblinking. He opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by the spider-like cat, who had shifted nervously on his branch. His voice cracked as he spoke again, trembling, "We should... we should stop fighting. The Hollow gave us what we know, and it was barely anything. We need to stay careful."

The Mercat shifted, stretching out her form, pulling herself lazily from the puddle. The moonlight glimmered off her form as she yawned, staring at the group with her usual detached, sarcastic indifference. "Oh, wonderful. So we're all here with nothing but rumors and paranoia now. Isn’t that just great?" Her voice dripped with casual amusement. "We have a fairy to find, whatever that means. Do any of us even know what that entails?"

The Ghost shifted beside her, his pale, translucent form faintly shimmering under the moonlight. His voice was soft, as though it were a whisper meant only for his companions, quiet but steady. "I’d rather tread carefully than stir the hornet's nest without knowing its sting. The Hollow knows more about the dark things than we ever will, but they gave us so little." His voice lacked sharpness, but there was an unmistakable worry in it.

The Toad, with his imposing frame and gleaming tusks, let out a low chuckle, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "They fear us because we fear nothing. This fairy is out there somewhere, and the first one to sink their teeth into it will have untold power. I like those odds." His grin widened as he gazed at the group. "The question is, who gets to eat first?"

The Siren shivered at his words, the undertone of hunger in his voice making her stomach twist. She took another slow breath, deliberately regaining her composure. "It’s not just about eating, Toad," she murmured. Her words were sharp again, her voice cutting through the tension. "You’re blinded by ambition. You all should tread carefully. Fairies are rare creatures. No one can promise they’ll stay hidden forever."

The spider-like cat let out a shaky breath and shifted nervously, his six spider legs gripping at the rough bark as he tried to retreat further into the shadows. His voice was hushed, too quiet for anyone to hear without straining. "We don’t have much choice anymore. If we expose ourselves, if we let the others see... we won't get the chance to fix it."

The air felt colder now, the wind rustling through the trees as though warning them. The group exchanged glances, all of them uncertain, uneasy, and too aware of how much they had at stake. Finally, The Vampire let out a sharp exhale and stepped back, his bat-like wings folding against his back. His voice was steady again, calm but commanding as he turned toward the trees.

"Enough talk," he said simply. His words carried authority. "We’ll return to our respective clans, and we’ll keep watch. The Hollow may know little, but they were right about one thing: this is our opportunity, and we can’t waste time."

The group hesitated for a moment, the air thick with uncertainty. The Siren let out one final breath, the fishtail glinting like silver as she shifted back into her standard feline form, her amber eyes gleaming under the moonlight. The spider-like cat shifted nervously, his body tensed, before retreating downward toward the forest floor.

The Mercat stretched again, letting herself relax as she let her own form return to its natural shape. "Let’s hope none of us regret this little journey," she said in that lazy, sarcastic voice.

The Toad huffed, his large frame shifting easily through the shadows as he made his way back toward the trees. His tusks gleamed in the pale moonlight as his voice rang out one last time. "If we find her, we’ll have all the power we ever wanted. Mark my words."

The group separated as the wind swept through the trees. They returned to their natural forms as they disappeared into the shadows, each one stepping back toward their respective clans. The spider-like cat stumbled as he moved, his legs shaking. The Siren, her voice bitter, couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in her gut. The Mercat, as detached as ever, merely shook her fur and slinked off toward the horizon.

The Vampire lingered for a moment longer, his gaze piercing the dark forest canopy, knowing that something had changed tonight. He turned from the moonlight and followed the others.

The forest was quiet again, the gentle whisper of wind brushing leaves the only sound. The six figures had disappeared into the night, each returning to their own territories and their own secrets, their thoughts filled with the words of The Hollow: A fairy is here.

None of them knew what this meant, but every step they took into the shadows was one step closer to what could be a terrible discovery.

The moon hung in the sky, its light glinting down on the forest floor.

And in that moment, all of them knew: they would be watching.

Chapter 2: Allegiances

Summary:

The formerly very late, now very early, allegiances for First Roots. The allegiances that's used as a reference is Into The Wild Allegiances. The allegiances will be different than the Allegiances for Into The Wild. How? You'll see. I will be making this a Warriors x Wings Of Fire AU, and because of what I have in mind for Crystal, and the later arcs, I'm going to change Princess's name to Rosemary, for reasons that will be revealed later, and I'm going to give them another sister. Her description will be revealed later, in the Allegiances, but her name will be revealed in other chapters. Just thought I'd clarify that.

Yes, I did check to make sure the cats I didn't recognize were from Canon. They made RiverClan’s Ivytail Dawnbright’s apprentice, and Silverstream Loudbelly’s apprentice, which is actually really clever. So I'm going to keep that. Oh, and for Gorsepaw’s siblings, I just made them both she-cats, since Storkkit is a tortoiseshell, and even with Morningflower being a tortoiseshell, it's very unlikely Storkkits a tom. Oh, and I changed Longtail and Dustpelt's designs a bit, but I promise it's for a reason. Just thought I'd let you know that they're the canon ones and not OCs before I get questions about it.

Notes:

Link to the source I used for the first half:
https://wcrpforums.com/thread/65200/wild-real-ish-allegiances

Link to the source I used for RiverClan:
https://www.tumblr.com/warriorsrewritten/154940927363/riverclan-allegiances

Oh, and I also changed Firepaw/heart/stars design. Why? Because I can, that's why. And it may or may not be relevant later 👀😉

Oh, and I made OCs to be Long, Dust and Ravens new parents. Long, Dust and Raven are still half-siblings, but they're no longer Brindleface and Frostfurs half-siblings, and Dust and Raven are littermates, but they have different fathers. And I gave Long littermates. Dust and Raven have two more littermates, but they both have a littermate that shares their respective fathers. Why? Bc why not? Sand? I made a new OC to be her mom. That's all I'm saying about that.

Oh, and I almost forgot! As cats die and are born, a new Allegiances chapter will be added to keep up with all of those changes!

 

ThunderClan:

Leader:

Bluestar — Blue-gray she-cat with a silver muzzle and blue eyes. Ex-mate of Oakheart

Apprentice: Firepaw

Deputy:

Redtail — Small, tortoiseshell tom with a distinctive, bushy, dark ginger tail, and dark amber eyes

Apprentice: Dustpaw

Medicine Cats:

Spottedleaf — Beautiful, dark tortoiseshell she-cat with a distinctive dappled coat, and amber eyes

WARRIORS:

Lionheart — Magnificent golden tabby tom with thick fur like a lion's mane, and amber eyes

Apprentice: Graypaw

Tigerclaw — Large, dark brown tabby tom with unusually long front claws, and amber eyes

Apprentice: Ravenpaw

Whitestorm — Large, pure white tom with amber eyes

Apprentice: Sandpaw

Willowpelt — Very pale gray she-cat with unusual blue eyes. Ex-mate of Ashfur

Runningwind — Swift tabby tom. Ex-mate of Brindleface

Mousefur — Small, dusky brown she-cat with blue eyes

Darkstripe — Sleek, black-and-gray tabby tom with pale amber eyes

Longtail — Fawn silver broken mackerel tabby tom with low white and green eyes

APPRENTICES:

Dustpaw (Mentor: Redtail) — Dark brown/chocolate golden shaded tabby tom with low white and amber eyes

Ravenpaw (Mentor: Tigerclaw) — Small, skinny black tom with a tiny white dash on his chest, white-tipped tail, and green eyes

Sandpaw (Mentor: Whitestorm) — Pale ginger ticked tabby she-cat with green eyes

Graypaw (Mentor: Lionheart) — Long-haired, solid gray tom with a darker stripe of gray on his back, and amber eyes

Firepaw (Formerly Rusty (Mentor: Bluestar)) — Light brown/fawn-and-ginger ghost ticked tabby tom with a lighter brown, almost white, fire-shaped markings on his chest, back, muzzle, underbelly, ears, shoulders and hindquarters and green eyes

QUEENS:

Frostfur — Beautiful white she-cat with blue eyes (Mother of Lionheart’s kits: Thornkit, a golden-brown tabby tom with pale blue eyes, Brackenkit, a golden-brown tabby tom with amber eyes and long legs, Cinderkit, a small, sleek-furred, dark smoky gray she-kit with pale blue eyes, and Brightkit, a white she-kit with ginger patches and blue eyes)

Brindleface — Pale gray tabby she-cat with darker flecks and green eyes. Ex-mate of Runningwind (Expecting Runningwind’s kits)

Goldenflower — Sleek, pale ginger tabby she-cat with golden eyes. Ex-mate of Patchpelt (Mother to Swiftkit, small, black-and-white tom with pale amber eyes, and Lynxkit, ginger she-kit with black patches, and pale amber eyes)

Speckletail — Pale golden tabby she-cat with amber eyes, oldest queen in the nursery (Expecting Smallear’s kits)

ELDERS:

Halftail — Large, dark brown tabby tom with a short tail and pale amber eyes

Smallear — Gray tom with very small ears, oldest tom in ThunderClan, and amber eyes

Patchpelt — Small, black-and-white tom. Ex-mate of Goldenflower

One-eye — Pale gray she-cat, virtually blind and deaf, oldest she-cat in ThunderClan with amber eyes

Dappletail — Once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat, and amber eyes

Rosetail — Gray tabby she-cat with a bushy, reddish tail

 

ShadowClan:

Leader:

Brokenstar — Matted, dark brown tabby tom with a broad, flat face, a bent tail, and orange eyes

Deputy:

Blackfoot — Huge, white tom with huge jet-black paws, one of which has six toes, black-rimmed ears, and amber eyes

Apprentice: Dawnpaw

Medicine Cats:

Yellowfang — Dark gray she-cat with orange eyes, a broad, flattened face, and long, matted fur. Ex-mate of Raggedstar

Runningnose — Small, gray-and-white tom with patchy, grizzled, and ungroomed fur, and amber eyes

WARRIORS:

Brackenfoot — Pale ginger tom with dark ginger legs, and amber eyes

Toadskip — Dark brown tabby tom with white splashes, white legs, and blue eyes. Ex-mate of Poolcloud

Nettlespot — Thin, white she-cat with ginger flecks, and blue eyes

Mousewing — Black tom with long, thick fur, and green eyes

Amberleaf — Dark orange she-cat with brown legs, ears, and bright green eyes

Finchflight — Black-and-white tom with light, yellow amber eyes

Blizzardwing — Mottled white tom with dark, bright green eyes. Ex-mate of Hollyflower

Wolfstep — Gray tom with bright orange eyes

Frogtail — Dark gray tom with light green eyes

Ashheart — Pale gray she-cat with blue eyes

Nutwhisker — Brown tom with amber eyes

Rowanberry — Cream-and-brown she-cat with light amber eyes. Ex-mate of Clawface

Clawface — Heavily-built, sturdy, scrawny, battle-scarred brown tom with yellow eyes. Ex-mate of Rowanberry

Flintfang — Thick-furred, gray tom with brown-orange eyes

Deerfoot — Light brown tom with light green eyes

Tangleburr — Gray-and-brown she-cat with pale, dark green eyes

Stumpytail — Brown tom with darker stripes, short, stumpy tail, and green eyes

Boulder — Big, skinny, pale gray tom with blue eyes

Russetfur — Sleek, scrawny, dark ginger tabby she-cat with dark green eyes

Cinderfur — Scarred, thin gray tom with orange eyes

Tallppoppy — Long-legged, light brown/fawn tabby she-cat with pale green eyes

Darkflower — Black she-cat with dark purple-blue eyes

APPRENTICES:

Dawnpaw (Mentor: Blackfoot) — Small, pale ginger tabby she-cat with blue eyes

QUEENS:

Fernshade — Slender tortoiseshell she-cat with yellow eyes (Mother to Wolfstep’s kits: Badgerkit, very tiny, fluffy black-and-white tom with a face striped like a badgers, and green eyes)

Newtspeck — Small, black-and-ginger tabby she-cat with bright orange eyes (Mother of Littlekit, a very small, brown tabby tom with bright blue eyes, a light brown tail and a brown nose, Wetkit, a gray tabby tom with pale green eyes, and Brownkit, a brown tom with orange-yellow amber eyes)

Brightflower — Orange tabby she-cat with a broad, flat face, a snub nose, wide-set amber eyes (Mother to Brackenfoot’s kits: Mintkit, a small, gray tom with green eyes, and Marigoldkit, a tiny tortoiseshell she-cat with bright green eyes)

ELDERS:

Archeye — Gray tabby tom with black stripes, a thick stripe over his left eye, patchy fur, and green eyes

Crowtail — Sleek, long-legged, small, black tabby she-cat with green eyes

Hollyflower — Sleek, long-legged, dark gray-and-white she-cat with blue-green eyes. Ex-mate of Blizzardwing

Featherstorm — Dark brown tabby she-cat with yellow eyes. Ex-mate of Hal

Poolcloud — Pale gray-and-white she-cat with blue eyes. Ex-mate of Toadskip

Ashfur — Thin, long, gray ticked tabby tom with green eyes. Ex-mate of Willowpelt

Deerleap — Gray tabby she-cat with white legs and green eyes

 

WindClan:

Leader:

Tallstar — Black-and-white tom with a very long tail, and amber eyes

Deputy:

Deadfoot — Small, lean, black tom with an twisted left forepaw, and green eyes

Medicine Cats:

Barkface — Dark brown tom with a short tail, and yellow eyes

WARRIORS:

Rushtail — Skinny, light creamy-brown tom with dark yellow eyes

Darkfoot — Blue-gray tom with darker blue-gray paws, a paler blue-gray chest and belly, a white muzzle, and yellow eyes

Oatwhisker — Creamy-brown tabby tom with yellow eyes

Mudclaw — Wiry, mottled dark brown tabby tom with amber eyes

Tornear — Wiry, gray tabby tom with blue eyes

Onewhisker — Small, lean, mottled, pale brown tabby tom with amber eyes

Wrenflight — Brown she-cat with green eyes

Sorrelshine — Gray-and-brown she-cat with dark yellow eyes

Pigeonflight — Dark gray tom with white patches and dark, yellow-orange eyes

Bristlebark — Black tom with amber eyes

Rabbitear — Pale brown she-cat with a fluffy, white belly, and light yellow eyes

Flytail — Snowy-white tom with pale gray spots and green eyes

APPRENTICES:

Thrushpaw — N/A

Stonepaw — N/A

Runningpaw — Light gray tabby she-cat with pale green eyes

QUEENS:

Ashfoot — Broad-faced, gray she-cat with blue eyes (Mother to Deadfoot's kits: Eaglekit, a gray tom with orange-brown eyes, Hillkit, a pale gray she-kit with dark blue eyes, Downkit, a black she-kit with amber eyes, and Crowkit, a dark smoky-gray, almost black, tom with blue eyes)

Morningflower — Tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat with amber eyes (Mother to Cloudrunner’s kits: Quailkit, a pale gray-and-white she-kit with blue eyes, Storkkit, a tortoiseshell she-kit with ginger patches and orange eyes, and Gorsekit, a short, thick-furred, small, lean, brown tabby tom with pale green eyes)

ELDERS:

Crowfur — Short, patchy-furred, black tom with a silver muzzle, a scarred flank, and light brown eyes

Stagleap — Huge, stocky, broad-shouldered, dark brown tom with amber eyes

Doespring — Light brown she-cat with pale green eyes

Ryestalk — Soft-furred, gray tabby she-cat with amber eyes

RiverClan

Leader:

Crookedstar — Huge, light brown/fawn tabby tom with a twisted jaw, and green eyes

Deputy:

Oakheart — Reddish-brown tabby tom with a long, glossy coat, and amber eyes. Ex-mate of Bluestar

Medicine Cats:

Mudfur — Light brown/fawn tabby tom with amber eyes

WARRIORS:

Owlfur — Brown-and-white tabby tom with sleek fur and amber eyes

Softwing — Short, snowy white she-cat with brown patches, and green eyes

Voleclaw — Grey tom with long, with fur, and green eyes

Beetlenose — Smoky black, broad-shouldered tabby tom with long fur, and amber eyes

Sunfish — Long, feathery furred, creamish-grey she-cat with yellow eyes

Blackclaw — Smoky black, muscular tom with yellow eyes, and a torn ear

Reedtail — Pale grey ticked tabby tom with amber eyes

Loudbelly — Large, deep brown, ticked tabby tom with hazel eyes

Apprentice: Silverpaw

Leopardfur — Pale golden spotted tabby she-cat with amber eyes

Apprentice: Whitepaw

Dawnbright — Long, downy furred, reddish-brown-and-white she-cat with red patches, and blue eyes

Apprentice: Ivypaw

Mallowtail — White, pale dusty-brown patched she-cat with amber eyes

Apprentice: Grasspaw

Greenflower — Plump, brown tabby she-cat with light green eyes

Stonefur — Thick-furred, stocky, broad-shouldered grey tom with amber eyes

Mistyfoot — Sleek-furred, lithe, pale gray she-cat with blue eyes

APPRENTICES:

Ivypaw (Mentor: Dawnbright) — Brown tabby she-cat with amber eyes

Whitepaw (Mentor: Leopardfur) — Dark grey tabby tom with long legs, and hazel eyes

Silverpaw (Mentor: Loudbelly) — Slender, silver tabby she-cat with black stripes, and blue eyes

Grasspaw (Mentor: Mallowtail) — Brown ticked tabby she-cat with green eyes

QUEENS:

Sedgecreek — Brown tabby she-cat with short fur, a wispy tail, and amber eyes

(Mother to Voleclaw’s kits: Heavykit, thickest, reddish-brown tabby tom with green eyes, and Shadekit, tufted, dark gray she-kit with hazel eyes)

ELDERS:

Ottersplash — Sleek, black-and-white she-cat with pale, ginger patches, and grass-green eyes

Echomist — Sleek, smoky-black she-cat with hazel eyes, and a plumy tail

Fallowtail — Soft-furred, light brown/fawn she-cat with green eyes

Cedarpelt — Large, stout, brown tabby tom with green eyes, and a short tail

Lakeshine — Grey-and-white she-cat with long fur and pale, blue eyes

Greypool — Skinny, patchy-furred, dark gray she-cat with yellow eyes

Cats Outside The Clans:

Smudge — Plump black-and-white Kittypet tom with amber eyes

Mistlewillow — Long-legged, outspoken, and brittle chocolate torbie she-cat with coarse fur, and narrow yellow eyes

Barley — Black-and-white loner tom with blue eyes

Rosemary (Princess) — Fluffy, soft-furred, light brown/fawn ticked tabby she-cat with a white chest, paws, and a thick tail

Oliver — Fluffy white tom with blue eyes

Luna — Brown-and-ginger she-cat with green eyes

Mistywish — Abnormally large, evil, and airy tortoiseshell non-binary Kittypet, with messy fur, speckled pawpads, and bright blue eyes

Filou — Light ginger spotted tabby tom with pale, green eyes

Icystalker — Muscular, dedicated, and obsessive, silken, silver ticked tortoiseshell tom with seafoam green eyes

Tommy — Dark brown/chocolate-and-white ghost tabby tom, with lighter, barely visible, brown stripes, and pale purple-blue eyes

Opalbiter — Small, romantic, and ungrateful, grizzled, silver ticked tabby tom, with a speckled nose, and crossed, caramel eyes

??? — Light brown/fawn-and-cream marbled torbie she-cat with white, ghost-shaped markings and light pink eyes with hints of purple

Nutmeg — Heavily scarred, light brown/fawn-and-white spotted cryptic torbie she-cat with green eyes. Ex-mate of Jake

Jake — Flame-colored, ginger ticked tabby tom with pale, leaf-green eyes. Ex-mate of Nutmeg

Brackenwind — Dark brown-and-white marbled tabby she-cat with a long tail and green eyes. Former warrior of ThunderClan, and mate of Fawnshadow, Bronzewhisker, and Shadowstrike

Fawnshadow — Fawn silver rosetted colorpoint tabby tom with dark green-gray eyes. Former medicine cat of WindClan, and mate of Brackenwind, Bronzewhisker, and Shadowstrike

Bronzewhisker — Chocolate-and-red broken braided sepia tabby tom with amber eyes. Former warrior of ThunderClan, and mate of Brackenwind, Fawnshadow, and Shadowstrike

Shadowstrike — Black-and-red mink tom with white gloves and gray-blue eyes. Former medicine cat of ShadowClan, and mate of Brackenwind, Fawnshadow, and Bronzewhisker

Frostedmoon — Dark brown silver marbled tabby she-cat with low white and green-gray eyes

Cinnamonwhisper — Cinnamon silver broken braided tabby she-cat with low white and dark green eyes

Fawnsong — Fawn silver marbled tabby she-cat with green eyes

Cocoawhispers — Dark brown golden shaded torbie and white she-cat with amber-green eyes

Whisperflame — Cinnamon golden ticked torbie and white she-cat with gray-blue eyes with hints of green

Spiritwhisper — Cream-and-lilac marbled torbie she-cat with light green eyes

Other Beings:

The Hollow — "Well, Don't want to spoil anything ;)"

Notes:

If you have any questions about any of the characters, or if I made a mistake, please let me know in the comments. :3
-Flamejaybriar4Ever

Chapter 3: Chapter 1: A Paw in Two Worlds

Summary:

Summary: Rusty has a paw in two different worlds, and gets a bit confused about what Bluestar means…… Did I basically just combine the Canon prologue and Chapter 1, with a few changes? Yep. Do I care? Hell nah. Long chapter for everyone! :3

Notes:

Basically what the title says. Oh, and before I forget, this is going to be a Warriors Rewrite. Yes, I said Warriors, not First Roots. Well, it's going to be a bit of a First Roots Rewrite, but mainly a Warriors Rewrite. It's going to be a Warriors x Wings Of Fire AU, as well as a Warriors Rewrite! I'll keep most, if not all, of the events in the Warriors Canon, but since this is a Rewrite and AU, things will need to be changed, added, removed, or moved forward/back, depending on how it's written. For example, when we get to OS (Our Story), the iconic fire scene will need to be moved back, unless I move up one of the events that I want to be prior to that. But I need there to be time for Flametail, Jayfeather and Briarlight to meet, hang out, and fall in love, without rushing it too much, or stuff like that. I might be able to move Light, Cold, and their siblings back to where they originally were in the timeline, but I can't say for certain just yet. Oh, and it's going to be like Dimming Flames. Starts as mainly Canon with some custom stuff, and it slowly gets more and more custom.

Just thought I'd clarify that before I get comments about it.

A half-moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond.

There was a stirring in the shadows, and from all around lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glinted in the moonlight. Wary eyes flashed like amber. And then, as if on a silent signal, the creatures leaped at each other, and suddenly the rocks were alive with wrestling, screeching cats.

At the center of the frenzy of fur and claws, a massive dark tabby pinned a bracken-colored tom to the ground and drew up his head triumphantly. “Oakheart!” the tabby growled. “How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to ThunderClan!”

“After tonight, Tigerclaw, this will be just another RiverClan hunting ground!” the bracken-colored tom spat back.

A warning yowl came from the shore, shrill and anxious. “Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!”

Tigerclaw turned to see sleek wet bodies sliding out of the water below the rocks. The drenched RiverClan warriors bounded silently up the shore and hurled themselves into battle without even stopping to shake the water from their fur.

The dark tabby glared down at Oakheart. “You may swim like otters, but you and your warriors do not belong in this forest!” He drew back his lips and showed his teeth as the cat struggled beneath him.

The desperate scream of a ThunderClan she-cat rose above the clamor. A wiry RiverClan tom had pinned the brown warrior flat on her belly. Now he lunged toward her neck with jaws still dripping from his swim across the river.

Tigerclaw heard the cry and let go of Oakheart. With a mighty leap, he knocked the enemy warrior away from the she-cat. “Quick, Mousefur, run!” he ordered, before turning on the RiverClan tom who had threatened her. Mousefur scrambled to her paws, wincing from a deep gash on her shoulder, and raced away.

Behind her, Tigerclaw spat with rage as the RiverClan tom sliced open his nose. Blood blinded him for an instant, but he lunged forward regardless and sank his teeth into the hind leg of his enemy. The RiverClan cat squealed and struggled free.

“Tigerclaw!” The yowl came from a warrior with a tail as red as fox fur. “This is useless! There are too many RiverClan warriors!”

“No, Redtail. ThunderClan will never be beaten!” Tigerclaw yowled back, leaping to Redtail’s side. “This is our territory!” Blood was welling around his broad black muzzle, and he shook his head impatiently, scattering scarlet drops onto the rocks.

“ThunderClan will honor your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot afford to lose any more of our warriors,” Redtail urged. “Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against these impossible odds. We will have another chance to avenge this defeat.” He met Tigerclaw’s amber-eyed gaze steadily, then reared away and sprang onto a boulder at the edge of the trees.

“Retreat, ThunderClan! Retreat!” he yowled. At once his warriors squirmed and struggled away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, they backed toward Redtail. For a heartbeat, the RiverClan cats looked confused. Was this battle so easily won? 

Then Oakheart yowled a jubilant cry. As soon as they heard him, the RiverClan warriors raised their voices and joined their deputy in caterwauling their victory.

Redtail looked down at his warriors. With a flick of his tail, he gave the signal and the ThunderClan cats dived down the far side of the Sunningrocks, then disappeared into the trees.

Tigerclaw followed last. He hesitated at the edge of the forest and glanced back at the bloodstained battlefield. His face was grim, his eyes furious slits. Then he leaped after his Clan into the silent forest.

In a deserted clearing, an old gray she-cat sat alone, staring up at the clear night sky. All around her in the shadows she could hear the breathing and stirrings of sleeping cats.

A small tortoiseshell she-cat emerged from a dark corner, her pawsteps quick and soundless.

The gray cat dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she meowed.

“Her wounds are deep, Bluestar,” answered the tortoiseshell, settling herself on the night-cool grass. “But she is young and strong; she will heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

“They will all recover, too.”

Bluestar sighed. “We are lucky not to have lost any of our warriors this time. You are a gifted medicine cat, Spottedleaf.” She tilted her head again and studied the stars. “I am deeply troubled by tonight’s defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader,” she murmured.

“These are difficult times for our Clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.”

“But the year is only just beginning,” Spottedleaf pointed out calmly. “There will be more kits when greenleaf comes.”

The gray cat twitched her broad shoulders. “Perhaps. But training our young to become warriors takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

“Are you asking StarClan for answers?” meowed Spottedleaf gently, following Bluestar’s gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

“It is at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to help us. Has StarClan spoken to you?” Bluestar asked.

“Not for some moons, Bluestar.”

Suddenly a shooting star blazed over the treetops. Spottedleaf’s tail twitched and the fur along her spine bristled.

Bluestar’s ears pricked but she remained silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upward.

After a few moments, Spottedleaf lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. “It was a message from StarClan,” she murmured. A distant look came into her eyes. “Fire alone can save our Clan.”

“Fire?” Bluestar echoed. “But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it save us?”

Spottedleaf shook her head. “I do not know,” she admitted. “But this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me.”

The ThunderClan leader fixed her clear blue eyes on the medicine cat. “You have never been wrong before, Spottedleaf,” she meowed. “If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will save our Clan.”

However, unbeknownst to Bluestar, Spottedleaf has lied about the prophecy. The true prophecy StarClan sent was: "The Fluttering Wings will bring great pain, only with fire shall the Clans suffering go away." Why Spottedleaf had lied to Bluestar about the prophecy, was unknown, for now, at least.

 

---

 

It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near. The young tomcat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows.

His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smells of the forest reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a small furry creature. Suddenly, a flash of gray raced past him. Rusty stopped still, listening.

It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. Rusty knew it was a mouse, he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his ear fur. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied.

Slowly, he lowered his scaled, furry body into position, folding his dragon-bat-like hybrid wings against his sides, crouching for the attack. He was downwind of the mouse. He knew it was not aware of him. With one final check on his prey’s position, Rusty pushed back hard on his haunches and sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose.

The mouse dived for cover, heading toward a hole in the ground. But Rusty was already on top of it. He scooped it into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn-sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-covered ground.

The mouse landed dazed, but alive. It tried to run, but Rusty snatched it up again. He tossed the mouse once more, this time a little farther away. The mouse managed to scramble a few paces before Rusty caught up with it.

Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Rusty looked around, and as he did so, the mouse was able to pull away from his claws. When Rusty turned back he saw it dart into the darkness among the tangled roots of a tree.

  Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that had cost him his kill. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar. Rusty blinked, opening his eyes. 

The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been dreaming.

  Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usually pinched. 

Rusty rolled onto his back, savoring the dream for a few more moments. He could still smell mouse. It was the third time since full moon that he’d had the dream, and every time the mouse had escaped his grasp.

He licked his lips. From his bed he could smell the bland odor of his food. His owners always refilled his dish before they went to bed. The dusty smell chased away the warm scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his stomach, so Rusty stretched the sleep out of his limbs and padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. 

The food felt dry and tasteless on his tongue. Rusty reluctantly swallowed one more mouthful. Then he turned away from the food dish and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the smell of the garden would bring back the feelings from his dream.

Outside, the moon was bright. It was raining lightly. Rusty stalked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws. He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent cloyed the damp air around him, and he curled his lip to drive the smell out of his nostrils.

Afterward, Rusty settled down on top of one of the posts in the fence that marked the limits of his garden. It was a favorite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighboring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of the garden fence.

  The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fence the woods were full of shadows. Rusty stretched his head forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm and dry under his thick coat, but he could feel the weight of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur, glancing around before letting his three, scaled, yet furry, fishtails appear, breathing a sigh of relief.

He heard his owners giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee.

  But this time Rusty ignored his owners’ voices and turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smell of the woods had grown fresher after the rain.

Suddenly the fur on his spine prickled. Was something moving out there? Was something watching him? Rusty stared ahead, but it was impossible to see or smell anything in the dark, tree-scented air. He lifted his chin boldly, stood up, and stretched, one paw gripping each corner of the fencepost as he straightened his legs and arched his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the woods once more.

It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward into the whispering shadows. Tensing his muscles, he crouched for a moment. Then he leaped lightly down into the rough grass on the other side of the garden fence. As he landed, the bell on his collar rang out through the still night air.

“Where are you off to, Rusty?” meowed a familiar voice behind him.

Rusty looked up. A young black-and-white ghost cat was balancing ungracefully on the fence, making Rusty stiffen in surprise. “S-Smudge?” He whispered, his voice choked, backing away from him, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath hitching in his throat.

Smudge floated down before kinda just floating upside down beside Rusty, bored. “You weren’t thinking of going into the forest, were you?”

“I-” Rusty started, but his voice caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “What if I was?”

Smudge rolled over in the air until he was right-side up, his paws touching down lightly on the fence post as if he weighed nothing at all. “You can’t be serious Rusty? You know what Henry says, there's wild cats in there! If you go in there, you’ll end up like me! Dead!”

Rusty flinched at Smudge’s words, his ears flicking back. He stared at the ghostly tom, watching the way the faint glow of his translucent fur flickered in the moonlight. Smudge’s wide, worried eyes bore into him, his black-and-white pelt slightly distorted at the edges, as if the wind could tear him apart like mist at any moment. Rusty felt his tails instinctively curl closer to his body, his wings twitching against his sides.

“That won’t happen,” Rusty muttered, glancing toward the towering trees beyond the fence. Their dark silhouettes loomed against the silver sky, beckoning him with the promise of something more, something wild and real. “I won’t end up like you.”

Smudge let out a frustrated huff, his tail flicking through the wooden post without a sound. “You say that, but I said the same thing once.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The forest is dangerous, Rusty. There are things in there that don’t just want to chase you away. They want to tear you apart.”

Rusty’s claws flexed against the wood of the fence. “And you know this because?”

Smudge looked away, his ghostly form flickering for a moment as if the memory itself unsettled his spirit. “Because I saw them. The wild cats. I got too close to their territory once, and I barely made it out.” He turned back to Rusty, his expression grim. “And you? You’re not even scared, are you?”

Rusty hesitated. Was he scared? His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t fear that made his paws itch, it was something else. Excitement? Curiosity? A hunger for something more than the stale, tasteless food his housefolk set out for him each night?

“I have to go,” Rusty finally said, stepping forward. “I keep dreaming about it, Smudge. The forest, it’s calling me.”

Smudge stepped in front of him, or at least, he tried to. His weightless body flickered slightly as he moved, his form insubstantial, but his expression was solid, serious. “Rusty, please,” he begged, his voice raw. “If you go in there, you might never come back.”

Rusty met his friend’s gaze, something deep and unreadable glimmering in his green eyes. “Then I guess I’ll just have to see for myself.”

Smudge stared at Rusty in shock and fear, his ghostly ears flattening against his head. “Fine, but don't be surprised when they rip you to shreds.” He muttered, and without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away into the garden behind the fence he'd originally appeared at, his form flicking as he walked into the fence.

Rusty blinked, surprised and hurt, glancing at the mist Smudge left, blinking away the tears that were welling up in his eyes before glancing at the forest, hesitating for a moment before hiding his monster features, letting himself become more cat-like and padding into the forest.

He glanced around, the sudden movement of a tiny creature catching his eye. He stopped and watched it scuttle under some brambles. Instinct made him drop into a low crouch. With one slow paw after another he drew his body forward through the undergrowth. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, he moved toward the animal. He could see it clearly now, sitting up among the barbed branches, nibbling on a large apple held between its paws. It was a mouse.

Rusty rocked his haunches from side to side, preparing to leap. He held his breath in case his bell rang again. Excitement coursed through him, making his heart pound. This was even better than his dreams!

He leaped, changing his claws a bit to catch it. The rat looked up, squealed and ran, making Rusty faceplant, but he got up and chased after it, enjoying the feeling of the wind through his fur.

Then a sudden noise of cracking twigs and crunching leaves made him jump and skid to a halt. His bell jangled treacherously, and the rat darted away into the thickest tangle of the bramble bush. He stiffened, standing very still and looked around. He could see the white tip of a red bushy tail trailing through a clump of tall ferns up ahead. He smelled a strong, strange, but familiar scent, definitely a meat-eater, but neither cat nor dog. Distracted, Rusty forgot about the rat and watched the red tail curiously. He wanted a better look.

All of Rusty’s senses strained ahead as he prowled forward. Then he detected another noise. It came from behind, but sounded muted and distant. He swiveled his large ears backward to hear it better. Pawsteps? he wondered, but he kept his eyes fixed on the strange red fur up ahead, and continued to creep onward. It was only when the faint rustling behind him became a loud and fast-approaching leaf-crackle that Rusty realized he was in danger.

The creature hit him like an explosion and Rusty was thrown sideways into a clump of nettles. Twisting and yowling, he tried to throw off the attacker that had fastened itself to his back. It was gripping him with incredibly sharp claws. Rusty could feel spiked teeth pricking at his neck. He writhed and squirmed from whisker to tail, but he couldn’t free himself. For a second he felt helpless; then he froze, realizing that the creature might've seen his claws change. Thinking fast, he flipped over onto his back. He knew instinctively how dangerous it was to expose his soft belly, but it was his only chance.

He was lucky, the ploy seemed to work. He heard a 'hhuuffff' beneath him as the breath was knocked out of his attacker. Thrashing fiercely, Rusty managed to wriggle free. Without looking back he sprinted toward his home.

Behind him, a rush of pawsteps told Rusty his attacker was giving chase. Even though the pain from his scratches stung beneath his fur, Rusty decided he would rather turn and fight than let himself be jumped on again. He skidded to a stop, spun around, and faced his pursuer.

It was another kitten, with a thick coat of shaggy gray fur, strong legs, and a broad face. In a heartbeat, Rusty smelled that it was a tom, and sensed the power in the sturdy shoulders underneath the soft coat. Then the kitten crashed into Rusty at full pelt. Taken by surprise by Rusty’s turnabout, it fell back into a dazed heap.

The impact knocked the breath out of Rusty, and he staggered. He quickly found his footing and arched his back, puffing out his light brown-and-orange fur, ready to spring onto the other kitten. But his attacker simply sat up and began to lick a forepaw, all signs of aggression gone. Rusty felt strangely disappointed. Every part of him was tense, ready for battle, but decided not to question it and straightened.

However, he paused, tensing again as he realized something. Wait- what if this is a trap?! He thought, internally panicking about it, glancing at the shaggy, gray-furred tom, waiting for a few moments, waiting for his response.

“You fight pretty good, for a kittypet of course.” The cat said licking there paw which was bleeding a small bit from a scratch Rusty gave him.

Rusty hesitated, his fur still bristling, but curiosity starting to take over his wariness. The tom's words were unexpected, and the relaxed posture didn't match the usual attitude of a cat who’d just been in a tussle.

"Kittypet?" Rusty echoed, feeling the word sting even though it wasn't meant to be an insult. He straightened his back, shaking off the lingering tension. "I'm not a kittypet. I just don't live like you do."

The gray tom finished licking his paw and gave a lazy shrug. “A Kittypet is a housecat! Like you! I’m Graypaw by the way, who are you?” Graypaw questioned tilting his head.

Rusty blinked at the name, Graypaw, and let his fur settle, just slightly. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but his tail flicked behind him, slow and thoughtful. Now that the fight had paused, he took a longer breath through his nose, drawing in the other tom’s scent, beneath the earthy tang of forest moss and the faint sharpness of blood, something else tugged at his senses.

 

Sloth.

 

Not laziness exactly, but a sluggish, comfortable pace, like a cat who didn’t rush unless he had to. A steady, lingering haze of contentment. But braided within that was something quieter, humility. Not forced modesty or false politeness, but a true lack of ego. Graypaw wasn’t trying to act like he was better. He wasn’t posturing, wasn’t lying. He had no mask to hide behind.

Rusty’s fur began to lie flatter.

No evil. No hate. No twisted emotions or sickly-sweet deceit. Just a young forest cat with more energy than caution and a kind of honest confidence that caught Rusty off guard.

The monster cat’s ears twitched. His disguise still held, Nothing about him seemed different to another cat. That was the point. But under the surface, his muscles coiled with power he had never once used against another cat. Power he couldn’t risk being seen.

He’d heard the stories.

Clan cats kill monster cats on sight.

"Rusty," he said at last, not quite meeting Graypaw’s eyes as he gave the name like it was just a word, not a part of him. "I’m Rusty. I… live near the edge of the forest."

"Near the edge, huh?" Graypaw repeated, sniffing at him again, then sneezing. "You smell like a kittypet, what brings you out to the forest?"

Rusty looked away. "I like the forest."

Graypaw tilted his head the other way, ears perked. "Not scared of it? Most kittypets get all freaked out by the undergrowth, or the noises. You don't even know what's out here?"

Rusty rolled his eyes, "If you're the worst thing out here then I dont think I'm in danger."

"Nah," Graypaw waved his paw. "If I was a real warrior, you'd be running off with your tail between your legs. I'm only an apprentice."

"An apprentice?" Rusty questioned getting a bad feeling as two more scents hit his nose.

A She-cat, Curious, Hopeful, pretty old? And... she smells sparkly? What?

And a Tom, Distrustful, On Guard, Stoic, Loyal and... both are beside them?

The bushes ruffled startling Graypaw who looked in the direction Rusty looked towards as a she-cat stepped out, "Graypaw, what are you doing?"

Rusty blinked, glancing up at the magnificent, large gray she-cat. White hairs streaked her muzzle, and an ugly scar parted the fur across her shoulders, but her smooth gray coat shone like silver in the moonlight, with blue eyes that fit her coat beautifully.

“Bluestar!” Across from Rusty, Graypaw crouched down and narrowed his eyes. He crouched even lower when a second cat, a handsome, golden tabby, followed the gray cat into the clearing. “You shouldn’t be so near Twolegplace, Graypaw!” growled the golden tabby angrily, narrowing his green eyes. “I know, Lionheart, I’m sorry.” Graypaw looked down at his paws. Rusty glanced at them, his fur bristling on instinct.

Something told him he could trust these cats, but instinct from his time in… a certain place, made him ignore his gut feeling. He copied Graypaw and crouched low to the forest floor, his ears twitching nervously. These cats had an air of strength he had never seen in any of his garden friends. Maybe what Smudge had warned him about was true. He didn't want to believe it without evidence, but he also didn't want to take his chances and upset these cats.

“Who is this?” asked the she-cat, snapping Rusty out of his thoughts. Rusty flinched as she turned her gaze on him. Her piercing blue eyes made him feel even more vulnerable, something he didn't like and wasn't sure if she'd take vulnerability or not.

“He’s no threat,” mewed Graypaw quickly. “He’s not another Clan warrior, just a Twoleg pet from beyond our territories.”

Just a Twoleg pet! The words inflamed and hurt Rusty, but he held his tongue. The warning look in Bluestar’s stare told him that she had observed the anger, confusion and hurt in his eyes, and he looked away, not wanting to see her anger.

“This is Bluestar; she's the leader of my Clan!” Graypaw hissed to Rusty under his breath. “And Lionheart. He’s my mentor, which means he’s training me to be a warrior.

“Thank you for the introduction, Graypaw,” meowed Lionheart coolly.

Bluestar was still staring at Rusty. “You fight well for a Twoleg pet,” she meowed. Rusty and Graypaw exchanged confused glances. How could she know?

“We have been watching you both,” Bluestar went on, as if she had read their thoughts. “We wondered how you would deal with an intruder, Graypaw. You attacked him bravely.” Graypaw looked pleased at Bluestar’s praise.

“Sit up now, both of you!” Bluestar looked at Rusty. “You too, kittypet.” He sat up immediately and held Bluestar’s gaze evenly as she addressed him, not wanting to make her angry. “You reacted well to the attack, kittypet. Graypaw is stronger than you, but you used your wits to defend yourself. And you turned to face him when he chased you. I’ve not seen a Kittypet do that before.”

Rusty managed to nod his thanks, taken aback by such unexpected praise. Her next words surprised him even more. “I have been wondering how you would perform out here, beyond the Twolegplace. We patrol this border frequently, so I have often seen you sitting on your boundary, staring out into the forest. And now, at last, you have dared to place your paws here.” Bluestar stared at Rusty thoughtfully. “You do seem to have a natural hunting ability. Sharp eyes. You would have caught that mouse if you had not hesitated so long.”

 “R-really?” Rusty stammered, not having expected the praise or advice, wondering if this was a trap to put him down when she finally noticed his strange coat colors.

Lionheart spoke now. His deep meow was respectful but insistent. “Bluestar, this is a kittypet. He should not be hunting in ThunderClan territory. Send him home to his Twolegs!”

Rusty prickled at Lionheart’s dismissive words. “Send me home?” he mewed impatiently. Bluestar’s words had made him glow with pride. She had noticed him; she had been impressed by him. “But I’ve only come here to hunt for a mouse or two. I’m sure there’s enough to go around.”

 

Bluestar had turned her head to acknowledge Lionheart’s words. Now her gaze snapped back to Rusty. Her blue eyes were blazing with anger. “There’s never enough to go around,” she spat. “If you didn’t live such a soft, overfed life, you would know that!”

Rusty was confused by Bluestar’s sudden rage, but one glance at the horrified look on Graypaw’s face was enough to tell him he had spoken too freely. Lionheart stepped to his leader’s side. Both warriors loomed over him now.

Rusty looked into Bluestar’s threatening stare and his pride dissolved. These were not cozy fireside cats he was dealing with, they were mean, hungry cats who were probably going to finish what Graypaw, and his mother, had started.

“I- I'm sorry.” Rusty muttered, glancing away from her, shuffling nervously as he stared at the fence. “I- I thought there'd be more than enough to go around, since there never seems to be a shortage of food, and the city, the larger Twolegplace, barely has any prey and all the loners and rogues have to fight for literal scraps and junk.” Rusty explained, pausing to explain what the city was, sensing their confusion, but still didn't look at them.

Bluestar’s gaze didn’t waver. The cold fire behind her eyes was fierce, unrelenting, but not cruel. Her ears angled forward slightly, and for the briefest moment, her tail flicked with what might have been… curiosity. Perhaps even understanding.

She stepped forward, away from Lionheart, narrowing the distance between herself and Rusty until her scent, pine needles, wind, and something deeply feral, curled around his senses. Rusty stiffened, but didn’t back down. Not out of bravery. Out of instinct. Something older, deeper, darker than any garden fence or city alley told him to stand his ground.

Bluestar tilted her head slightly, as if examining him anew. Then, her voice dropped in pitch, still sharp, but more controlled now.

“You speak of hunger in the city,” she said. “Of cats fighting over scraps and licking bones clean. That is a kind of hardship, yes. A kind we do not know as often. But you assume too much, kittypet, when you think we are spared all suffering.”

Rusty’s ears twitched. He didn’t interrupt.

“In leaf-bare,” Bluestar continued, her tone growing heavier with memory, “the prey vanishes. Birds take flight. Mice dig so deep you’d think the earth swallowed them. The cold steals kits from their mothers before they take their first step outside the nursery. Warriors starve to feed their Clanmates. We bury our dead beneath frozen soil. Do you know what it's like to dig a grave with frostbitten paws?”

Rusty flinched.

Bluestar’s tail lashed once, and then stilled.

“And yet,” she went on, a quiet strength returning to her words, “we stay. Because we have each other. Because we protect our borders so no more mouths compete for what little we have. You said the city has rogues and loners, cats who fight for scraps. Here, we fight to keep them out, not because we are cruel, but because we must survive.”

She paused, letting the silence settle like snow.

Rusty lowered his eyes. “I… didn’t know,” he admitted quietly.

“No,” Bluestar agreed. “You didn’t.”

Lionheart nodded once, his earlier fire dampened. “It’s easy to assume another cat’s life is better when you don’t live it. Even easier to judge them for it.”

Rusty looked up again, his eyes flicking between them. His heartbeat had slowed, but not by much. Something in him felt like a knot had tightened, and then slowly, carefully, begun to loosen. Not entirely. Not yet.

Still, he didn’t feel quite as small now.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” Rusty said at last. “I’ve just never known anything else. And I’m not like other kittypets.” The last words slipped out before he could stop them. Not like them at all. But it wasn’t a lie.

Graypaw gave him a sideways glance, curious, but said nothing.

Bluestar studied him for a long moment. The silence stretched thin between them, taut like a spider’s web.

“You’re bold,” she said finally. “Foolish. But bold. And honest, I think.” Her expression didn’t soften, but her tail flicked in a less hostile way. “That's a value not a lot of cats have..."

Rusty didnt know what to think as her voice made her sound... amused? But wasn't she scolding him?

“I, uh…. Thanks?” Rusty stammered out, not sure what else to say, his fur fluffing up nervously, but didn't glanced away from her.

Bluestar let her hackles fall and signaled to Lionheart to step back. “You are an unusual kittypet, Rusty,” she meowed.

Graypaw’s sigh of relief made Rusty’s ears twitch. He heard the approval in Bluestar’s voice and noticed as she swapped a meaningful glance with Lionheart. The look made him curious. What flashed between the two warriors? Quietly he asked, “Is survival here really so hard? Harder than the city?”

“Our territory covers only part of the forest,” answered Bluestar. “We compete with other Clans for what we have. And this year, late newleaf means prey is scarce.”

“Is your Clan very big?” Rusty meowed, his eyes wide.

“Big enough,” replied Bluestar. “Our territory can support us, but there is no prey left over.”

“Are you all warriors, then?” Rusty mewed. Bluestar’s guarded answers were just making him more and more curious.

Lionheart answered him. “Some are warriors. Some are too young or too old or too busy caring for kits to hunt.”

“And you all live and share prey together?” Rusty murmured in awe, thinking a little guiltily of his own easy, selfish life.

 

Bluestar looked again at Lionheart. The golden tabby stared back at her steadily. At last she returned her gaze to Rusty and meowed, “Perhaps you should find out these things for yourself. Would you like to join ThunderClan?”

Rusty was so surprised, he couldn’t speak.

Chapter 4: Chapter 2: Odd One Out

Summary:

Summary: Rusty joins the Clan as normal, but is soon overwhelmed by two certain scents….

Notes:

Basically what the summary says, lol
This is just continuing off of the last chapter.
Ends off on Raven announcing Reds dead.

Bluestar went on: “If you did, you would train with Graypaw to become a Clan warrior.”

“But kittypets can’t be warriors!” Graypaw blurted out. “They don’t have warrior blood!” 

A sad look clouded Bluestar’s eyes. “Warrior blood,” she echoed with a sigh. 

“Too much of that has been spilled lately.”

 

Bluestar fell silent and Lionheart meowed, “Bluestar is only offering you training, young kit. There is no guarantee you would become a full warrior. It might prove too difficult for you. After all, you are used to a comfortable life.”

Rusty was stung by Lionheart’s words, considering his experience in….. a certain place. He swung his head around to face the golden tabby. “Why offer me the chance, then?”

But it was Bluestar who answered. “You are right to question our motives, young one. The fact is, ThunderClan needs more warriors.”

“Understand that Bluestar does not make this offer lightly,” warned Lionheart. 

 

“If you wish to train with us, we will have to take you into our Clan. You must either live with us and respect our ways, or return to your Twolegplace and never come back. You cannot live with a paw in each world.”

A cool breeze stirred the undergrowth, ruffling Rusty’s fur. He shivered, not with the cold, something he was used to, and welcomed, but with excitement at the incredible possibilities opening up in front of him. 

 

He wouldn't admit it to these cats, or himself, but he missed living in a clowder of cats, and theirs seemed to actually take care of each other.

“Are you wondering if it’s worth giving up your comfortable kittypet life?” asked Bluestar gently. 

“But do you realize the price you will pay for your warmth and food?” Rusty looked at her, puzzled. Surely his encounter with these cats had proved to him just how easy and luxurious his life was.

“I can tell that you are still a tom,” Bluestar added, “despite the Twoleg stench that clings to your fur.”

 

“What do you mean still a tom?”

 

“You haven’t yet been taken by the Twolegs to see the Cutter,” meowed Bluestar gravely. “You would be very different then. Not quite so keen to fight a Clan cat, I suspect!”

 

Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Henry, who had become fat and lazy since his visit to the vet, but he'd always been fat and lazy, even from before the vet, according to other cats, since being fixed didn't change a cat's personality. 

Was that what Bluestar meant by the Cutter?

“The Clan may not be able to offer you such easy food or warmth,” continued Bluestar. “In the season of leaf-bare, nights in the forest can be cruel. The Clan will demand great loyalty and hard work. You will be expected to protect the Clan with your life if necessary. And there are many mouths to feed. But the rewards are great. You will remain a tom. You will be trained in the ways of the wild. You will learn what it is to be a real cat. The strength and the fellowship of the Clan will always be with you, even when you hunt alone.”

 

Rusty’s head reeled. Bluestar seemed to be offering him the life he had lived so many times, and so tantalizing, in his dreams, but could he live like that for real?

Lionheart interrupted his thoughts. “Come, Bluestar, let’s not waste any more time here. We must be ready to join the other patrol at moonhigh. Tigerclaw will wonder what has become of us.” He stood up and flicked his tail expectantly. 

 

“Wait,” Rusty meowed. “Can I think about your offer?”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment and nodded. “Lionheart will be here tomorrow at sunhigh,” she told him. 

 

“Give him your answer then.” Bluestar murmured a low signal, and in a single movement the three cats turned and disappeared into the undergrowth.

 

Rusty leapt back over the fence into the quiet familiarity of his garden. His claws scraped the wooden panels slightly, and his landing was heavier than usual, not because of the height, but because his mind dragged like stones caught in his fur.

 

He crouched low in the grass, ears twitching, eyes darting toward the line of trees he'd just left behind. Bluestar’s words kept echoing inside his skull like a pawstep in a hollow den:

 

You will remain a tom. You will learn what it is to be a real cat. The strength and the fellowship of the Clan will always be with you.

It sounded like everything he’d ever wanted. A purpose. A family. A way to matter.

But that wasn’t what made his stomach twist.

What haunted him was the scent.

When Bluestar had come close, when Lionheart had spoken, when Graypaw had leapt on him with the ferocity of a wild thing, Rusty had smelled no evil in them. No corruption. No sickness of soul. 

Not like them. Not like the ones from that place. No cloying rot of twisted emotion. No false joy or hollow hunger.

 

And yet…

They would kill him if they knew.

Not because they were cruel. But because monster cats don't belong in the Clans.

 

His monster blood. His chimera soul. The thing that throbbed beneath his skin when he wasn’t careful. He could fake a normal scent, a normal heartbeat, a normal life, but not forever.

What if they found out?

He shivered, fur bristling as he took a step toward his food dish… then froze.

 

The garden had gone still. The leaves held their breath.

And then-

“Rustyyyyy,” came a sing-song voice.

 

He jumped, whipping around with claws unsheathed, tail lashing. His fur puffed out wildly as his eyes darted to the patch of dandelions beside the fence.

A translucent form drifted up from the grass like fog.

“Smudge!” Rusty yowled in surprise, stumbling back and nearly tripping over his own tail. “Stars above, you scared the mousedung out of me!”

 

Smudge’s pale black-and-white figure flickered like a heat haze, the light of the moon passing through him like water. His eyes still held the same old kindness, the same sleepy amusement… but now they shimmered faintly, glowing like far-off lanterns.

 

“You were out late,” Smudge said, stretching like a cat who hadn’t noticed his body no longer cast a shadow. “Did you finally go past the trees?”

 

Rusty didn’t answer right away. He stared, chest rising and falling with quiet dread.

 

Smudge is dead. He’s dead and I’m talking to him like it’s normal.

But it was normal now. Smudge had been like this for a while, appearing only to him. No other cats mentioned him. No Twolegs asked where he’d gone. There was no grave. Just whispers. Just memory.

 

Just guilt.

Smudge tilted his head. “You saw them, didn’t you? The wild ones.”

“Yeah,” Rusty said quietly, eyes fixed on the ghost. “I saw them.”

 

“And?” Smudge sat, curling his misty tail around his paws. “Are they everything you hoped for?”

Rusty’s mouth opened. Then closed.

“They’re… different,” he said at last. “They’re not like the ones from-” He cut himself off.

 

He would not name it. Not here. Not with the moon watching.

“I thought they’d be like the others. You know. Hungry. Wrong.” He swallowed. “But they’re not. They’re just cats. With rules. With pride. With problems. But they’re not monsters.”

“Not like you, huh?” Smudge said softly, but not unkindly.

 

Rusty looked away.

“You didn’t choose to be what you are,” the ghost continued, his voice a mere breeze now. "But you did choose to do what you did."

“I didn’t have a choice,” Rusty said sharply, then bit his tongue. The ghost watched him.

 

“I mean-” Rusty looked up, face twisted. “I didn’t want to hurt you. You know that, right?”

 

Smudge smiled faintly, a strange and knowing thing. “You always had a choice, Rusty.”

The wind stirred the grass around them. A moth flitted by and passed right through Smudge’s tail.

Rusty sat down hard. He stared at his paws. At the claws. At the fur. At the illusion.

 

“If I go with them,” he said slowly, “I’ll have to lie every day. Hide every night. If they find out, they’ll tear me apart.”

“And if you don’t?” Smudge asked.

“I’ll rot here. Stay safe. And pretend I’m something I’m not.” Rusty’s eyes glimmered with that old, distant anger. The kind that wasn’t human. The kind that wasn't feline either. Something born of pain and steel and cages and-

 

He pushed the thought away.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, voice cracking. “For once, I really don’t.”

Smudge got up and padded toward him, his paws not so much touching the ground as remembering it. He nudged Rusty gently, though it felt like a cold breeze brushing through his fur.

 

“Then think,” the ghost said softly. “Sleep. Dream. And choose. You have plenty of time, probably..."

“They gave me until sunhigh tomorrow. One of them’s going to come back here, and I'll give them my answer then.” Rusty murmured, glancing away from him, his mind racing with thoughts and scenarios of each option, though his heart was tugging him towards joining them, but he couldn't let Smudge know that yet. He had to think things through first.

 

That morning on the next day, as Rusty slept off his night’s wanderings, the mouse dream came again, even more vivid than before. 

Free of his collar, beneath the moon, he stalked the timid creature. But this time he was aware of being watched. Shining from the shadows of the forest he saw dozens of yellow eyes. The Clan cats had entered his dream world.

Rusty woke, blinking in the bright sunshine that was streaming across the kitchen floor. His fur felt heavy and thick with warmth. His food bowl had been topped up, and his water bowl rinsed out and filled with bitter-tasting Twoleg water. 

 

Rusty preferred drinking from puddles outside, but when it was hot, or he was very thirsty, he had to admit it was easier to lap up the water indoors. Could he really abandon this comfortable life?

He ate, then pushed his way out of the cat flap into the garden. The day promised to be warm, and the garden was heavy with the smell of early blossoms.

Rusty paused, glancing around for a familiar form. Where was Smudge, or… them? He shook his head to clear it, he couldn't think about them right now, his ears twitching for any sound of Smudge or another cat.

 

Eventually, a wisp of smoke appeared, forming the shape of the familiar black-and-white cat.

“Did you decide?” Smudge asked, walking over to him, stopping in front of him. Rusty blinked, but sighed, glancing at Smudge, shuffling his paws nervously, taking a deep breath before replying. 

“I-” He hesitated before clearing his throat. “I’m going to join them.” Rusty said, glancing away from him, not wanting to see his expression.

 

Smudge stiffened, his amber eyes widening in shock, confusion and concern, his mind racing. “What?! But Rusty, they'll find out! They'll kick you out or worse, you'll end up like me!” Smudge yelled, trying to convince his friend to not join them.

 

“Smudge, I'm going to join them. I made up my mind. It sounds like they actually care about each other, unlike the others.” Rusty replied, glancing at him, his tone understanding but firm.

“And how do you know it's not an act?” Smudge snapped, his tone desperate and something else, concern, fear? It wasn't clear, but there was definitely something else.

 

“I… Didn't smell any negative core emotions on them, I don't think they're bad people.” Rusty said awkwardly, his smell is never wrong but… he knew that Smudge had a point, regardless of what had happened.

“Rusty… Even if they are good people, what if they find out what you are?” Smudge asked as he rotated in the air and stared at his friend with concern, floating around him.

 

Rusty looked away silent, not sure as he brood in his thoughts quietly.

Smudge floated down in front of Rusty, "I'm just worried for you, I… you got to live, I didn't. I don't want your life to go to waste.” He said gently.

 

“Im fine.” Rusty looked away, Smudge looked at his friend, he knew Rusty tried to push people away sometimes.

“Rusty…” He began only to be interrupted.

“I said I'm fine.” Rusty said again, shaking a bit.

“Rusty, You could be in DANGER!” Smudge yelled a bit at the end trying to get the point across to him.

 

“I won't be.” Rusty muttered, feeling like a fire was beginning to burn in his blood.

Smudge’s body began to glow as he got annoyed, “BUT YOU DON'T KNOW THAT! Their CLAN CATS! They will kill you if they find out what you are, YOU CANT HIDE TO THEM WHAT YOU ARE FORE-”

 

“SHUT UP!” Rusty’s eyes flashed red as the wind seemed to pick up from his shout, Smudge flew back a bit startled.

Rusty blinked, “Wai- Wait I didn’t mean it!”

Smudge began to turn around and fly off.

“WAIT SMUDGE! I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN TO SHOUT!” Rusty tried to chase after Smudge but he dipped into the ground and phased through it, leaving Rusty alone in the yard.

 

Rusty blinked, but sighed, glancing down at his paws, silently cursing to himself. “Why’d I say that?” He muttered, shaking his head, but paused, his nose twitching as he picked up scents. Lionheart and another tom.

Lionheart's scent was still the same:

Distrustful, On Guard, Stoic, and Loyal. 

The other toms scent was:

Simplistic, Calm and anxious.

 

Rusty blinked, but breathed a sigh of relief, letting his fur lie flat, glancing regretfully at the spot Smudge had been at before turning and jumping the fence, landing on his paws and waiting.

You there?

Rusty knew sometimes Smudge could talk to him in his head… mainly due to Rusty being the one to kill him, Rusty shivers a bit at the horrid memories.

 

But it was silence, absolutely nothing… Smudge was mad at him.

Rusty turned looking at the forest and took a deep breath, preparing to go ahead and meet up with Lionheart and whoever was with him.

 

He sat down and tasted the air. Tall trees shielded the ground from the midday sunshine, making it comfortably cool. Here and there a patch of sunlight shone through a gap in the leaves and lit up the forest floor. 

Rusty could smell the same cat-scent as last night, but he had no idea whether it was old or new. He lifted his head and sniffed uncertainly.

 

“You have a lot to learn,” meowed a deep voice. “Even the tiniest Clan kit knows when another cat is nearby.”

Rusty saw a pair of green eyes glinting from beneath a bramble bush. He decided not to tell him that he already knew that he was there.

 

“Can you tell if I am alone?” asked the golden tabby, stepping into the light.

 

Hastily, Rusty sniffed again. The scents of Bluestar and Graypaw were still there, but not as strong as the previous night. Hesitantly, he mewed, “Bluestar and Graypaw aren’t with you this time.”

 

“That’s right,” meowed Lionheart. “But someone else is.”

 

Rusty stiffened as a second Clan cat strode into the clearing.

“This is Whitestorm,” purred Lionheart. “One of ThunderClan’s senior warriors.”

 

Rusty looked at the tom and tilted his head, he perfectly matched how he smelled, seeming calm. Long-bodied and muscular, Whitestorm stood in front of Rusty and gazed down at him. His white coat was thick and unmarked and his eyes were the yellow of sunbaked sand. Rusty flattened his ears warily, and tensed his muscles in preparation for a fight.

 

“Relax, before your fear-scent brings unwanted attention,” growled Lionheart. “We are here only to take you to our camp.”

 

Rusty sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, as Whitestorm stretched his nose forward and gave him a curious sniff.

Rusty paused, studying him before curiously sniffing him. Whitestorm, a pure white tom, looked like an odd version of Bone, or…. he mentally snapped out of it, forcing it to the back of his mind. 

 

Structured like Bone, but same height and shape as dad. He thought, wondering how that worked before giving up.

“Hi.” Rusty muttered, shifting his weight nervously, unsure of what to say.

Whitestorm hummed, glancing down at him, studying him for a few minutes. “Hi.”

 

“Come, lets get going.” Lionheart turned to lead the way.

Rusty awkwardly followed behind Whitestorm and Lionheart as they suddenly sped up.

 

Rusty ran to follow, the scents of the forest filling his nose.

Rusty inhaled deeply, letting the forest scents wash over him. Every leaf, every broken twig, every hint of moss and earth spoke to him in a language he could feel in his bones.

 

Yet even as he drank it in, he felt a tug, a subtle weakening. The farther he moved from his Twolegplace, the less his body hummed with energy, the territory he’d marked there had anchored him, and without it, his power felt thinner, more fragile.

He glanced down at his paws, noticing the faint shimmer of his hidden forms beneath his fur. Even in disguise, the difference was there, a trembling pulse beneath his skin.

 

He would need a new shrine soon, a secret anchor to keep himself strong, or living among the Clan would become a dangerous gamble.

Rusty’s tail twitched as he followed Lionheart, every muscle coiled and ready. Whitestorm moved silently beside him, scenting the air, ears flicking with alert precision.

 

Each step deeper into the forest made his senses flare, catching the tiniest crack of a branch, the faintest rustle of bird wings, and the scent of hidden prey.

He had to stay calm, stay normal. One wrong flicker of his true form, one accidental hiss of claws or flare of his tails, and it could all be over.

 

Rusty’s heart hammered as he matched the stride of the two Clan warriors, letting the rhythm of their movement guide him, pretending to be just another cat in their patrol.

The forest breathed around him, alive and thick, and for the first time, he felt the pulse of a world that wasn’t fenced or softened by human hands.

 

His claws sank slightly into the soft earth, each step grounding him, yet reminding him of the razor edge he walked, life and death balanced on the secrecy of his nature.

Even as the sun climbed higher, Rusty kept his senses peeled, tasting the wind, smelling the faintest hints of other cats, and letting the forest itself teach him how to move without betraying the monster within.

 

Lionheart’s tail flicked occasionally, a silent reminder to keep pace. Whitestorm’s eyes never left him, calm but vigilant, testing him, measuring him.

 

Rusty’s ears flicked at the rustle of leaves, the whisper of insects, the faint, distant scent of prey hidden beneath the undergrowth. Each new scent teased at his powers, threatening to pull him into the monster he could never show.

He padded on, feeling both alive and exposed, his breaths shallow but steady, mind racing through strategies: how to survive, how to keep his secret, how to make the Clan his own without giving away the truth that could end him instantly.

 

Every step forward was a gamble. Every inhalation carried the scent of life, danger, and the forest’s quiet judgment.

Rusty forced himself to focus on the patrol ahead, on Lionheart and Whitestorm, on the rhythm of paws on earth, trying to forget the pull of his other nature.

 

But even as he ran, he felt it whispering beneath his skin, a reminder that his life here would never be ordinary, never safe, and never truly his unless he mastered the delicate art of hiding everything that made him extraordinary.

 

At last Lionheart and Whitestorm paused. Rusty skidded to a halt behind them and stood panting while the two warriors stepped onto a rock that rested on the edge of a small ravine.

 

“We are very close to our camp now,” meowed Lionheart.

 

Rusty strained to see any signs of life, moving leaves, a glimpse of fur among the bushes below, but his eyes saw nothing except the same undergrowth that covered the rest of the forest floor.

 

“Use your nose. You must be able to scent it,” hissed Whitestorm impatiently.

 

Rusty closed his eyes and sniffed. Whitestorm was right. The scents here were very different from the cat-scent and occasional monster-scent he was used to. The air smelled stronger, speaking of many, many different cats.

 

He blinked, but nodded thoughtfully and announced, “I can smell cats.”

Lionheart and Whitestorm exchanged amused looks.

“There will come a time, if you are accepted into the Clan, when you will know each cat-scent by name,” Lionheart meowed. “Follow me!” He led the way nimbly down the boulders to the bottom of the ravine, and pushed his way through a thick patch of gorse. 

 

Rusty followed, and Whitestorm took up the rear. As his sides scraped against the prickly gorse, Rusty looked down and noticed that the grass beneath his paws was flattened into a broad, strong-smelling track. This must be the main entrance into the camp, he thought.

 

Beyond the gorse, a clearing opened up. The ground at the center was bare, hard earth, shaped by many generations of pawsteps. This camp had been here a long time. The clearing was dappled by sunshine, and the air felt warm and still.

Rusty looked around, his eyes wide. There were cats everywhere, sitting alone or in groups, sharing food or purring quietly as they groomed one another.

 

“Just after sunhigh, when the day is hottest, is a time for sharing tongues,” Lionheart explained.

 

“Sharing tongues?” Rusty echoed.

“Clan cats always spend time grooming each other and sharing the news of the day,” Whitestorm told him. “We call it sharing tongues. It is a custom that binds the members of the Clan together.”

 

Rusty wrinkled his nose a bit at the overwhelming smell of various emotions pouring it, but most of them smelled nice?

Rusty wrinkled his nose, trying not to flinch as the flood of scents and emotions crashed into him all at once.

The sharp tang of excitement, the warm musk of contentment, the acrid sting of worry, the bitter edge of jealousy, dozens, hundreds of tiny threads weaving together until his head rang with it.

It was too much. Every whisker trembled, every hair on his pelt stood on end. His ears flattened as if the weight of it all pressed him down. The clearing swam before his eyes, not with what he saw but with what he felt.

He tried to focus on one thing, one scent, one heartbeat, but each time he caught it, another wave crashed in, purring joy, gnawing hunger, the quiet grief of an elder, the playful mischief of kits. They layered over each other until it was suffocating, like being trapped under rushing water.

Rusty swallowed hard, forcing his breathing steady, claws digging into the earth to ground himself. His chest felt tight, like his ribs were being squeezed, and he kept his tail rigid so it wouldn’t lash and draw attention.

Whitestorm’s yellow eyes flicked down to him. “You’re trembling. Nervous?” His voice was calm, but edged with curiosity.

Rusty forced himself to meet his gaze, even though his head was buzzing like a hive. “A… a bit,” he lied, his throat dry.

He didn’t dare say the truth, that the emotions around him burned and blurred together until he could hardly tell which were his own anymore. That he was on the verge of shaking apart.

Lionheart padded ahead without looking back, but Whitestorm kept watching him for a few heartbeats longer, ears twitching, before finally turning away.

Rusty let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his stomach still knotted, his disguise straining under the pressure of hiding not just his nature, but his reaction to this overwhelming tide of feeling.

One wrong slip, and they’d know something was off.

He couldn’t afford that. Not now.

The cats had finally smelled Rusty’s foreign scent, for heads began to turn and stare curiously in his direction.

Suddenly shy of meeting any cat’s gaze directly, Rusty looked around the clearing. It was edged with thick grass, dotted with treestumps and a fallen tree. A thick curtain of ferns and gorse shielded the camp from the rest of the woods.

“Over there,” meowed Lionheart, flicking his tail toward an impenetrable-looking tangle of brambles, “is the nursery, where the kits are cared for.”

Rusty swiveled his ears toward the bushes. He couldn’t see through the knot of prickly branches, but he could hear the mewling of several kittens from somewhere inside. As he watched, a ginger she-cat squirmed out through a small gap in the front. That must be one of the queens, Rusty thought.

A tabby queen with distinctive black markings appeared around the bramble bush. The two she-cats exchanged a friendly lick between the ears before the tabby slipped inside the nursery, murmuring to the squealing kits.

“The care of our kits is shared by all of the queens,” meowed Lionheart. “All cats serve the Clan. Loyalty to the Clan is the first law in our warrior code, a lesson you must learn quickly if you wish to stay with us.”

“Mhm.” Rusty muttered, still a bit overwhelmed from all the emotions.

“Here comes Bluestar,” meowed Whitestorm, sniffing the air.

 

Rusty sniffed the air too, and was pleased that he was able to recognize the scent of the gray she-cat a moment before she appeared from the shadow of a large boulder that lay beside them at the head of the clearing.

“He came,” Bluestar purred, addressing the warriors.

Whitestorm replied, “Lionheart was convinced he would not.”

Rusty noticed the tip of Bluestar’s tail twitch impatiently. “Well, what do you think of him?” she asked.

“He kept up well on the return journey, despite his puny size,” Whitestorm admitted. “He certainly seems strong for a kittypet.”

“So it is agreed?” Bluestar looked at Lionheart and Whitestorm.

Both cats nodded. “Then I shall announce his arrival to the Clan.” Bluestar leaped up onto the boulder and yowled, “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Her clear call brought all the cats trotting toward her, emerging like liquid shadows from the edges of the clearing. 

Rusty stayed where he was, flanked by Lionheart and Whitestorm. The other cats settled themselves below the Highrock and looked expectantly up at their leader.

Rusty felt a rush of relief as he recognized Graypaw’s thick gray fur among the cats. Beside him sat a young tortoiseshell queen, her black-tipped tail tucked neatly over small white paws. A large dark gray tabby crouched behind them, the black stripes on his fur looking like shadows on a moonlit forest floor.

When the cats were still, Bluestar spoke. “ThunderClan needs more warriors,” she began. “Never before have we had so few apprentices in training. It has been decided that ThunderClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior... . °

Rusty heard indignant mutterings erupt among the Clan cats, but Bluestar silenced them with a firm yowl. “I have found a cat who is willing to become an apprentice of ThunderClan.”

“Lucky to become an apprentice,” caterwauled a loud voice above the ripple of shock that spread through the cats. Rusty craned his neck and saw a pale tabby cat standing up and glaring defiantly at the leader.

Bluestar ignored the tabby and addressed all of her Clan. “Lionheart and Whitestorm have met this young cat, and they agree with me that we should train him with the other apprentices.”

Rusty looked up at Lionheart, then back at the Clan, to find all eyes were on him now. His fur prickled and he swallowed nervously. There was silence for a moment. 

Rusty was sure they must all be able to hear his heart pulsing and smell his fear-scent. Now a deafening crescendo of caterwauling rose from the crowd.

“Where does he come from?”

“Which Clan does he belong to?”

“What a strange scent he carries! That’s not the scent of any Clan I know!”

Then one yowl in particular sounded out above the rest. “Look at his collar! He’s a kittypet!” It was the pale tabby again. “Once a kittypet, always a kittypet. This Clan needs wildborn warriors to defend it, not another soft mouth to feed.”

Rusty blinked, his muscles stiffening at the jab, his heart pounding so hard that couldn't move. 

How could he prove that he was worthy of being in the Clan without accidentally mentioning his past or revealing himself?

The tabby continued to jeer at him. “Your collar is a mark of the Twolegs, and that noisy jingling will make you a poor hunter at best. At worst, it will bring the Twolegs into our territory, looking for the poor lost kittypet who fills the woods with his pitiful tinkling.”

Rusty blinked, snapping out of it, slowly turning towards him, staring at the tabby, his voice oddly steady despite his trembling. “And who said the bell will prevent me from being able to hunt?”

“Because it’ll just ring and give away your location, you wormbrain.” The tabby snarled mockingly.

“And who said that it'll ring? There are plenty of Kittypets who have bell collars and can still hunt and fight despite it.”

The tabby snarled, “Sure, and rats can fly.” He clearly didn't believe Rusty at all.

“Never said rats could fly. Although, if they could, you'd probably fall over from shock at the sight.” Rusty replied, his tone sarcastic, not moving his gaze away from the tabby.

Lionheart bent down and hissed into Rusty’s ear, “That tabby is Longtail. He smells your fear. They all do. You must prove to him and the other cats that your fear won’t hold you back.” 

Rusty blinked, giving Lionheart a glance that said ‘You think I don't know that they can smell my fear?’ before turning back towards the tabby, now revealed to be Longtail.

Longtail paused, clearly not having expected that response, but quickly snapped out of it, and continued snarling. Longtail continued to jeer at him. “It doesnt matter, you're just a weak sniveling KITTYPET! You’ll never be a thunderclan cat.”

Longtail snarled and arched his back clearly intent on attacking Rusty now who also got up, Rusty felt his blood boil, screaming at him to rip Longtail apart, to devour his prey but he tried to hold back, he was supposed to be a cat.

He didn't want to be a monster.

Not like any of them.

Not like her.

“Try me.” Rusty snarled himself unsheathing his claws.

Rusty did not move. But this time he was trying to pinpoint Longtail’s position. There he was, just behind a dusky brown queen. Rusty flattened his ears, narrowed his eyes, and, hissing, leaped through the startled cats to fling himself onto his tormentor.

Longtail was completely unprepared for Rusty’s attack. He staggered sideways, losing his footing on the hard-baked earth. Filled with rage and desperate to prove himself, Rusty dug his claws deep into the tabby cat’s fur and sank in his teeth. No subtle rituals of swiping and boxing preceded this fight.

The two cats were locked in a screaming, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the clearing at the heart of the camp. The other cats had to spring out of the way to avoid the screeching whirlwind of fur.

As Rusty scratched and struggled, he was suddenly aware that he no longer felt fear, only exhilaration. Through the roaring of the blood in his ears, he could hear the cats around them wailing with excitement. 

He didn't want to kill Longtail, he didn't want to kill another cat. No, he just wanted to make him pay. He never liked to fight unless he had to, or was pushed to his limits.

Then Rusty was snapped out of his thoughts and his almost automatic scratching as he felt his collar tighten around his neck. Longtail had gripped it between his teeth and was tugging, and tugging hard. Rusty felt a terrible pressure at his throat. 

Unable to breathe, he started to panic. He writhed and twisted, but each movement only made the pressure worse. Retching and gulping for air, he summoned up all his strength and tried to pull away from Longtail’s grip. And suddenly, with a loud snap, he was free.

Longtail tumbled away from him. Rusty scrambled to his paws and looked around, panting. Longtail, who had a v-shaped nick in his ear, and was bleeding from a few light scratches on his shoulder and side, was crouching three tail-lengths away. And, dangling from Longtail’s mouth, Rusty saw his collar, mangled and broken.

At once, Bluestar leaped down from the Highrock and silenced the noisy crowd with a thunderous caterwaul. Rusty and Longtail remained fixed to the spot, gasping for breath. Clumps of fur hung from their ruffled coats. 

Rusty could feel a cut stinging above his eye. Longtail’s left ear was badly torn, and blood dripped down his lean shoulders onto the dusty ground. They stared at each other, their hostility not yet spent.

Bluestar stepped forward and took the collar from Longtail. She placed it on the ground in front of her and meowed, “The newcomer has lost his Twoleg collar in a battle for his honor. StarClan has spoken its approval, this cat has been released from the hold of his Twoleg owners, and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

Rusty looked at Bluestar and solemnly nodded his acceptance. He stood up and stepped forward into a shaft of sunshine, welcoming the warmth on his sore muscles. The pool of light blazed bright on his orange and light brown pelt, making his fur glow.

 Rusty lifted his head proudly and looked at the cats that surrounded him. This time no cat argued or jeered. He had shown himself to be a worthy opponent in battle.

Bluestar approached Rusty and placed the shredded collar on the ground in front of him. She touched his ear gently with her nose. “You look like a brand of fire in this sunlight,” she murmured. Her eyes flashed briefly, as if her words had more meaning for her than Rusty knew. 

“You have fought well.” Then she turned to the Clan and announced, “From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat.”

She stepped back and, with the other cats, waited silently for his next move. Without hesitating, Rusty picked up the collar and swung it out of camp, watching as it disappeared through the air before turning back towards the crowd.

Longtail growled and limped out of the clearing toward a fernshaded comer. The cats split into groups, murmuring to each other excitedly.

“Hey, Firepaw!”

Rusty heard Graypaw’s friendly voice behind him. Firepaw! A thrill of pride surged through him at the sound of his new name. He turned to greet the gray apprentice with a welcoming sniff.

 

“Great fight, Firepaw!” mewed Graypaw. “Especially for a kittypet! Longtail is a warrior, although he only finished his training two moons ago. That scar you left on his ear won’t let him forget you in a hurry. You’ve spoiled his good looks, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks, Graypaw,” Firepaw replied. “He put up quite a fight, though!” He licked his front paw and began to wipe clean the deep scratch that stung above his eye. As he washed he heard his new name again, echoing among the meows of the cats.

Firepaw felt his stomach ache a bit at the smell of blood but tried to remain calm, he can probably just try to eat some kind of prey’s blood later.

“Firepaw!”

“Hey, Firepaw!”

“Welcome, young Firepaw!”

Firepaw closed his eyes for a moment and let the voices wash over him.

“Good name, too!” Graypaw mewed approvingly, jolting him awake.

Firepaw looked around. “Where did Longtail creep off to?”

“I think he was heading toward Spottedleaf’s den.” Graypaw tipped his head toward the fern-enclosed corner Longtail had disappeared into. “She’s our medicine cat. Not bad-looking either. Younger and a lot prettier than most-”

A low yowl next to the two cats stopped Graypaw midspeech. They both turned, and Firepaw recognized the powerful gray tabby cat who had sat behind Gray paw earlier.

“Darkstripe,” mewed Graypaw, dipping his head respectfully.

The sleek tom looked at Firepaw for a moment. “Lucky your collar snapped when it did. Longtail is a young warrior, but I can’t imagine him being beaten by a kittypet!” He spat the word kittypet scornfully, then turned and stalked off.

“Now Darkstripe,” Graypaw hissed to Firepaw under his breath, “is neither young, nor pretty… even if we were related, clearly he didn't pick up on my handsomeness.”

Firepaw snorted, shaking his head, “Your plenty Handsome” He teased Graypaw.

He paused as he remembered something else Graypaw said. “You said that there's a medicine cat?” He muttered, glancing around getting a bad reminder about… something else. 

Suddenly, he grabbed Graypaw’s scruff and dragging him behind the nearest den.

“Wha- What was that for!” Graypaw complained pulling himself out of Firepaw’s grip, rubbing his hurt scruff

Firepaw blinked, but sighed, giving him an apologetic glance before turning away. “I’m not really comfortable with large crowds.” He muttered, and it wasn't exactly a lie.

“You know you could’ve just said that.” Graypaw commented dryly before smiling, “Anyways I can show you around camp now!”

Firepaw blinked, turning towards him, staring at him. He hadn't been shown around at his Twolegs nest or even the other place.

He wanted to ask what a medicine cat was, and if they only treated specific people or any of the other questions running through his head, but decided to just let Graypaw explain away.

Graypaw turned and gestured with his tail to follow, he led Firepaw to the first place he could think of since they were just talking about it.

“This is the Medicine den, if you find any herbs, Spottedleaf will use them to treat injuries and stuff. Shes nice and takes care of everyone.”

Firepaw nodded and looked in, seeing a red-and-brown tortoiseshell she-cat putting some kind of chewed up leaf against Longtail’s ear as he was muttering.

She seemed to jolt at something and turned before smiling at Firepaw, “Ah, you must be the new apprentice.”

Firepaw felt weirdly comfortable around her, like something made him lower his nervous guard immediately. No wonder she's a Medicine cat, he felt relaxed around her. “Yeah, I’m Firepaw.”

Spottedleaf padded forward, her paws making no sound against the earth, her amber eyes glowing warmly as if they carried sunlight inside them.

 “You fought well,” she mewed softly, voice smooth, almost melodic.

The tension in Firepaw’s shoulders bled away without his consent, like his body had decided for him that Spottedleaf was safe. He hated that loss of control, but at the same time… it was nice. Comforting.

Longtail shot him a venomous glare, tail lashing, but the moment Spottedleaf flicked her gaze toward him, his fur smoothed and his scowl collapsed into a forced neutrality. “You should learn your place, kittype… Firepaw,” he spat half-heartedly, before turning back to let Spottedleaf finish with his ear.

Firepaw’s eyes narrowed, confusion flashing. He’d never seen hate vanish that quickly. It was like Longtail had been leashed by an invisible chain the moment Spottedleaf looked at him.

Graypaw nudged his shoulder, whispering, “See? She’s got a way with cats. Calms even the mean ones.”

“Right…” Firepaw muttered, still watching Longtail with a slight frown. He turned back to Spottedleaf and gave a respectful dip of his head, masking his suspicion behind the polite eagerness of a new apprentice.

“You’ll get used to the camp soon,” Spottedleaf purred. “If you ever feel unsettled, you’re welcome to come here. My den is for healing, and for peace.”

Her words slid over him like cool water on a scorching day. Something in his chest loosened, but a part of him whispered caution. No cat was that naturally disarming.

“Thank you,” Firepaw said quickly, then stepped back. He didn’t want to linger too long under her eyes, as warm as they seemed.

Firepaw paused, hesitating, unsure of whether or not he should ask his questions before deciding to ask Bluestar later. 

He never got a mentor, if he even deserved one, and he should probably ask about it later anyways. With a final nod, he nudged Graypaw, turned and walked out of the den.

Firepaw paused as he suddenly picked up on a new scent that was so heavy it practically drowned out the overwhelming scent of the rest of the clan

FEAR

He blinked, moving into clearing as he rapidly glanced around before following their gaze, his ears twitching as he heard the entrance rustling.

“Smallear smells trouble!” Graypaw whispered, immediately alert.

Firepaw barely had time to retort that he knew before a young cat crashed through the bushes and into the camp. He was skinny and, apart from the white tip of his long, thin tail, jet black from head to toe.

Graypaw gasped. “That’s Ravenpaw! Why is he alone? Where’s Tigerclaw?”

Firepaw looked at Ravenpaw staggering across the floor of the clearing. He was panting heavily. His coat was ruffled and dusty, and his eyes were wild with fear.

“Who are Ravenpaw and Tigerclaw?” Firepaw whispered to Graypaw, as several other cats raced past him to greet the new arrival.

 

“Ravenpaw’s an apprentice. Tigerclaw’s his mentor,” Graypaw explained quickly. “Ravenpaw went out with Tigerclaw and Redtail at sunrise on a mission against RiverClan, the lucky furball!”

“Redtail?” Firepaw echoed, thoroughly confused by all these names.

“Bluestar’s deputy,” hissed Graypaw. “But why on earth has Ravenpaw come back alone?” he added to himself. He lifted his head to listen as Bluestar stepped forward.

“Ravenpaw?” The she-cat spoke calmly, but a look of worry clouded her blue eyes. The other cats drew back, curling their lips with anxiety.

“What has happened?” Bluestar jumped onto the Highrock and looked down at the trembling cat. “Speak, Ravenpaw!”

Ravenpaw crumbled a bit, one of his front legs a bit red and swollen, looking like he twisted it while running.

He was breathing heavily with tears shaking in his eyes, Firepaw felt bad for him as he only felt fear this big a few times.

“Re… Red…. REDTAIL IS DEAD!”

Ravenpaw managed to scream out before exhaustion and fear practically suffocated him as he collapsed, passing out…

Chapter 5: Chapter 3: Camp Exploration

Summary:

Firepaw explores camp and meets cats, but somehow meets a familiar cat...?

Notes:

Written by: Flamejaybriar and JustADrunkDemon

Shocked yowls rose from the Clan cats and echoed through the forest.

Firepaw blinked, but sighed and facepalmed, not at all surprised, having seen this happen too many times. A ginger queen bounded toward him and crouched at his side. She licked his cheek briefly and called out, “Spottedleaf!”

Spottedleaf came out of the medicine den and Instantly spotted Ravenpaw. She hurried over to Ravenpaw and mewed for the queen to stand back. 

Then she used her small pink nose to roll the apprentice over so that she could take a good look at the wound. She glanced up and meowed, “It’s all right, Goldenflower, his wounds aren’t fatal. But I’ll need to fetch some cobwebs to stop the bleeding. Maybe Sunflower seeds for shock.”

Firepaw blinked, surprised. Was Ravenpaw in the inner circle of cats who got treated? He thought, unaware of how wrong he was. 

As Spottedleaf sprinted back to her den, the hushed silence in the clearing was broken by a mournful howl. All eyes turned to the direction it had come from.

A massive dark brown tabby staggered through the gorse tunnel. Between his sharp teeth the warrior held not prey, but the lifeless body of another cat. He dragged the tattered creature into the center of the clearing.

Firepaw craned his neck and glimpsed a flash of bright ginger tail hanging limply in the dust.

Shock rippled through the Clan like a chill breeze. Beside Firepaw, Graypaw dropped into a crouch as grief swept over him. “Redtail!”

Firepaw tilted his head confused at who Redtail was, they seemed important. But…

Firepaw’s gaze was on the tabby who dragged his body in, he seemed like ravenpaw in one regard, a single overwhelming emotion came off him

AMBITION.

Not just a feeling, but the entire core of his personality seemed to pour off him like a wave.

Firepaw turned to Graypaw and asked awkwardly trying to be respectful, “Whos Redtail?”

Graypaw blinked, turning towards him, tilting his head in confusion before realizing what he meant. “Oh right, you're new here. I forgot you wouldn't get things like this as easily. Redtail is Bluestar's deputy and Sandpaw’s dad.”

“Whos Sandpaw?” Firepaw asked as Graypaw gestured with his tail to a beige apprentice who stepped out of the Apprentice den and looked horrified at Redtail and ran over to the body as the other cats shifted away to let her pass. 

Firepaw blinked, surprised, staring at the she-cat in shock, something was… familiar. She was about a moon older, pale leaf-green eyes, ghost tabby due to the barely visible stripes, same build and same small scar on her side just short of her stomach.

No, she can't be. I'm just imagining things. There are plenty of cats who look exactly like her. He thought, shaking his head to clear it.

“How did this happen, Tigerclaw?” demanded Bluestar from her position on the Highrock.

Tigerclaw stepped back from Redtail’s body where he left it. “He died with honor, struck down by Oakheart. I couldn’t save him, but I managed to take Oakheart’s life while he was still gloating over his victory.” 

Tigerclaw’s voice was strong and deep. “Redtail’s death was not in vain, for I doubt we’ll see RiverClan hunters in our territory again.”

Firepaw glanced at Graypaw. The apprentice’s eyes were dark with sadness.

He looked back towards Sandpaw and felt bad at the sheer horror and sadness brimming in her eyes and face.

Sandpaw’s eyes were focused with horror on Redtail’s crumbled form, her breathing quick and ragged.

“No…” Her voice cracked in a choked sob, sounding almost like a whisper. She stumbled the last few pawsteps to Redtail, her legs shaking as if they barely remembered how to move, stopping right beside the body.

Her gaze fell onto her Father’s lifeless face, blood faintly covering the fur around his neck where the killing wound was, she buried her face against his fur, as if it would bring him back to life, as if he would comfort her and say ‘I’m alright.’

But he wasn't.

His fur was still warm and the smell of rot hadn’t clung to his corpse yet.

“You can't… no- YOU CANT JUST DO THIS!” She began to break down into sobs, no longer able to keep her grief into a quiet whisper, “YOU WERE FINE YESTERDAY! Y- YOU SAID YOU’D COME BACK AND BRING ME PREY LIKE ALWAYS! You...”

She couldn't form words anymore as all that came out was a horrid noise, one of sheer grief that can only come from losing someone you knew your whole life.

Her claws scraped helplessly at the earth beside him, tail lashing as if she could tear apart the reality closing in around her. Her chest heaved, breaths coming sharp and shallow, like each one hurt.

Firepaw blinked, flinching at the yelling, glancing around before subtly shifting closer to Graypaw. He wanted to help her, but he'd always been terrible at comforting cats, he didn't know how to.

The camp was silent but for her grief, the sound cutting through every warrior and apprentice like claws on stone. Even those who hadn't known Redtail well dipped their heads, unable to look at the way his daughter collapsed beside him, burying her face in his dusty fur, pleading for warmth that would never return.

Sandpaw’s shoulders shook violently, her words spilling fast and broken, “I didn’t even say goodbye, I didn’t- please, please just open your eyes!”

Firepaw paused, hesitating, unsure of what to do, watching the scene. After a moment’s pause, several of the cats, aside from Sandpaw, moved forward to lick Redtail’s bedraggled fur. As they groomed they purred hushed phrases to the dead warrior.

Firepaw whispered into Graypaw’s ear, “What are they doing?”

Graypaw didn’t take his eyes off the dead cat as he replied. “His spirit may have left to join StarClan, but the Clan will share tongues with Redtail one last time.”

“StarClan?” Firepaw echoed.

“It’s the tribe of heavenly warriors that watches over all Clan cats. You can see them in Silverpelt.”

Firepaw looked confused, so Gray paw explained. “Silverpelt is that thick band of stars you see each night stretching across the sky. Each star is a StarClan warrior. Redtail will be among them tonight.”

Firepaw nodded, and Graypaw stepped forward to share tongues with his dead deputy. Bluestar had remained silent while the first cats came to pay their respects to Redtail. Now she leaped down from the Highrock and walked slowly toward Redtail’s body. 

The other cats retreated and watched as their leader crouched down to share tongues with her old comrade one last time.

When she had finished she raised her head and spoke. Her voice was low and thick with grief, and the Clan listened in silence. “Redtail was a brave warrior. His loyalty to ThunderClan could never be doubted. I always relied on his judgment, for it bore witness to the needs of the Clan, and was never swayed by self-interest or pride. He would have made a fine leader.”

Then she lowered herself onto her belly, her head bowed, her paws stretched neatly before her, and silently she grieved for her lost friend. Several other cats came and lay down beside her, their bowed heads and hunched backs echoing her mournful pose.

Firepaw watched. He had not known Redtail, but he couldn’t help feeling moved, yet confused as he witnessed the Clan mourn.

Graypaw came and stood beside him again. “Dustpaw will be sad,” he remarked.

“Dustpaw?”

“Redtail’s apprentice. That brown-striped tabby over there. I wonder who his new mentor will be?”

Firepaw glanced over at the small tom who squatted near Redtail’s body, staring unseeing at the ground. Firepaw looked past him to the Clan leader. “How long will Bluestar sit with him?” he asked.

“Probably the whole night,” replied Graypaw. “Redtail was her deputy for many, many moons. She won’t want to let him go too quickly. He was one of the best warriors. Not as big and powerful as Tigerclaw or Lionheart, but quick and clever.”

Firepaw looked at Tigerclaw, admiring the strength that swelled in his powerful muscles and broad head. His massive body showed signs of his warrior life. One of his ears was split into a deep vee shape, and a thick scar sliced the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly Tigerclaw stood up and stalked over to Ravenpaw. Spottedleaf was crouching beside Tigerclaw’s wounded apprentice, using her teeth and front paws to press wads of cobweb onto his shoulder wound.

Firepaw leaned toward Graypaw and asked, “What’s Spottedleaf doing?”

“Stopping the bleeding. It looked like a nasty cut. And Ravenpaw seemed really shaken up. He’s always been a bit jumpy, but I’ve never seen him this bad before. Let’s go and see if he’s woken up yet.”

Firepaw blinked, surprised, tilting his head in confusion, wanting to say something, but decided not to. They made their way through the grieving cats toward the spot where Ravenpaw lay and settled themselves a respectful distance away to wait until Tigerclaw had finished speaking,

“So, Spottedleaf.” Tigerclaw addressed the tortoiseshell with a confident meow. “How is he? Do you think you can save him? I’ve spent a lot of time training him up, and I don’t want my efforts to be wasted at the first battle.”

Spottedleaf didn’t look up from her patient as she replied, “Yes, a pity if, after all your valuable training, he dies in his first fight, eh?” Firepaw could hear a teasing purr in her soft mew.

“Will he live?” Tigerclaw demanded.

“Of course. He just needs to rest.”

Tigerclaw snorted and looked down at the motionless black shape. He jabbed Ravenpaw with one of his front claws. “Come on, then! Get up!”

Ravenpaw didn’t move.

“Look at the length of that claw!” Firepaw hissed.

“Too right!” replied Graypaw with feeling. “I know I wouldn’t want to get into a fight with him!”

“Not so fast, Tigerclaw!” Spottedleaf placed her paw over Tigerclaw’s sharp talon and gently moved it away. “This apprentice needs to keep as still as possible until the cut has healed. We don’t want him opening his wound by jumping about trying to please you. Leave him alone.”

Firepaw found himself holding his breath as he waited for Tigerclaw’s reaction. He guessed that few cats dared to give orders to the warrior like that. The big tabby stiffened, and seemed about to speak when Spottedleaf mewed teasingly, “Even you know better than to argue with a medicine cat, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw’s eyes flashed at the little tortoiseshell’s words. “I wouldn’t dare argue with you, dear Spottedleaf. You and Redtail are my mom's younger siblings, after all,” he purred. He turned to leave and caught sight of Graypaw and Firepaw. “Who’s this?” he asked Graypaw, towering above them.

“He’s the new apprentice,” Graypaw mewed.

“He smells like a kittypet!” snorted the warrior.

“I was a house cat,” Firepaw meowed boldly, “but I am going to train to be a warrior.”

 

Tigerclaw looked at him with sudden interest. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. Bluestar mentioned that she had stumbled across some stray kittypet. So she’s actually going to try you out, is she?”

Firepaw sat up very straight, anxious to impress this distinguished Clan warrior. “That’s right,” he mewed respectfully.

Tigerclaw eyed him thoughtfully. “Then I shall watch your progress with interest.”

Firepaw puffed his chest out anxiously as Tigerclaw stalked away. “Do you think he liked me?”

“I don’t think Tigerclaw likes any apprentices!” whispered Graypaw.

Just then Ravenpaw stirred and twitched his ears. “Has he gone?” he mumbled.

“Who? Tigerclaw?” replied Graypaw, trotting toward him. “Yep, he’s gone.”

“Hi, there,” Firepaw began, about to introduce himself.

“Go away, both of you!” Spottedleaf protested. “How am I meant to help this cat with all these interruptions!” She impatiently flicked her tail at Graypaw and Firepaw and pushed her way between them and her patient.

Spottedleaf tilted her head at Ravenpaw for a moment and Firepaw thought the look in her eye was weird but decided to ignore it. 

Firepaw realized she was serious, despite the lively glimmer in her warm amber eyes.

“I’m going to explore the camp. See you guys later.” Firepaw replied after a few more minutes of silence before turning and walking out of the medicine den, glancing around.

Firepaw padded quietly away from the Medicine den, letting the weight of the morning’s chaos settle in his chest. The camp was alive with motion, cats brushing past him, chasing tails, or exchanging greetings, but all the scents, so many overlapping scents of fear, excitement, pride, grief, and curiosity, pressed against him like a tide, threatening to overwhelm.

He ducked behind a clump of ferns, trying to catch his breath, and realized he’d wandered close to the Nursery. 

The faint smell of kittens, warm hay, and softened fur hit him gently, and for a moment the pressing flood of scents from the wider camp faded.

A large golden she-cat stepped into his line of sight, her movements calm and unhurried. Her eyes, a soft amber, shone with an unassuming warmth, and she inclined her head toward him. 

“Hello, young one,” she purred, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. “You must be Firepaw. How are you feeling, suddenly joining ThunderClan?”

Firepaw sniffed carefully, his whiskers twitching, and immediately sensed something unusual. Her presence wasn’t just calming, her core emotions radiated nothing but kindness and compassion. 

No anger, no judgment, no subtle hostility, nothing but a gentle, encompassing reassurance. He froze for a moment, heart racing. Could she…? He blinked, doubting himself. Perhaps she was just a cat who smelled calm. Maybe she sensed his wariness, but surely not what he really was.

Goldenflower padded closer, tilting her head gently. “I can see you’re a bit overwhelmed,” she murmured, and the soft compassion in her voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “The camp is a lot to take in at first. It’s all right to feel nervous, I’m Goldenflower.”

Firepaw’s ears twitched. The smells, so many scents overlapping, pressed at him again, and he realized she’d correctly guessed why he was tense. 

She must know he was overwhelmed by the scents, but probably only by normal cat senses, not… everything. Relief washed through him, subtle and quiet, and he exhaled shakily.

Goldenflower crouched slightly, lowering herself to his level, and softly guided him with a gentle paw. “Here, try this,” she instructed. “Breathe in slowly through your nose, hold it for a moment, then let it out through your mouth. Focus only on… the dirt, the smell of the dirt.”

Firepaw tilted his head but tried it, took a deep breath, held it while smelling the air trying to focus on the smell of the dirt, then let out.

Firepaw mimicked her, hesitating at first, the scents pressing against his mind, claws of panic scratching at the edges. But each inhale through his nose, each careful exhale through his mouth, seemed to filter the overwhelming smells. 

Slowly, the scents of the camp became clearer, softer, and easier to manage. He blinked in surprise, his muscles relaxing as if a weight had lifted from them.

Goldenflower smiled gently, her tail curling around the small patch of grass beside her. “There, that’s better. You’ll learn to take in everything here without it drowning you, Firepaw. One step at a time. You don’t have to face it all at once.”

Firepaw opened his mouth and closed it, he… Never knew how to help deal with being a wave of new senses, he just had to get used to it over a while.

It still felt a bit much but felt… easier to breathe and smell.

Is Goldenflower a miracle worker?

Goldenflower just chuckled at his shocked expression, “One of my kits in the past was born with a sensitive nose, so I ended up learning that trick to teach him.”

“Thanks, Goldenflower.” Firepaw muttered, slightly embarrassed, but silently grateful for the advice as he stood up. 

Goldenflower nodded, purring softly as she also stood up. “Not a problem, Firepaw. If you need anything, we're all here to listen.”

“Some more than others.” Firepaw muttered, but nodded, his ears twitching at the sound of mewling kits.

Goldenflower hummed, glancing towards the nursery, her expression softening. “Those are Ratwhisper’s kits. Wondering what they're mewing about now.”

“Who names their kit Rat?”

“Apparently the first thing she did when born was bite her mother’s tail instead of drinking milk which is how she got her name.” Goldenflower said fondly while laughing a bit, remembering the humorous scene. She vaguely remembers it was back when she was an apprentice.

“Huh, I guess that… makes sense? Most of my siblings were just given a random name or named after our looks, like I was named Rusty since I have ginger fur, and my sister Ghost was named that because she had white markings in a specific shape.” Rusty said casually as Goldenflower nodded along.

“Same as, well, Golden is a pretty obvious name for me.” Goldenflower laughed a bit.

“Yeah, true. But still, Rat because she bit her mother's tail? That's like saying she was a kit her mom didn't want.” Firepaw said harshly, grimacing at his own thoughts.

Goldenflower paused and she thought he was overreacting but stared at him at that final comment, her maternal aspects flared, wanting to ask who hurt him but… she remained quiet.

Rusty blinked, noticing Goldenflower’s expression, tilting his head in confusion. “Did I say something wrong?”

Goldenflower hummed, but shook her head. “Its fine, Just… If you ever need someone to talk to you, my ears are always open.” She said with a reassuring smile.

Firepaw blinked, not having expected the offer, but nodded and gave her a final grateful glance before turning and walking away to continue exploring the camp.

He paused to look up at Bluestar getting onto the Highrock to do an announcement, “May all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather around for a Clan meeting!”

Firepaw tilted his head, He sat as some cats gathered around not too interested as if most expected her to do this.

Bluestar took a moment, looking sad. Her mind lingering on her old deputy before she took a deep breath, “Its a sad choice I must make, even if its so close to his death. But it must happen, to continue the tradition of selecting a deputy.”

Bluestar gazed around the crowd and Tigerclaw stood at the edge of the clearing beside Darkstripe, looking tall as if he expected to be chosen.

“By the power invested in me, Lionheart, do you accept the honor and duty of leading the clan as its deputy in Redtail’s place?” Bluestar asked looking down to Lionheart who look surprised and Whitestorm gave him a playful nudge.

“I do,” Lionheart said while nodding, Bluestar smiled happily.

“Then may Redtail’s spirit guide you and help you in your new duties.” Bluestar said solemnly before hopping down High rock and going back into her den.

Huh, that was… interesting.

Firepaw looked over at Tigerclaw who looked deeply annoyed at not being selected and Darkstripe seemed to be glaring at Lionheart until Tigerclaw smacked Darkstripe who just went back to muttering something.

Firepaw decided to continue exploring but kept glancing at Tigerclaw, his gaze turned to one of the dens.

He noticed near the apprentice den, Sandpaw who sat quietly eating a squirrel from earlier.

Beside her almost like a shadow covering her was another apprentice eating beside her, he had dark brown fur that looked a bit golden with a few white specks and amber eyes.

Dustpaw? Firepaw assumed as that was the only apprentice he hadnt met yet.

He smiled walking over only to immediately be glared at by Sandpaw, Dustpaw seemed un-interested in Firepaw at first until Sandpaw whispered into his ear, then he glared at Firepaw aswell.

“What do you want, kittypet?” Dustpaw snarled, voice low but sharp.

“I… I just want to meet new cats,” Firepaw replied carefully, trying to keep his tone polite, ears tilted back slightly in nervousness. "I'm Firepaw."

Dustpaw’s ears twitched, his amber eyes flashing. Sandpaw whispered again, and Dustpaw’s expression hardened further. “Neither of us want you here,” he hissed. “So you’d better bugger off, kittypet.”

"Also you're ugly." Sandpaw said bluntly and Dustpaw glanced at her then nodded, "Yeah you're ugly."

Firepaw froze for a moment, blinking at the harsh words and feeling the sting of their hostility. 

He tilted his ears back, heart racing, not from fear of being attacked, but from the weight of so many scents pressing in around him, the mix of anger, suspicion, and tension emanating from the two apprentices like a wall.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Firepaw said calmly, keeping his tail low and swishing nervously behind him. His claws were sheathed, his body tense, ready to retreat if either of them made a sudden move.

Dustpaw’s amber eyes narrowed, muscles coiling like a spring, but Sandpaw stayed slightly behind, barely moving, eyes sharp and calculating as she whispered again into Dustpaw’s ear. 

Firepaw noticed how they moved in tandem, one bold, one reserved, but their synchronization made them feel almost like one presence, a shadow looming over him.

“I said, bugger off,” Dustpaw growled, his tone firm, but there was a slight flicker of hesitation he tried to mask.

Sandpaw’s whispering seemed to guide his every motion, and Firepaw could sense the undercurrent of loyalty between them, even if he couldn't hear what Sandpaw was saying unless he transformed.

“Alright, geez, I'm sorry I tried to be friendly.” Firepaw muttered, his tone sarcastic and hurt, backing away before turning and walking away, staring back at them until they were out of sight. Dustpaw seemed like he was a mini Lionheart, and Sandpaw… She looked familiar.

Too familiar.

He stopped once he was behind the apprentice den, his ears twitching as he tried to listen for Graypaw, trying to get the image of Sandpaw out of his head.

She looked exactly like her. Her behavior is a bit different, but she looks exactly like her. But it can't be… she died when I was almost 2 moons old.

“Whatch are you doing.” Firepaw jumped startled as he turned to Ravenpaw staring confused at him, Firepaw had… no idea what to say as all he smelled from Ravenpaw was confusion and well, he didn't know if Ravenpaw was like Graypaw or like Sandpaw & Dustpaw

“Oh, uh.. just thinking.” Firepaw muttered, staring at Ravenpaw intensely, trying to figure out what his other emotions were.

Firepaw tried to hide himself sniffing the air as he felt Ravenpaw’s core emotions.

Paranoia & Distrust

Both very similar, it made Firepaw nervous as that could mean Ravenpaw might figure out something about him if he got suspicious.

Ravenpaw paused, studying him, but nodded. “You’re Firepaw, right?”

Firepaw nodded, his ears twitching as he tried to listen for anyone listening in. “Mhm.”

“Why are you back here behind the apprentice den?” Ravenpaw questioned suspiciously, “Where nobody can see you.” He added on with his voice shaking a bit.

“I wanted space to think.” Firepaw muttered, trying to keep his gaze on Ravenpaw.

Ravenpaw remained silent before just turning and leaving, “Graypaw’s looking for you.” He says before giving one last nervous but distrustful glance.

Firepaw blinked, but breathed a sigh of relief as he walked out from behind the apprentices den, glancing around before walking over to Graypaw once he spotted him. “Hey, Ravenpaw said that you were looking for me?” He said once he stopped in front of him.

Graypaw turned towards him and nodded. “Yea, I was.”

“So…. What did you want?” Firepaw muttered, mentally preparing himself for some kind of dangerous favor. 

Graypaw beamed, his expression lightening up despite his attempt at seriousness and dragged him over to the warrior’s den. “You’ll see.”

Firepaw yelped a small bit in surprise at the unexpected action, but sighed and let himself be dragged. He knew better than to try and fight it.

Graypaw stopped once he reached a certain group of warriors, letting go of his scruff.

One of the warriors perked up and smiled, “Graypaw its not nice to drag your friends around.”

The she-cat softly commented, Firepaw got up and looked at the she-cat, she had darker grey fur with lighter stripes across it and soft blue eyes, her fur was long but a bit patchy.

“Nah, I'm used to it.” Firepaw muttered, shrugging like it was nothing.

“Its nice to see my son having new friends, I’m Willowpelt, Graypaw’s mother.” Willowpelt introduced herself, her voice sounding a bit strained.

Firepaw felt like she was a kind person just more… exhausted then Goldenflower.

He took a slight breath to smell her core emotions.

Empathy, Exhaustion and Integrity.

Firepaw was a bit startled, while he knew Exhaustion was an emotion, he never found a cat who had exhaustion as one of their core emotions.

“I’m pretty sure you know who I am at this point, but I'm honored to be your son's friend.” Firepaw muttered, feeling a bit confused about the situation. 

Was this what Graypaw had wanted to show him, or was this just to make him let his guard down?

“Graypaw is always so eager to show off his new friends since his sibling was the only one he played with for so long.” Willowpelt teased as Graypaw looked embarrassed.

“Moooom,” He whined as Firepaw felt… like something was heavy in his chest.

Willowpelt smiled, deciding to embarrass her son a bit more, “You should’ve seen how happy he was with Ravenpaw becoming his friend, practically hugging him constantly and always playing with him, or trying to convince Lionheart to let him patrol with Ravenpaw and Tigerclaw.”

Graypaw groaned and looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, his face flushed.

 

And Firepaw just felt…

 

Cold.

 

Is… that how mothers are supposed to love their son?

Firepaw froze, his gaze flicking between Graypaw and Willowpelt as her soft, warm eyes rested on her son. The sheer… gentleness, the pride, the quiet joy radiating from her, it hit him like a wave he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. He felt the weight in his chest twist painfully.

 

Cold. That was the word he felt in his bones. Not just the air around him, not just the breeze brushing over his fur, but a deep, gnawing cold that spread from his chest to his throat, crawling down into his stomach and settling heavy in his paws.

It made him taste something bitter and sour, like the sludge of bile and regret pooling in his mouth.

He thought of his mother, or what he had that should've been called a mother, back home. Sharp words, sharp paws, emptiness instead of care, hunger instead of comfort.

The contrast burned like fire on his tongue. Why couldn’t he have that warmth? That soft, unjudging love?

Every small smile Willowpelt offered Graypaw felt like a blade scraping his ribs. Every laugh and gentle nuzzle she gave her son made his own ribs ache with the absence of it.

He wanted to tear his eyes away, to escape the unbearable sense of being left behind, abandoned by a life that had never offered this. Yet his gaze stayed, drawn like a moth to a flame he couldn’t touch.

The jealousy clawed at him, sharp and relentless, each flicker of pride or amusement on Graypaw’s face stabbing into him deeper than any warrior’s claw ever could.

It made him feel hollow, the emptiness stretching in his chest like a canyon. His heart thudded heavily, a sluggish, leaden beat that seemed to echo in his ears, each thump a reminder of what he’d never known.

The warmth he’d smelled in the camp, the scents of camaraderie, family, care, they should have been comforting. Instead, they made him feel like icewater was filling him from the inside out.

Sludge. 

That’s what it was. A heavy, choking weight in his mouth, throat, and chest. He tried to swallow it down, tried to force it into the corners of his mind where it couldn’t reach, but it lingered, sticky and foul. 

 

Alone. 

 

That word clawed its way up from the depths of his thoughts, dragging envy behind it like a shadow.

“Firepaw?” Graypaw whispered, nudging him gently, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You ok?”

Firepaw blinked, blinking away the tears welling up in his eyes, glancing at him and nodding. “Yea, I'm ok. Just zoned out.”

Willowpelt gave an odd look to Firepaw, looking concerned as she seemed to think about something.

Firepaw yawned exhausted as it was starting to get dark, Graypaw nudged him.

“Here, I can show you where to find the softest moss for your new nest!”

Willowpelt hummed, “It's pretty late and your talking about the stream near the twolegplace?”

Graypaw nodded as Willowpelt tried to hide her smile as she had a sudden idea.

“Thats a bit far for how late it is, how about you two just share a nest for tonight? I know you ended up overstuffing your nest and made it too big.” Willowpelt teased Graypaw whos face went flush again at the idea.

“Sure, I don't mind.” Firepaw said not thinking too much about it, he had to share a nest with his siblings a lot, sharing it with a friend isn't that different.

“I- Alright I guess.” Graypaw said as Firepaw turned to head to the apprentice den as Graypaw shot an annoyed glare at Willowpelt who just smiled at her embarrassed son.

“My nest is the big one, see!” Graypaw gestured to the overly big one near the back side.

Firepaw nodded, it was definitely bigger then the other nests. Ravenpaw hadnt come into the den yet but Sandpaw was already silently curled up near the entrance.

She cracked one eye open to glare at Firepaw but didnt say anything as she just closed her eye again.

Firepaw made him comfortable on the side of the nest even if he was hanging off it a bit.

Graypaw just flopped himself down on the nest, rolling in the moss a bit to get comfy.

“I’ll make sure you have a great Nest to sleep in.” Graypaw bragged while not bothering to raise his head.

“Thanks, I guess?” Firepaw muttered, he could make the nest himself but just smiled at Graypaw offering to make it for him before curling up in the nest next to him.

The two closed their eyes resting, Firepaw’s mind lingered on where he once lived but… Thunderclan might be better.

Everything felt… like it might be okay in the end.

Notes:

And if you're wondering who Ghost is, well… let's just say that you'll find out in future chapters. 😉

Chapter 6: Chapter 4: “Two steps Forward, One Step Back”

Summary:

Firepaw is given a tour of the territory, and having no filter, asks some weird questions. Oh, and there's someone probably stalking Firepaw. Totally nothing to see here.

Notes:

Written by:
Flamejaybriar and JustADrunkDemon

Also, you'll learn who the cat is eventually. I deliberately left out her other color to torture y'all with guessing since there's like; a thousand torties now, lol

Firepaw mumbled a bit as he stirred, he felt comfy.

Was he back in the twolegplace? It was really warm and nice.

He shifted as he realized he was laying against something soft, his eyes blinked open as he saw grey.

He shot up and felt his face get flustered instantly as he realized he moved in his sleep and was laying against Graypaw’s stomach.

Graypaw was snoring, none the wiser as he laid asleep.

Firepaw quickly shook off his embarrassment as he remembered yesterday, joining the clans, meeting others, how annoying sandpaw was-

But still, he’s now an apprentice! He’s firepaw!

It felt a little odd to have his name changed but its fine, he was brimming with excitement!

Firepaw turned and kinda just stared at Graypaw’s sleeping frame for a moment.

Maybe… it wouldn't be so bad to continue sleeping against him, right?

Firepaw hesitated for a heartbeat, ears burning.

Graypaw shifted slightly, still snoring, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Firepaw bit his lip, then quietly scooted closer again, pressing into the warmth.

Graypaw’s fur was softer than he expected, like moss warmed by the sun.

Firepaw let out a tiny sigh, his racing heart calming as he curled against his friend.

For a moment, all the noise in his head faded, no worries about the clans, no fear of secrets being exposed, just warmth.

His eyes fluttered shut as he buried his nose into Graypaw’s fur, it felt… relaxing.

“I missed this.” Firepaw muttered, yawning as he rested his head against his chest, purring softly in contentment. He hadn't realized that he had missed cuddling with others until now.

“Graypaw, get up! And get your Kittypet friend up as well!” Tigerclaw shouted from where he was outside the den, clearly annoyed. Firepaw grumbled, not wanting to, but reluctantly pulled away, got up and stretched just as Graypaw stirred.

“Morning.” Firepaw muttered as he straightened, feeling strangely disappointed that he couldn't cuddle with Graypaw anymore. He blinked, surprised at his own thoughts, but mentally shook it off.

Graypaw huffed in protest, rolling over onto his stomach, still asleep. Firepaw blinked, but sighed and shook his head, rolling his eyes as he nudged Graypaw awake. “Graypaw, get up.”

Graypaw grumbled, yawning as he opened his amber eyes, glancing up at him. “Mm…. What?” He muttered, annoyed.

“Tigerclaw’s calling for us.” Firepaw replied, a hint of excitement in his tone, oblivious to the adorable state Graypaw was in.

Graypaw grumbled, sitting up and stretching before giving himself a hasty wash. Between licks, he meowed, “I’ve spoken to Lionheart last night. Ravenpaw won’t be training with us till his wound is better. He’ll probably stay at Spottedleaf’s den for another day or two. Dustpaw and Sandpaw are on hunting duty. So Lionheart thought you and I could train with him and Tigerclaw this morning, We’d better hurry, though,” he added. “They ll be waiting!”

Graypaw led Firepaw quickly through the gorse entrance of the camp and up the side of the rock-strewn valley. As they climbed over the crest of the ravine, a cool breeze ruffled their fur. Fat, white clouds raced across the blue sky overhead. Firepaw felt fierce joy well up inside him as he followed Graypaw down a treeshaded slope and into a sandy hollow.

Tigerclaw and Lionheart were indeed waiting, sitting a few taillengths apart on the sun-warmed sand.

“In the future, I expect you both to be punctual,” growled Tigerclaw.

“Don’t be too severe, Tigerclaw; it was a busy night last night. I expect they were tired,” meowed Lionheart gently. “You have not yet been assigned a mentor, Firepaw,” he went on. “For now, Tigerclaw and I will share your training.”

Firepaw nodded enthusiastically, his tail held high, unable to disguise his delight at having two such great warriors as his mentors.

Well, at least, cats he assumed were great warriors. Graypaw seemed to like having Lionheart as his mentor, and she would definitely like Tigerclaw, and cats had been talking about how they thought Tigerclaw was going to be deputy before Lionheart was chosen.

 

“Come,” meowed Tigerclaw impatiently. “Today we are going to show you the edges of our territory, so that you know where you will be hunting and what boundaries you need to protect. Graypaw, it won’t do you any harm to remind yourself of the Clan’s outer limits.”

Without another word, Tigerclaw leaped up and bounded out of the sandy hollow. Lionheart nodded to Graypaw and they took off with equal speed. Firepaw scrambled after them, his paws slipping on the soft sand.

The trees were thick in this part of the forest, birch and ash trees overshadowed by mighty oaks. The ground was carpeted with crisp dead leaves that rustled beneath their paws. Tigerclaw paused to spray his scent on a thick clump of ferns. The other cats stopped beside him.

“There is a Twoleg path here,” murmured Lionheart. “Use your nose, Firepaw. Can you smell anything?”

Firepaw sniffed. There was the faint scent of a Twoleg, and the stronger smell of a dog, familiar to him from his old home. “A Twoleg has walked his dog along here, but they are gone now,” he mewed.

“Good,” meowed Lionheart. “Do you think it is safe to cross?”

Firepaw sniffed again. The odors were weak and seemed overlaid with fresher forest smells. “Yes,” he replied.

Tigerclaw nodded, and the four cats stalked out from beneath the ferns and crossed the sharp stones of the narrow Twoleg path.

The trees beyond were pine. They grew tall and straight, row after row. It was easy to walk silently here. The ground was thick with layers of dead needles, which prickled against Firepaw’s pads but felt spongy underneath. 

There was no undergrowth here to hide in, and Firepaw sensed tension in the other cats as they stalked unprotected between the tree trunks.

“Twolegs put these trees here,” meowed Tigerclaw. “They cut them down with foul-smelling creatures, which spew enough fumes to make a kit go blind. Then they take the fallen trees to the Treecut place that lies near here.”

Firepaw paused, but nodded, trying not to snicker at the mouthful of words they called bulldozers and the paper factory. “The Treecut place will be silent for a few moons more, until the time of greenleaf,” explained Graypaw, noticing his pause.

“Not why I paused, but I appreciate the explanation, Graypaw.” Firepaw replied, still trying to hold back a snicker at the ridiculous names of construction equipment. He decided not to tell them purely because he didn't want to destroy their world.

Graypaw blinked, surprised, tilting his head in confusion, but said nothing.

The cats padded on through the pine forest.

“Twolegplace lies in that direction,” meowed Tigerclaw, flicking his thick tail to one side. “No doubt you can smell it, Firepaw. Today, however, we will head the other way.”

Eventually they reached another Twolegpath that marked the far edge of the pine forest. They quickly crossed over into the safe bushes of the oak woods beyond. But Firepaw still sensed anxiety in the other cats.

“We’re approaching RiverClan territory,” whispered Graypaw. “The Sunningrocks are over there.” He pointed with his soft muzzle to a treeless mound of boulders.

Firepaw felt his fur stand on end. This was where Redtail had been slain.

Lionheart stopped by a flat gray rock. “This is the boundary between ThunderClan and RiverClan territory. RiverClan rules the hunting grounds beside the great river,” he meowed. “Breathe deeply, Firepaw.”

The pungent smell of unfamiliar cats hit the roof of Firepaw’s mouth. He was surprised how different it smelled from the warm cat scents of the ThunderClan camp. And he was also surprised to realize just how familiar and comforting the ThunderClan scents seemed to him already.

“That is the smell of RiverClan,” Tigerclaw growled beside him. “Remember it well. It will be strongest at the boundary, because their warriors will have scent-marked the trees along here.” With these words, the dark tabby lifted his tail and sprayed his own mark on the flat rock.

“We'll follow this boundary line, as it leads straight to Fourtrees,” Lionheart meowed.

He set off quickly, away from the Sunningrocks, followed by Tigerclaw. Graypaw and Firepaw trotted after them.

“What is Fourtrees?” Firepaw panted.

 

“It is where the territories of all four Clans meet,” replied Gray paw. “There are four great oaks there, as old as the Clans-”

 

“Be quiet!” ordered Tigerclaw. “Don’t forget how close we are to enemy territory!”

The two apprentices fell silent and Firepaw concentrated on walking silently. They crossed a shallow stream, keeping their paws dry by leaping from boulder to boulder across the pebbly riverbed.

By the time they reached Fourtrees, Firepaw was feeling completely out of breath and his paws ached. He wasn’t used to traveling so far and so fast since he was a young kit. 

He was quite relieved when Lionheart and Tigerclaw led them out of the thick woods and stopped at the brow of a bush-covered slope.

It was sunhigh now. The clouds had cleared, and the wind had dropped. Below, in the dazzling sunlight, stood four enormous oaks, their dark green crowns reaching almost to the top of the steep slope.

“As Graypaw told you,” meowed Lionheart to Firepaw, “this is Fourtrees, where the territories of all four Clans meet. WindClan governs the high ground ahead of us, where the sun sets. 

You won’t be able to catch their scent today, the wind is blowing toward them. But you’ll learn it soon enough.”

“And ShadowClan holds power over there, in the darkest part of the forest,” added Graypaw, flicking his head sideways. “The elders say that the cold winds from the north blow over the ShadowClan cats and chill their hearts.”

“So many Clans!” Firepaw exclaimed. And so well organized, he added to himself, remembering Smudge’s lurid tales of wildcats wreaking terror in the forest.

“You see now why prey is so precious,” meowed Lionheart. “Why we must fight to protect what little we have.”

“I don't, actually. The city and other places have far less prey. And no offense, but that seems foolish! Why can’t the Clans work together and share their hunting grounds, instead of fighting each other? The prey here seems to be endless, despite the amount of cats there are and how long the Clans have been around.” Firepaw suggested boldly.

A shocked silence greeted his words.

Lionheart decided to explain, "It's mainly a thing about pride. And the prey is far from endless, let me ask, why do you think we have hunting patrols instead of just going to hunt?”

Firepaw tilted his head, he… wasn't sure, “Why?”

“So we don't overhunt, so the prey doesn't run out. In the past we used to hunt too much and it led to… a lot of problems.” Lionheart explained, shivering a bit from the stories he heard from the elders in the past.

“But do you actually let the prey reproduce?” Firepaw replied, thinking it was a fair question.

Tigerclaw suddenly spoke up. “That is treacherous thinking, kittypet,” he snapped.

“Don’t be too fierce, Tigerclaw,” warned Lionheart. “The ways of the Clans are new to this apprentice.” He looked at Firepaw. “You speak from your heart, young Firepaw. This will make you a stronger warrior one day.”

Tigerclaw growled. “Or it might make him give in to kittypet weakness right at the moment of attack.”

“I don't know if that's an insult, a compliment or both, but I'm sorry I insulted you.” Firepaw muttered, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed and scared, shrinking back slightly. Anytime she had complimented him, it was usually actually an insult or both wrapped into one.

Lionheart blinked, pausing in confusion and concern, glancing briefly at Tigerclaw before he continued. “The four Clans do come together peacefully, in a Gathering each moon. Here” he bent his head toward the four mighty oaks below, “is where they meet. The truce lasts for as long as the moon is at its fullest.”

“Then there must be a meeting very soon?” Firepaw suggested, remembering how bright the moonlight had been the night before.

“Indeed there is!” answered Lionheart, sounding impressed. “Tonight, in fact. The Gatherings are very important because they allow the Clans to come together in peace for one night. But you must understand that longer alliances bring more trouble than they’re worth.”

“How would alliances bring trouble? Unless it's the type of alliance where it's fake and we're all just actually spying on each other, but I somehow highly doubt that with the Clans.”

“..... Not quite, but close enough.” Lionheart replied, not entirely sure he understood what Firepaw just said. Tigerclaw looked like he hadn't considered that. Graypaw looked confused AF.

Firepaw hummed and nodded, trying to figure out if Lionheart was lying to please him, or if he was telling the truth.

Firepaw kept quiet after that, though his mind whirled with questions.

They padded in silence for a while, and when they finally paused near the slope overlooking Fourtrees, Firepaw cleared his throat. “Since I know the borders now… could I maybe explore a little on my own?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Tigerclaw’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Alone?” he rumbled, his tail tip twitching. “A fox would tear you apart before you even scented it.”

Firepaw flattened his ears, stomach twisting. “I’ll be careful. I just want to… take everything in myself.”

Lionheart’s gaze softened. “Let him, Tigerclaw,” he said gently. “If he wants to learn, we should encourage his independence. Besides, we’ll still be nearby.”

Tigerclaw growled low in his throat, but didn’t argue further. “Fine. But don’t expect us to rescue you if you go nosing into trouble.”

“Noted,” Firepaw muttered, dipping his head quickly before trotting off.

He didn’t stray toward the borders, not really. Instead, he searched for somewhere quiet, his paws dragging slightly with each step. His chest ached faintly, his breath uneven.

Too far from the Twolegplace. Too far from the old shrine. That’s why he felt so weak.

Firepaw pressed on until he found a hollow tucked beneath an oak root, shadowed and still. He crouched low, heart pounding. This could work. It wasn’t much, but it was hidden enough.

He dug his claws into the earth, whispering under his breath. He had to mark this land, make it his. A place to feed the monster blood inside him, a place to stay alive.

If the Clans ever found out, it would mean death. But without a shrine… he would wither.

Firepaw padded deeper into the woods, keeping his pawsteps as light as he could. Every snap of a twig sent his fur bristling. Every gust of wind felt like it might carry another cat’s scent straight back to Lionheart or Tigerclaw.

He couldn’t afford to be careless.

His paws carried him farther than he realized, past thickets of thorn and bramble, across a stream that gurgled low in its stony bed, until the forest grew strangely quiet. No birdsong. No scuffling mice. Only the sigh of wind through branches.

That was when he scented it, sharp, musky, heavy. 

Badger.

Firepaw froze, claws unsheathing instinctively. His pelt lifted all along his spine. He crept closer, following the scent until he saw the hollow in the earth: a den dug deep into a bank, ringed with claw marks in the dirt. His heart thundered.

If a badger still lived here, he was as good as dead.

But the air was stale. No fresh musk, no overturned soil, no warm scent of life within. The den was empty. Abandoned.

Relief hit him so hard his legs shook. Firepaw slumped down for a moment, drawing in ragged breaths, before his gaze lifted to the shadowy mouth of the burrow.

It was… perfect. Hidden, far from borders, far from camp. A place no patrol would stumble on without reason.

Firepaw padded inside, his whiskers brushing the narrow entrance before the tunnel widened into a small hollow. The air was cool and dry. A faint shaft of sunlight pierced through a crack in the roof, lighting the dust motes that swirled like tiny stars.

Yes. This would do.

His chest ached again, that gnawing emptiness that only the shrine could soothe. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Firepaw shut his eyes, his whole body trembling as he let the mask of an ordinary apprentice slip away.

His claws lengthened first, black as obsidian, curling like hooked thorns. His shoulders hunched as muscle rippled beneath his pelt, his frame stretching taller, heavier, yet still undeniably feline. His fur darkened in patches, streaked with shadowy scales that shimmered faintly like wet stone.

Three tails burst from the base of his spine, lashing the air as if freed from chains. They swayed with an eerie life of their own, furred at the base but tapering into tufts like foxfire, faint sparks of red energy flickering at their tips.

Firepaw opened his eyes.

No longer green. Not even gold. But a deep, burning crimson, like blood dripping beneath the moonlight. His pupils were narrow slits, and for a moment the den seemed to glow faintly with their light.

His ears stretched sharper, longer, edges jagged as though torn by some unseen claw. His fangs pushed past his lips, long enough to graze his chin when his mouth closed.

Gills opened briefly along the sides of his neck, flaring once before closing, leaving faint ridges behind. His chest rose and fell heavily, every breath steaming in the cold air like smoke.

Firepaw glanced down at himself. His paws were larger now, the webbing faint between his toes shimmering faintly like a fish’s fin, claws sunk deep into the earth as if drinking strength from it. His reflection in the faint pool of water at the den’s edge showed something not quite cat anymore, dragon-scale ridges curving along his spine, his tails swaying like serpents, his crimson eyes burning holes into the dark.

The true him. The monstercat.

He bowed his head low, claws etching symbols into the dirt, runes only he could understand. His tails brushed against the ground, leaving faint scorched marks where their foxfire kissed the soil.

“I claim this place,” he whispered, his voice layered, not one tone but several, feline growl, lupine snarl, reptilian hiss. “Mine. My shrine. My strength.”

The earth seemed to hum faintly, a pulse that answered the ritual. His exhaustion faded little by little, warmth filling his chest. The gnawing emptiness dulled, soothed like water on fire.

For a moment, Firepaw felt whole.

But not yet.

He pawed at the ground, digging his claws into it as he slowly marked the ground.

His kitsune blood was too thin to form full foxfire but enough for a shrine ritual would be enough.

He drew a large circle into the dirt and bit into his own paw, his dragon fangs tearing into it and he held up his paw.

Blood dripped into the circle as it glowed cyan.

Firepaw stepped back as stone slowly rose in the circle, forming a pedestal then a small nine tailed fox resting on top of it.

Firepaw took a deep breath, the den felt enchanted as he felt his stamina restored, he closed his eyes.

The reason he waited to learn the borders first was simple, to mark Thunderclan’s borders as his territory aswell.

He felt like the entire forest was flourishing with energy, he wondered if marking it as his territory would bless it or something.

He felt himself getting tired as he completed the creation of his Shrine.

Perfect.

 

He paused, taking it in before shifting back into his cat form, knowing that he should be heading back before he was found. 

He waited for the transformation to finish before turning and following his scent back, his tail twitching in accomplishment behind him, making sure to mentally memorize the way back and forth.

He'd been so focused on the shrine that he hadn't noticed a cat hiding in the shadows, their eyes sparkling with suspicion, confusion and something else as they watched him leave.

A while later, after finding Graypaw, Lionheart and Tigerclaw, Firepaw joined them in making there way back to camp.

The dewy scents of evening filled the air as Firepaw made his way through the gorse entrance into the ThunderClan camp. Freshkill was waiting for them. 

Firepaw and Graypaw took their share from the pile that lay in a shady part of the clearing and carried it to the tree stump outside their quarters.

Dustpaw and Sandpaw were already there, munching hungrily.

“Hi, there, kittypet,” mewed Dustpaw, narrowing his eyes scornfully at Firepaw. “Enjoy the food we caught for you.”

“Who knows, you might even learn to catch your own one day!” sneered Dustpaw again, or well Firepaw thinks that insult was from Sandpaw who whispered into his ear.

“Are you two still on hunting duty?’ asked Graypaw innocently. “Never mind. We’ve been patrolling our territory borders. You’ll be glad to know all is safe.”

“I'm sure the other Clans were terrified when they smelled you two coming!” yowled Dustpaw.

“They didn’t even dare show their faces,” retorted Graypaw, unable to hide his anger.

“Well, we’ll ask them tonight when we see them at the Clan Gathering,” mewed Sandpaw quietly. That was the most Firepaw had heard them speak yet.

“Are you going?” Firepaw blurted out, impressed in spite of the apprentices’ hostility.

“Of course,” replied Dustpaw loftily. “It’s a great honor, you know. But don’t worry; we’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

Graypaw had decided to ignore Dustpaw’s gloating, turned and walked over to the apprentice's den, making sure Firepaw was following. 

Firepaw blinked, glancing at Graypaw, tilting his head in confusion, giving Sandpaw and Dustpaw a disappointed and curious glance before reluctantly following Graypaw.

He'd been wanting to ask them how they got into the Gathering patrol, but he decided to ask someone about it later. And judging by Graypaw's face, he was confused about something. About what, he wasn't sure.

Ravenpaw was already curled up in his nest, pretending to be asleep when they entered the den.

 Firepaw knew immediately due to instinct and the fact that his breathing wasn't deep, but decided not to say anything as he sat down in the empty space next to Graypaw's nest, his tail twitching as he tried to figure out what Graypaw wanted to talk about.

“What were you doing out in the forest when you split up from us?” Graypaw asked slowly as Firepaw paused, hundreds of thoughts rushing through his head.

Did he see something? What did Graypaw know. Did he see nothing? Would… he have to silence graypaw. No no, maybe Graypaw can be convinced he saw nothing, or to not tell the clan hes a monster cat if he DID see something.

Firepaw’s ears twitched nervously, the weight of Graypaw’s gaze settling like a stone in his chest. He forced himself to stay still, tail curling tightly around his paws as he tried to think quickly. 

Every instinct he had screamed at him to be careful. The forest, the shrine, the transformation, if anyone found out…

“I… I was just exploring,” Firepaw finally muttered, keeping his tone light and casual, trying not to let the nervous edge show. His green eyes flicked toward Graypaw, catching the subtle narrowing of his friend’s, reading suspicion there.

Graypaw’s whiskers twitched. “Exploring?” His voice was soft, curious rather than accusatory, but Firepaw could feel the weight behind the question.

“Yes, exploring,” Firepaw repeated, voice firmer this time, trying to convince not just Graypaw but himself. “I… I wanted to get a better sense of the territory. The trees, the borders, the smells, just, uh, learning, you know?”

Graypaw tilted his head, studying him, the slightest furrow in his brow betraying that he wasn’t fully convinced. Firepaw held his breath, tail flicking nervously, claws flexing slightly against the floor. 

Every muscle tensed as he braced for Graypaw to push further, to ask something he couldn’t answer without exposing himself.

“You didn’t run into anything… dangerous?” Graypaw prodded gently, voice low enough that it could have been playful curiosity or testing him.

“Nope,” Firepaw said, swallowing the truth. “Nothing. Just trees, rocks, streams… and a lot of wind.” He let his tail twitch lazily, hoping it looked natural.

Graypaw’s amber eyes narrowed, ears flicking forward slightly. “Then… Why do you smell like badger?”

Oh, whew. Firepaw immediately relaxed, he did go into an abandoned badger den, of course he smelled like badger! So Graypaw thought he ran in with a badger instead of seeing him as a monstercat.

Firepaw’s fur prickled, tail stiffening as he forced a casual shrug. “Uh… I found an old badger den,” he said quickly, voice light, trying to sound nonchalant. “It looked abandoned, so I just… peeked in. Didn’t touch anything.”

Graypaw blinked, his whiskers twitching as he studied Firepaw’s face. There was a flicker of suspicion there, but it softened as he tilted his head and let out a small hum. “You’re… lucky it was empty,” he said. “Badgers aren’t exactly friendly to wandering cats.”

“Yeah, I… I didn’t stick around,” Firepaw muttered, lowering his head a little, hoping Graypaw wouldn’t notice the faint sheen of excitement still buzzing under his fur. He kept his tail curled tightly around his paws, forcing his breathing to steady.

Graypaw’s amber eyes softened slightly, though they didn’t lose their curiosity. “Still… exploring alone can be dangerous, Firepaw. You need to be careful. Not all corners of the forest are safe, even if the Twolegs haven’t been near.”

Firepaw nodded eagerly, masking the small thrill that came with the memory of his shrine and his transformation. “I’ll be careful, Graypaw. I… I just wanted to see more of the territory, you know, make sure I’m ready for training.”

Graypaw’s tail flicked, contemplative. “You’re brave… or maybe a little reckless,” he said softly, though not unkindly. “Just… promise me you won’t wander too far again.”

“I promise,” Firepaw whispered, a small smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. He could feel the warmth of Graypaw’s gaze on him, and for a moment, the anxiety ebbed a little. He let himself relax, tail curling more comfortably around his paws.

As the den settled into quiet again, Firepaw’s thoughts drifted back to the abandoned badger den, to the cool shadows and the hollowed earth he’d claimed as his own. His shrine. His secret. 

He allowed himself a small shiver of excitement, and fear, at what it meant to be the monstercat he truly was, hidden just beneath the surface.

No one could know. Not yet.

And Firepaw, green-eyed apprentice, swallowed the thrill and the dread, curling tighter against the floor as he waited, tail flicking softly, plotting his next quiet journey into the deep, hidden parts of the forest.

Chapter 7: Chapter 5: Families and Bonding

Summary:

Bluestar comes to some realizations about Firepaw and Firepaw realizes things about Graypaw.
Also, hunting assessment.

Notes:

Yellowfang (hopefully) next chapter.

Written by: Flamejaybriar and JustADrunkDemon.

The following morning, Graypaw had awoken Firepaw early because Bluestar had summoned him. He'd wanted to stay to hear about the Gathering, but Graypaw had dragged him away. 

“You'll hear all about it later, if I know those two,” he had mewed before telling him the summon was something about what he said.

Firepaw had stiffened at the last part, but tried to shrug it off and nodded.

Now, he was currently sitting outside her den, waiting for her to finish her conversation with someone, his tail twitching as he sat oddly patiently.

He hadn't even noticed that about 90% of the horrifically small Clan was staring and whispering about the fact that he was sitting there patiently instead of pacing impatiently and/or anxiously like any normal cat would.

His ears twitched as he turned his head, spotting Goldenflower and Willowpelt leaving and walking away from the den. “I know you're there, Firepaw.” Bluestar called from inside the den. Firepaw blinked, but sighed as he got up and walked into the den, surprised at how neat it was.

He blinked, shaking his head, spotting Bluestar at the far corner, walking over and sitting down across from her. “You wanted to see me?”

Bluestar hummed, glancing at him from where she'd been laying on her side, her tail wrapped around her paws. “Yes, I did. Lionheart and Tigerclaw told me about what you said yesterday and how you went exploring on your own.”

Firepaw stiffened, but forced himself to relax as he met her gaze. “I just wanted to make sure I saw as much as I could so I can protect the whole territory better when I need to.” He muttered, which wasn't exactly a lie. He had found a place to make his new shrine, and had been memorizing everything about the territory since yesterday.

Bluestar took a moment and stared at him, Firepaw felt nervous suddenly over her stare that had an odd emotion filling her gaze. “May I ask you a personal question, Firepaw?”

Firepaw tilted his head feeling a bit awkward but nodded, “Sure… What do you want to ask?”

“What was your life like before you joined ThunderClan, specifically… What is your family like.” Bluestar got straight to the point, her words hit Firepaw like a truck as instantly horrible memories slammed straight into his skull.

Every horrid thing that happened to him because of his family played like a video reel through him.

Firepaw’s green eyes widened as Bluestar’s words sank in. The air around him seemed to constrict, the den tilting, becoming too small, too sharp. The sounds of the camp outside, the soft rustle of paws on the earth, the distant chatter, they all faded, muffled as if he were underwater.

He tried to answer, tried to string words together, but his throat closed, knotting in a way that made his tongue feel like lead. His paws trembled where they rested on the floor, claws digging tiny gouges into the earth beneath him.

Images slammed through his mind, Nutmeg’s shadowy shape looming over him, the sharp snap of claws against his fur, the sting of her words cutting into him like knives. 'Worthless,' 'stupid,' 'weakling.' 

Her voice echoed in his ears, harsh and unrelenting, each syllable vibrating deep into his bones. He could see Luna’s cruel grin, hear her laughter as she joined in, her tiny claws striking him when no one was watching.

He remembered the times he had tried to protect Filou, holding himself between the runt and Nutmeg’s swipes, feeling the sharp pain of his own fur being torn, his skin burning with bruises and scratches. 

Princess and Tommy’s eyes had always been indifferent, sometimes mocking, as if his suffering were some spectacle meant for their amusement.

Firepaw’s stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat, a hot, bitter taste coating his tongue. His breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, heart hammering so violently he thought it might burst from his chest.

Sweat slicked his fur, though the den was cool, as though his body knew instinctively it needed to fight the memories in a physical way.

The world blurred around him. Shadows stretched and twisted, the corners of the den darkening as his pupils widened uncontrollably. 

Every fiber of him screamed to run, to escape, but there was nowhere to go, the pain was inside him, and it followed him everywhere.

He shuddered violently, trembling so hard his spine thumped against the floor. A low, choked sound tore from his throat, half a hiss, half a whimper, as if his body didn’t know how to articulate the pain that had lived in him for so many moons. 

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, stinging as they ran down the sides of his face.

Bluestar looked up noticing something was off, "Firepaw? Firepaw what's wrong?" She said getting up panicked.

He couldn’t breathe properly. Every inhale felt like fire scraping through his lungs, every exhale rasped and caught. 

His paws scrabbled at the earth beneath him, claws scraping furrows into the soil, trying to grasp something solid in a world that was spinning and collapsing all at once.

Everything he had buried, every wound his mother’s claws and words had inflicted, the loneliness, the constant vigilance, the fear, everything came crashing forward at once, overwhelming him. 

The nausea burned through him, a physical weight that pressed down on his chest, constricting, making it hard to speak, to think, to exist without pain.

He curled tighter, body shaking uncontrollably, tail wrapped around himself like a lifeline, as if the pressure of his own fur could hold him together. 

His ears flattened against his skull, eyes squeezed shut against the memories, against the raw, searing ache of being utterly alone, unwanted, and unloved.

His mind screamed for relief, for any escape, but there was none. There was only the relentless, raw, gnawing pain of every slap, every cruel word, every night spent shivering and hungry, every moment he had been the target of scorn while his siblings thrived.

He retched quietly, the bitter taste of panic and fear coating his tongue. Each heartbeat pounded in his skull, each breath was an effort, each tremor a reminder that this was the world he had survived, but that it had left him fractured, hollowed, and raw.

Pain shot into his nape as Bluestar bit into it to pick him up and began dragging him quickly to the Medicine den.

Firepaw breathed faster and faster, starting to stop breathing entirely as he felt like puking, memories hurt him over and over.

"You're worthless, a mistake I had to give birth to."

Nutmeg's words rung in his head like fangs.

Bluestar’s paws dug into the earth beneath her as she carefully lifted Firepaw, feeling his trembling body go rigid against her. “Hold on, Firepaw… hold on,” she urged, her voice low and firm, but carrying a worry that cut through the haze of fear that enveloped him. 

Every step toward the Medicine den felt like wading through a storm of shadows clinging to Firepaw’s fur, each memory of Nutmeg and the others clawing at his mind with sharpened teeth.

By the time they reached Spottedleaf, Firepaw’s chest heaved violently. His breaths were shallow, jagged, and uneven, barely forming words, as though each inhale had to force past the barricade of terror lodged in his lungs. 

Bluestar set him gently on the cool floor, pressing her own warmth to him as a fleeting anchor.

“Spottedleaf… he- he can’t… he…” Bluestar’s voice trembled, but Spottedleaf didn’t wait for more. Her blue-green eyes locked onto Firepaw, and she hummed softly, her presence radiating something indescribable, warm, magnetic, unyielding. A subtle vibration in the air curled around him like a current of water, gentle at first, then insistent.

Firepaw’s mind screamed, images of Nutmeg slashing and spitting venomous words flashing violently: 'Worthless! Stupid! A mistake!' Luna laughing, Tommy sneering, Princess ignoring, every memory twisted and sharpened, clawing at his heart. 

He tried to tear himself away, to fight, but the memories clung like chains, dragging him under. He felt like he was sinking into a pit of iron and fire, the air thick, his chest pressed flat, nausea burning through every inch of him.

Spottedleaf’s aura surged, her hum deepening into a melodic, rhythmic cadence, each note brushing against his mind, a counterpoint to the screaming chaos inside him. 

The hum became a pulse, coaxing his ragged breath, vibrating through his bones. “It’s okay… it’s okay… you’re safe… you’re safe…” she whispered, low and constant.

But Firepaw’s body shook violently, each sob tearing from his throat as the memories pressed back with relentless force. 'You’re worthless… I should never have had to give birth to you… nobody wants you…' Nutmeg’s voice repeated, slicing through the calm Spottedleaf tried to offer. 

Firepaw’s claws dug into the floor, skin scratching against rough roots, fur ruffling and bristling as panic throttled his lungs. He gagged, a bitter taste of bile rising, tears streaming freely, stinging eyes wide and glassy.

Bluestar pressed closer, murmuring, “Hold him, Spottedleaf, he’s barely holding together…” but Spottedleaf’s focus didn’t waver. Her trance-like aura wrapped around him like a net, rhythmic and heavy, latching onto the tension and fear that had lodged in every muscle. 

Slowly, very slowly, Firepaw’s trembling began to respond, not fully, but enough that the tidal wave of panic ebbed into shivering streams.

He sagged against the floor, shoulders heaving as Spottedleaf’s voice and aura pulled him outward from the suffocating grip of his past. 

The memories didn’t vanish, they still hissed at the edges, but the relentless terror softened, a dim background static rather than a roaring avalanche.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Firepaw’s sobs broke through in full force. Loud, ragged, trembling, the kind of sobs that carried years of fear and neglect. 

He pressed his face to the floor, body shuddering with every heartbeat, tears running freely, green eyes squeezed shut as the raw, jagged edges of his past poured out in uncontrolled grief.

Bluestar stayed close, silent but grounding. Spottedleaf hummed gently, her aura wrapping tighter, a guiding thread for him to cling to. Firepaw’s sobs shook him from paws to tail, but with every sound, a small measure of release traveled through him. 

Every cry, a tiny shred of the suffocating weight loosening, every quiver, a reminder that he was alive, that someone was there, that he could still breathe.

“Noted: Don't ask Firepaw about his family.” Bluestar whispered to herself, making a mental note to report this to Goldenflower and Willowpelt later.

A few hours later, Firepaw’s eyes fluttered open as consciousness slowly was brought back to him.

Firepaw was awoken by the sound of arguing outside the den. He grumbled, blinking in confusion before it clicked.

Bluestar's question. 

The panic attack.

He blinked, glancing around. He hadn't realized that he'd been left in the medicine den. Spottedleaf had disappeared, though. He yawned, his ears twitching as he heard the arguing more clearly now.

“No, you don't understand! You need to let me through!” Graypaw snapped, trying to push past whoever he was arguing with.

“Firepaw needs to rest.” Spottedleaf hissed, not moving from her spot in front of the entrance. So that's where she went. He thought, lifting his head and glancing towards the voice.

“...Gray?” Firepaw muttered, unsure of what he was seeing. Graypaw was actively trying to dodge and push past Spottedleaf, trying to get into the den for something.

He didn't realize that Graypaw had been trying to see him until it was too late.

Spottedleaf blinked, stiffening in surprise at the sound of his voice, which allowed Graypaw to push past her and run into the den, nearly pushing Firepaw out of the nest from how quickly he'd jumped in next to him.

Firepaw yelped quietly, startled, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off yet again with Graypaw pulling him into a tight hug.

Firepaw blinked, surprised, not sure what to do, or what he was doing. “Gray?” He muttered, glancing up at him, tilting his head in confusion at Graypaw's actions.

“I was so worried! You- you.. You were curled up and shaking and I saw bluestar drag you in here! I wanted to know what was wrong but nobody would tell me and I was scared while you were out you DID get attacked by a badger and you were just hiding your wounds and that I was a terrible person for not noticing it or the blo-” Graypaw was tearing up and rambling wildly only for FIrepaw to just shove his paw against Graypaw’s mouth to shut him up.

“Graypaw I'm fine, I wasn't attacked by any badger and you're an amazing friend.” Firepaw said, giving a warm smile to try and comfort his friend.

Graypaw blinked, surprised at the interruption, looked like he didn't believe it, but relaxed slightly and pushed Firepaw’s paw off his muzzle.

“Promise you won't do it again?” He muttered, pulling him into another hug, less tight this time. Firepaw blinked, but sighed, hesitantly hugging him back. “I’ll try, but I can't make any promises.”

Firepaw took a moment to stare at Graypaw, they only knew each other for like, five days… was he really that shaken up by thinking FIrepaw was hurt?

Then he paused remembering what Willowpelt said, Ravenpaw was Graypaw’s only friend until Firepaw joined the clans, right? Dustpaw and Sandpaw aren't exactly easy to get along with… that must’ve been lonely…

The rush of Graypaw’s fear, his relief, his desperate need to hold onto him, it was overwhelming, a scent sharper and more consuming than anything Firepaw had yet encountered.

And then, slowly, he understood.

Graypaw wasn’t just being dramatic. He wasn’t just clingy or loud or overeager. He was lonely. Truly, achingly lonely. Firepaw thought back to Willowpelt’s teasing words, the ones that had embarrassed Graypaw so much. ‘He was so happy when Ravenpaw became his friend.’ 

It made sense now. Graypaw only had Ravenpaw. One apprentice his age, one real companion who didn’t mock him, and then… Firepaw came along.

The realization made something deep in Firepaw stir. A hunger, sharp and gnawing, curling around his ribs like a chain. It wasn’t the kind of hunger he felt for prey, it was older, deeper. Instinct. The part of him that wasn’t cat.

The dragon in him whispered of greed, of hoarding what was precious. Not gold, not jewels, but Graypaw’s laughter, his friendship, the brightness in his amber eyes. 

The werewolf in him whispered of pack, of loyalty, of protecting what was his with tooth and claw until the earth itself was painted in blood.

Firepaw’s pupils dilated as he pulled Graypaw closer, pressing his chin lightly against the top of his friend’s head. A strange calm settled over him, but beneath it, something darker coiled, sharp and possessive. 

He’s mine. He chose me. And if anyone tries to take that from me, if anyone hurts him, I’ll kill them. I don’t care who it is.

His tail flicked against the nest, slow and deliberate, while his heart hammered too fast, too heavy. He tried to keep his expression into something warm, something friendly, because Graypaw was still watching him with wide, hopeful eyes. 

But behind his green gaze, something primal lurked, something that whispered promises of violence for anyone who dared to make Graypaw cry again.

Firepaw let out a soft sigh, curling closer as if he could shield Graypaw from every cruelty in the world just by existing beside him. “You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, voice lower, steadier than he felt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Graypaw’s body finally relaxed against him, his frantic breathing slowing. He smiled, small and tired but real, before his eyes fluttered shut again, exhaustion pulling him into a rest against him.

Firepaw stayed still long after, staring at the den ceiling, feeling the weight of his instincts gnawing at him like fire under his skin. The dragon’s greed. The wolf’s protectiveness. Together, they sang a dangerous truth: Graypaw is mine now. And I will never let him go.

Firepaw laid outside the Apprentice den on the next day, his tail flickering as his mind was filled with more questions once again.

Firepaw still hadn't heard about what happened at the Gathering when Tigerclaw walked over to him, glancing down at him.

Firepaw blinked, glancing up at him, tilting his head in confusion. “What do you want, Tigerclaw?” He replied, wondering what he wanted.

“You, Graypaw and Ravenpaw are training with me and Lionheart at the training hollow.” Tigerclaw answered, his tone cold and unamused.

Firepaw blinked, surprised, but shrugged and sat up, staring at him. “Alright, then. I mean, Spottedleaf literally ordered me to stay in camp for a while, but I'm bored and I need a distraction.”

Tigerclaw snarled, rolling his eyes. “You don't need to stay in camp, you're fine. Now c'mon.” He said, and turned, about to leave, but was met face-to-face with Bluestar and Goldenflower instead.

Firepaw blinked, surprised, glancing at them, unsure of what was happening.

Bluestar stared at him, her blue eyes narrowing with confusion. “Just what do you think you're doing, Tigerclaw?”

“I thought it would be wise to take the apprentices out, Firepaw being in the medicine den is no reason to neglect his training.” Tigerclaw said smoothly as Bluestar’s expression went neutral.

Bluestar’s tail twitched once, her gaze moving from Tigerclaw to Firepaw. Firepaw felt a pit form in his stomach, unsure if he should speak up or stay silent. He wasn’t used to the hierarchy here yet, and he didn’t want to look weak in front of Tigerclaw of all cats.

Goldenflower shifted uncomfortably, her ears flicking back. “Tigerclaw… maybe give him another day? Spottedleaf was clear-”

“He’s fine.” Tigerclaw’s voice cut through hers like a claw on stone. His amber eyes gleamed with sharp authority. “The longer he lazes about, the slower he’ll learn. Would you rather he fall behind Sandpaw and Dustpaw?”

Bluestar’s ears angled back slightly, her expression unreadable. Firepaw swore her gaze lingered on him for a moment too long, like she was silently weighing him against some unseen scale.

At last, she sighed. “Very well. But Lionheart will accompany you.”

At that, Tigerclaw gave a single dip of his head, though Firepaw caught the faintest flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Bluestar didn’t miss it either.

Lionheart padded up from where he had been lounging nearby, his golden pelt shining under the faint sunlight. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t push Firepaw too hard,” he promised, shooting a glance at Bluestar.

Firepaw blinked, glancing between them all, his ears twitching awkwardly. So… this is my first training session? Just like that? His paws tingled with nervous excitement, though that excitement was edged with wariness.

Tigerclaw flicked his tail, already moving. “Come on then. If you’re apprentices, prove it with your paws, not excuses.”

Firepaw blinked, but nodded before getting up, his tail twitching excitedly behind him as he followed Tigerclaw and Lionheart out of camp.

 

It promised to be another warm day. And this time Ravenpaw came to join them, like Tigerclaw had said. Thanks to Spottedleaf, his wound was healing well.

Graypaw played around, scooping leaves into the air and leaping after them. Firepaw watched, his tail twitching with amusement. Ravenpaw sat quietly at one side of the hollow, looking tense and unhappy.

“Cheer up, Ravenpaw!” called Graypaw. “I know you don’t like training, but you’re not usually this miserable!”

The scents of Lionheart and Tigerclaw warned the apprentices of their approach, and Ravenpaw mewed hastily, “I suppose I’m just worried about my shoulder getting hurt again.”

At that moment, Tigerclaw emerged from the bushes, closely followed by Lionheart.

“Warriors should suffer their pain silently,” growled Tigerclaw. He looked Ravenpaw straight in the eye. “You need to learn to hold your tongue.”

Ravenpaw flinched and dropped his eyes to the ground.

“Tigerclaw’s a bit grumpy today,” Graypaw whispered into Firepaw’s ear.

Lionheart glanced at his apprentice sternly and announced, “Today we are going to practice stalking. Now, there is a big difference between creeping up on a rabbit and creeping up on a mouse. Can any of you tell me why?”

Firepaw had no idea, and Ravenpaw seemed to have taken Tigerclaw’s comment to heart and was holding his tongue.

“Come on!” snorted Tigerclaw impatiently.

It was Graypaw who answered: “Because a rabbit will smell you before he sees you, but a mouse will feel your pawsteps through the ground before he even smells you.”

“Exactly, Graypaw! So what must you bear in mind when hunting mice?”

“Step lightly?” Firepaw suggested.

Lionheart looked approvingly at him. “Quite right, Firepaw. You must take all your weight into your haunches, so that your paws make no impact on the forest floor. Let’s try it!”

Firepaw watched as Graypaw and Ravenpaw immediately dropped into a stalking crouch.

“Nicely done, Graypaw!” meowed Lionheart as the two apprentices began to move forward stealthily.

“Keep your rear down, Ravenpaw, you look like a duck!” spat Tigerclaw.

“Now you try it, Firepaw.”

Firepaw crouched down and began to creep across the forest floor. He felt himself fall instinctively into the right position, and as he stepped forward, as silently and lightly as he could, he felt a glow of pride that his muscles responded so smoothly.

“Well, it’s obvious you’ve known nothing but softness!” growled Tigerclaw. “You stalk like a lumbering kittypet! Do you think dinner is going to come and lie down in your food dish and wait to be eaten?”

Firepaw blinked and sat up quickly as Tigerclaw spoke, a little taken aback by his harsh words, not having realized that he’d done the hunting crouch he'd been taught at the other place. He listened carefully to the warrior, determined to get everything right.

“His pace and forward movement will come later, but his crouch is perfectly balanced,” Lionheart pointed out mildly.

“Which is better than Ravenpaw, I suppose,” complained Tigerclaw. He cast a scornful look at the black cat. “Even after two moons of training, you’re still putting all your weight on your left side.”

Ravenpaw looked even more dejected, and Firepaw couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “His injury is bothering him, that’s all!”

Tigerclaw whipped his head around and glared at Firepaw. “Injuries are a fact of life. He should be able to adapt. Even you, Firepaw, have learned something this morning. If Ravenpaw picked up things as quickly as you, he’d be a credit to me instead of an embarrassment. Imagine being shown up by a kittypet!” he spat angrily at his apprentice.

“They might be a fact of life, but pain isn't a sign of weakness, and Ravenpaw isn’t an embarrassment. You're the embarrassment here for scolding your apprentice.” Firepaw replied, his tone somehow steadier than he felt.

“Scolding is how they learn, Of course you wouldn't know that, Kittypet.” Tigerclaw snarled only for Lionheart to hold up his paw.

“Now now, let's all just settle down, Firepaw, Tigerclaw’s training method might be… rough, but it's how he trains his apprentice, even if I agree that he should be kinder, he decides how he trains his apprentice.” Lionheart said trying to be a mediator in this and not let an argument break out.

“And unnecessarily scolding him and yelling at him is going to help him how, exactly? Maybe that's why Ravenpaw’s so jumpy while training.”

“Scolding and yelling will get the words into his head, your skull seems too thick for even shouting to work.” Tigerclaw snarled, starting to get annoyed.

Graypaw watched awkwardly.

Firepaw blinked, shaking his head, his blood boiling in anger, breathing deeply to try and keep himself from hyperventilating. “No, you're traumatizing him. You don't get to be an ass because you're mad at yourself for setting such high expectations on an apprentice from day one.”

“Watch your tone, you're lucky I'm bothering to teach you anything at all, you crying, worthless, kittype-” Tigerclaw began only to get interrupted.

“EVERYONE JUST BE QUIET.” Lionheart spoke loudly which startled almost all the cats there as they never heard Lionheart speak quietly.

He took a deep breath then turned to Tigerclaw, “Tigerclaw, this is highly unprofessional for a warrior to act like this to an apprentice.”

Firepaw smiled, satisfied at Tigerclaw getting scolded only to flinch as Lionheart turned to him, “And you, you shouldn't disrespect warriors like that. I know you may not like Tigerclaw’s teaching method but it's his right to. You will be taking care of the Elder’s den for three days.”

Firepaw’s ears drooped, feeling bad at the punishment. “Whatever.” He muttered, shrugging, ignoring the confusion he felt about the light punishment.

Firepaw felt his fur prickle with discomfort at the staring. He couldn’t meet Ravenpaw’s eyes, so he looked down at his paws.

“Well, I'm more lopsided than a one-legged badger,” mewed Graypaw, breaking off from his careful stalking to stagger comically across the clearing. “I think I’Il have to settle for hunting stupid mice. They won’t stand a chance. I’ll just wander up to them and sit on them till they surrender.”

“Concentrate, young Graypaw. This is no time for your jokes!” meowed Lionheart sternly, but his own whiskers were twitching. “Perhaps you might focus your mind better if you try out your stalking for real.”

All three apprentices looked up brightly.

“I want each one of you to try catching real prey,” meowed Lionheart. “Ravenpaw, you look beside the Owltree. Graypaw, there might be something in that big bramble patch over there. And you, Firepaw, follow the rabbit track over that rise; you'll find the dry bed of a winter stream. You may find something there.”

The three apprentices bounded away, even Ravenpaw finding some extra energy for this challenge.

 

With the blood pounding in his ears, Firepaw crept slowly up over the rise. Sure enough, a streambed cut through the trees ahead of him. In leaf-fall, he guessed it would carry the rainwater away from the forest and into the great river that cut through RiverClan territory. Now it was dry.

Firepaw crept quietly down the bank and crouched on its sandy floor. Every sense felt on fire with tension. Silently he scanned the empty stream for signs of life. He watched for any tiny movement, his mouth open so he could pick up the smallest scent, his ears twisted forward.

Then he smelled a mouse. He recognized the odor instantly, remembering his first taste the night before. Wild energy surged through him, but he remained motionless, trying desperately to pinpoint the prey.

He strained his ears forward until he picked up the rapid pulsing of a tiny mouse heart. Then a flash of brown caught his eye. The creature was scrambling through the long grass that draped the edges of the stream. Firepaw shifted closer, remembering to keep his weight on his haunches until he was within striking distance. Then he pushed back hard on his hindpaws and sprang, kicking up sand as he rose.

The mouse raced away. But Firepaw was quicker. He scooped it into the air with one paw, threw it onto the sandy streambed, and lunged on top of it. He killed it quickly with one sharp bite.

Firepaw carefully lifted the warm body between his teeth and returned with his tail held high to the hollow where Tigerclaw and Lionheart waited. He had made his first kill. He was a true ThunderClan apprentice now.

Chapter 8: Chapter 6: Yellow Tooths and Rotten Truths

Summary:

Yellowfang joins the Clan, bc yes. Also, lore building. Minor, but there. Also also, revelations about Smudges death.

Early-morning sunlight streamed down onto the forest floor as Firepaw roamed in search of prey. Two moons had passed since he had begun his training. He felt at ease in this environment now. His senses had been awoken and educated in the ways of the woods.

Firepaw paused to sniff the earth and the cold blind things that moved within it. He caught the scent of a Twoleg that had wandered the forest recently. 

Now that greenleaf was fully here, leaves were thick on the branches and tiny creatures were busy beneath the carpet of leaf-mold.

Firepaw made a lean, strong shape as he moved silently through the trees, all his senses alert for the scent trail that would end in a swift kill. 

Today he had been set his first solo task. He was determined to do well, even if his task was only to bring back fresh-kill for the Clan.

He headed for the stream that he had crossed on that first trek through the ThunderClan hunting grounds. It gurgled and spattered as it ran downhill over the smooth, round pebbles. 

Firepaw paused briefly to lap at the cold, clear water, then lifted his head and tested the air again for any scent of prey.

The stench of a fox lay heavy in the air here. The smell was stale, so the fox must have drunk here earlier in the day. Firepaw recognized the odor; he had smelled it on his first visit to the forest. 

Since then, Lionheart had taught him it was fox-scent, but, apart from the glimpse of the fox’s brush he had caught on that first outing, Firepaw had still never seen one properly.

He struggled to screen out the fox-stench and concentrate on prey-scent. Suddenly his whiskers prickled as he homed in on the warm blood-beat of prey, a water vole busy about its nest.

A moment later he saw the vole. The fat brown body was darting back and forth along the bank as it gathered grass stalks. Firepaw’s mouth watered in anticipation. 

His last meal had been many hours ago, but he dared not hunt for himself until the Clan had been fed. He remembered the words repeated by Lionheart and Tigerclaw time and time again: “The Clan must be fed first.”

Dropping into a crouch, Firepaw began to stalk the little creature. His orange belly fur brushed against the damp grass. He crept closer, his eyes never leaving his prey. Almost there. Another moment and he would be near enough to spring....

Suddenly there was a loud rustle in the ferns behind him. The water vole’s ears twitched and it disappeared down a hole in the bank.

Firepaw felt the hackles rising along his spine. Whatever had ruined his first good chance of catching prey would have to pay.

He sniffed the air. He could tell it was a cat, but he realized with a jolt that he couldn’t identify which Clan it belonged to, the stale stench of fox still confused his smell-sense.

A growl rose in his throat as he began doubling back in a wide circle. He pricked up his ears and opened his eyes wide, seeking out any movement. He heard the undergrowth rustle again. It was louder now, off to one side. 

Firepaw edged closer. He could see the ferns moving, but the fronds still hid the enemy from view. A twig snapped with a sharp cracking noise. From the noise its making, it must be big, Firepaw thought, preparing himself for a fierce battle.

He leaped for the trunk of an ash and climbed swiftly and silently up to an overhanging branch. Below him the invisible warrior came closer, and closer still. Firepaw held his breath, judging his moment as the ferns were pushed aside and a large grayish shape emerged.

“Gr-aaar!” The battle cry rumbled in Firepaw’s throat. Claws unsheathed, he launched himself at the enemy and landed squarely on a set of furry, muscular shoulders. He dug in hard, gripping with thorn-sharp claws, ready to deal out a powerful warning bite.

“Wa-ah! What’sat?” The body below him shot straight up in the air, carrying him with it.

“Uh! Graypaw?” Firepaw recognized the astonished voice and caught his friend’s familiar smell, but he was too fired up to loosen his grip.

“Ambush! Murr-oww!” spat Graypaw, not realizing that the cat gripping onto his back was Firepaw. He rolled over and over in an attempt to dislodge his attacker.

“Uufff-ff!” Firepaw rolled with him, squashed and flattened beneath the heavy body. “It’s me, Firepaw!” he yowled as he struggled to pull free and sheath his claws. 

Rolling away, he sprang to his feet and gave himself a shake, which rippled all the way along his body to the end of his tail. “Graypaw! It’s me,” he repeated. “I thought you were an enemy warrior!”

Graypaw rose to his feet. He winced and shook himself. “It felt like it!” he grumbled, twisting his head around to lick his sore shoulders. “You’ve raked me to shreds!”

“Sorry,” Firepaw mumbled. “But what was I supposed to think, with you creeping up on me like that?”

“Creeping up!” Graypaw’s eyes were round with indignation. “That was my best stealth crouch.”

“Stealth! You still stalk like a lopsided badger! Even Ghost could do better than you.” Firepaw teased. He flattened his ears playfully.

Graypaw gave a hiss of delight, not having heard the last part. “I'll show you lopsided!”

The two cats leaped at each other and began rolling over and over in a play-fight. Graypaw swiped at Firepaw with a hefty paw and the young apprentice’s head buzzed with stars.

“Uufff-ff!” Firepaw shook his head to clear it and then launched a counterattack.

He managed to get in a couple of paw strikes before Graypaw overpowered him and held him down. Firepaw let his body go limp.

“You give up too easily!” mewed Graypaw, loosening his grip. As he did so, Firepaw sprang to his feet, firing Graypaw off his back and into the undergrowth.

Firepaw leaped after him and pinned him to the ground. “Surprise is the warrior’s greatest weapon,” he crowed, quoting one of Lionheart’s favorite phrases. 

He jumped nimbly off Gray paw and began to squirm around in the leaf litter, enjoying his easy victory and the warmth of the earth against his back.

Graypaw seemed unbothered by his second defeat of the morning. It was too fine a day for bad temper. “So how’re you getting on with your task?” he asked.

Firepaw sat up. “I was doing just fine till you came along! I was about to catch a vole when your noisy trampling frightened it off.”

“Oh, sorry,” mewed Graypaw.

Firepaw looked at his crestfallen friend. “That’s okay. You didn’t know,” he purred. “Anyway,” he continued, “shouldn’t you be heading to meet the patrol on the WindClan border? I thought you had to give them a message from Bluestar.”

“Yeah, but there’s plenty of time. I was going to do a little hunting first. I’m starving!”

“Yea, but we have to hunt for the Clan first.”

“I bet Dustpaw and Sandpaw used to swallow a shrew or two when they were on hunting duty,” snorted Graypaw.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did, but this is my first solo assignment... .”

“And you want to do it right; I know.” Graypaw sighed.

“What is the message from Bluestar, anyway?” Firepaw asked, changing the subject.

“She wants the patrol to wait at the Great Sycamore until she joins them at sunhigh. Seems that some ShadowClan cats have been prowling around. Bluestar wants to check things out.”

“You'd best get going then,” Firepaw reminded him.

“The WindClan hunting grounds aren’t too far from here. There’s plenty of time,” answered Graypaw confidently. “And I suppose I should help out after losing you that vole.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Firepaw mewed. “I’ll find another. It’s such a warm day, there should be quite a few out and about.”

“True. But you still have to catch them.” Graypaw nibbled at a front claw, stripping off a piece of the outer sheath thoughtfully. “You know, that could take you until way past sunhigh, maybe even until sunset.”

Firepaw followed Graypaw upstream, glad of the company and the help. The fox-stench was still in the air, but suddenly it smelled stronger.

Firepaw paused. “Can you smell that?” he asked.

Gray paw stopped and sniffed the air too. “Fox. Yeah, I smelled it earlier.”

“Doesn’t it smell fresher to you now, though?” Firepaw asked.

Graypaw sniffed again, opening his mouth slightly. “You’re right,” he murmured, lowering his voice. He swiveled his head to look across the stream at the bushes in the woods beyond. “Look!” he whispered.

Firepaw looked. He saw something red and thick-haired moving among the bushes. It stepped into a clearing in the undergrowth and Firepaw saw a low body, glinting red in the dappled sunlight. Its tail was heavily furred and it had a long, narrow snout.

“So that’s a fox?” Firepaw whispered. “What an ugly muzzle!”

“You can say that again!” agreed Graypaw.

“I was following one of those when we first... met,” whispered Firepaw.

“More likely it was following you, you idiot!” hissed Graypaw. “Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat. We must warn the queens that one has strayed into our territory. Foxes are as bad as badgers when it comes to killing young kits. I’m just glad you didn’t catch up with the one you saw last time. He’d have made mousemeat out of a tiny scrap like you.” 

Firepaw looked a little put out, and Graypaw added, “You’d stand a better chance these days, though. Anyway, Bluestar will probably send a warrior patrol to scare it off. Put the queens’ minds at rest.”

The fox had not noticed them, so the two apprentices continued along the stream.

“So what does a badger look like?” Firepaw asked as they prowled along, sniffing to either side.

“Black and white, short legs. You’ll know one when you meet one. They ’re bad-tempered, lumbering animals. They’re less likely to raid the nursery than a fox, but they have a vicious bite. How do you think old Halftail earned his name? He hasn’t been able to climb a tree since a badger bit his tail off!”

“Why not?”

“Scared of falling. A cat needs his tail if he wants to land on his feet. It helps him spin in midair.”

Firepaw nodded in understanding.

As Firepaw had predicted, hunting was good that day. Before long, Graypaw had pounced on a small mouse and Firepaw had caught a thrush. He quickly took its life. 

No time to practice killing techniques today; there were too many hungry mouths waiting back at camp. Firepaw kicked earth over the prey, so that it would be safe from predators until he came back for it.

Suddenly a squirrel broke cover.

Firepaw burst into action. “After it!” he called, pelting at full stretch over the springy woodland floor with Graypaw at his heels.

They slid to a halt as the squirrel scampered upward into a birch.

“Lost it!” Graypaw growled in disappointment.

Panting, the two cats stopped to catch their breath. The acrid stench that hit their mouths and noses surprised them.

“The Thunderpath,” Firepaw mewed. “I didn’t realize we'd come so far.”

The two cats edged forward to peer out of the forest at the great, dark path. It was the first time they had been here alone. A trail of noisy creatures growled along the hard surface, their dead eyes staring straight ahead.

“Yuck!” Graypaw snorted. “Those monsters really stink!”

Firepaw twitched his ears in agreement. The choking smells made his throat sting “Have you ever been across the Thunderpath?” he mewed.

Graypaw shook his head.

Firepaw took a step out of the cover of the forest. A border of oily grass lay between the trees and the Thunderpath. He crept slowly out onto it, and then shrank back as a stinking monster hurtled past.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Gray paw mewed.

Firepaw didn’t reply. He waited till there were no monsters in sight. Then he edged forward again, across the grass, right to the edge of the path. Cautiously, he reached out a paw to touch it. It felt warm, almost sticky, heated by the sun. He looked up, staring across the Thunderpath. 

Was that a pair of eyes glinting out of the forest on the other side? He sniffed the air, but smelled nothing except the stench of the great gray path. The eyes on the other side were still shining in the shadows. Then they blinked, slowly.

Firepaw was sure now. It was a ShadowClan warrior, and it was staring straight at him. “Firepaw!” Graypaw’s voice made Firepaw jump, just as a huge monster, taller than a tree, roared past his nose. The wind from it almost toppled him over. Firepaw turned and ran as fast as he could back into the safety of the forest.

“You mouse-brained fool!” spat Graypaw. His whiskers trembled with fear and anger. “What were you doing?”

“I just wondered what the Thunderpath felt like,” Firepaw muttered. His whiskers were trembling too.

“Come on,” hissed Graypaw edgily. “Let’s get out of here!”

Firepaw followed Graypaw as he leaped away back into the forest. Once they were a safe distance from the Thunderpath, Graypaw stopped to catch his breath.

Firepaw sat down and began to lick his ruffled fur. “I think I saw a ShadowClan warrior,” he mewed between licks. “In the forest on the other side of the Thunderpath.”

“A ShadowClan warrior!” echoed Graypaw, his eyes wide. “Really?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that monster came past when it did,” retorted Gray paw. “Where there’s one ShadowClan warrior, there’s more, and we’re no match for them yet. We'd better get out of here.” He looked up at the sun, which was almost directly overhead. 

“I’d better get a move on if I want to meet that patrol on time,” he mewed. “See you later.” He sprang away into the undergrowth, calling as he went, “You never know; Lionheart might let me come and help you with the hunting once I’ve delivered this message.”

Firepaw watched him go. He envied Graypaw, wishing he were off to join a warrior patrol. But at least he’d have something to tell Dustpaw and Sandpaw when he returned to camp. Today he had seen his first ShadowClan warrior.

Firepaw retraced his steps and headed back toward the stream. He thought of those eyes burning from the darkness of the ShadowClan territory.

Suddenly he caught a faint smell on the breeze.

A stranger! Perhaps that ShadowClan warrior . . .

Instantly a growl rumbled in Firepaw’s throat. The scent message told him many things. The stranger was a she-cat, not young and definitely not from ThunderClan. She carried no distinct scent from any of the Clans, but Firepaw could tell she was tired, hungry, and sick, and she was in an ugly mood.

Dropping low, Firepaw moved forward, heading toward the scent. Then he paused in puzzlement. The warrior scent was fainter now. He sniffed again.

Suddenly, with a lightning movement, a snarling ball of fur burst from the bushes behind him.

Firepaw screeched in shock as the she-cat slammed into him, knocking him sideways. Two heavy paws clamped down onto his shoulders, and iron jaws closed around the back of his neck. “Murr-oww!” he grunted, already thinking fast. If the other cat were to sink its fangs too deep, it would all be over.

He forced himself to go limp, relaxing his muscles as if in submission, and let out a pretend howl of alarm.

The she-cat opened her mouth to give a triumphant yowl. “Ah, a puny apprentice. Easy prey for Yellowfang,” she hissed.

At the insult, Firepaw felt a surge of fury. Just wait. He’d show this coughed-up furball what kind of warrior he was! But not yet, he told himself. Wait until you feel her teeth again.

Yellowfang bit down. Firepaw surged upward with all the strength in his powerful young body. The she-cat gave a snarl of surprise as she was thrown clear. She tumbled backward into a gorse bush.

Firepaw shook himself. “Not such easy prey, huh?”

Yellowfang hissed defiance as she tore herself free from the clinging branches. “Not bad, young apprentice,” she spat back. “But you’ll need to do a lot better!”

Firepaw blinked when he saw his opponent clearly for the first time. The she-cat had a broad, almost flat face, and round orange eyes. Her dark gray fur was long and matted into smelly clumps. Her ears were torn and ragged, and her muzzle was traced with the scars of many old battles.

Firepaw stood his ground. He puffed out his chest and glared a challenge into the intruder’s face. “You’re in ThunderClan’s hunting ground. Move on!”

“Who’s going to make me?” Yellowfang drew back her lip defiantly, exposing stained and broken teeth. “I will hunt. Then I will leave. Or maybe I’ll just stay awhile... .”

“Enough talk,” Firepaw spat, feeling the stir of ancient cat spirits deep inside him. There was no trace of the house cat in him now. His warrior blood was up. He was itching to fight, to defend his territory and protect his Clan.

Yellowfang seemed to sense the change in him. Her fierce orange eyes sparked with new respect. Dipping her head and breaking eye contact, she started to back off. “No need to be hasty, now,” she purred in a silky tone.

Firepaw wasn’t fooled by her trickery. Claws extended and fur on end, he leaped forward, his war cry ringing out: “Grr-aaar!”

With a hiss of rage the other cat responded. Snarling and spitting, young cat and old locked together. They rolled over and over, teeth and claws flashing. Ears pressed flat to his head, Firepaw fought to get a grip. But the she-cat’s clumpy fur snagged in his claws, and he couldn’t break through to skin.

Then Yellowfang reared up on her back legs. With her filthy tail bristling, she looked even bigger.

Firepaw sensed Yellowfang’s huge jaws lunging toward him. He leaned backward, just in time. Snap! Bared teeth closed on the air next to his ear.

Instinctively Firepaw lashed out with a backswipe. His paw caught the side of Yellowfang’s head. The force of it sent shock waves up his front leg.

Instinctively Firepaw lashed out with a backswipe. His paw caught the side of Yellowfang’s head. The force of it sent shock waves up his front leg.

“Yee-ow!” Stunned, Yellowfang dropped onto four paws. She shook her head to clear it.

In the single heartbeat before the she-cat recovered, Firepaw saw his chance. He threw himself forward, crouching low, and clamped his jaws tight on Yellowfang’s back leg. “Mur-ugh!” The taste of the matted fur was horrible, but he chomped down hard.

“Reow-ow-wow!” Yellowfang screamed in agony and whipped around to snap at Firepaw’s tail.

Her teeth connected and pain lanced up Firepaw’s spine, but it only made him angrier. He ripped his tail from his opponent’s grip, and lashed it back and forth in rage.

Yellowfang crouched, ready for a fresh attack. Her breath seemed to wheeze up from her foul-smelling lungs. The scent blasted Firepaw’s nose. Up close, the message of desperation and weakness, and the aching void of the she-cat’s hunger, was almost painful.

Something stirred inside him, an unwarriorlike and unmonsterlike feeling he didn’t want: pity. He tried not to dwell on this instinct, he knew his loyalty must be to his Clan, but he couldn’t shake free of it. 

“You speak from your heart, young Firepaw.” Lionheart’s words echoed in his head once more. “This will make you a stronger warrior one day.” Then Tigerclaw’s warning rang in his ears: “Or it might make him give in to kittypet weakness right at the moment of attack.”

Yellowfang lunged forward and Firepaw jerked instantly back into aggression. The bigger cat tried to reach up onto his shoulders and get a killing grip, but this time she was hampered by her wounded leg.

“Gar-off!” Firepaw arched his spine, but Yellowfang managed to dig in her claws and hung on tight. The bigger cat’s weight forced him to the ground.

Firepaw tasted earth on his tongue and spat out a mouthful of grit. “Pah!”

He twisted nimbly to avoid Yellowfang’s thrashing back legs and the thorn-sharp claws that were trying to rake at his soft underbelly. Over and over they rolled, biting and snapping.

Moments later they broke apart. Firepaw was gasping for breath now. But he sensed that Yellowfang was weakening. The she-cat was badly wounded, and her back legs could barely support her scrawny body.

“Had enough yet?” Firepaw growled. If the intruder gave way, he’d let her go with just a warning bite to remember him by.

“Never!” Yellowfang hissed back bravely. But her injured leg gave way and she slumped to the ground. She tried to get up and failed. Her eyes were dull as she hissed up at Firepaw, “If I weren’t so hungry and tired, I’d have shredded you into mousedust.” 

The she-cat’s mouth twisted in pain and defiance. “Finish me off. I won’t stop you.”

Firepaw blinked, surprised, his tail twitching as he hesitated. He'd never kill a cat before, not without regetting it. Perhaps, in the heat of battle or someone hurting Graypaw, he would, but a mercy killing in cold blood? That was something very different, and something Princess would do.

“What are you waiting for?” Yellowfang taunted. “You’re dithering like a kittypet!”

Firepaw smarted at the she-cat’s words. Could she smell the scent of Twolegs on him, even now, after all this time?

“I’m an apprentice warrior of ThunderClan!” he snapped.

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. She’d seen Firepaw flinch at her words and she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Ha,” she snorted. “Don’t tell me ThunderClan is so desperate they have to recruit kittypets now?”

“ThunderClan is not desperate!” hissed Firepaw.

“Prove it then! Act like a warrior and finish me off. You'll be doing me a favor.”

Firepaw stared at her. He would not be goaded into killing this miserable creature. He felt his muscles relax as curiosity pricked him. How had a Clan cat gotten in such a state? ThunderClan elders were looked after better than kits! “You seem in an awful hurry to die,” he meowed.

“Yeah? Well, that’s my business, mouse-fodder,” Yellowfang snapped. “What’s your problem, kitty? Are you trying to talk me to death?”

Her words were brave, but Firepaw could smell the hunger and sickness that were coming off the other cat in waves. She was going to die anyway if she didn’t eat soon. And since she could hardly hunt for herself, perhaps he should kill her now. The two cats looked at each other, uncertainty in both their gazes.

“Wait here,” Firepaw ordered at last.

Yellowfang seemed to deflate. Her hackles smoothed out and her tail lost its gorse-bush stiffness. “Are you kidding, kitty? Im going nowhere.” She grunted, limping painfully toward a patch of soft heather. She flopped down and began licking her leg wound.

Firepaw glanced briefly over his shoulder at her and hissed quietly in exasperation before heading for the trees.

As he padded silently through the ferns, sun-warmed odors filled his nose, and he caught the sour reek of a long-dead rat. He heard the scratching of insects beneath bark, the rustle of furry things scurrying over leaves. 

His first thought had been to go and dig up the thrush he had killed earlier, but that would take too long.

 

Maybe he should go and scoop up the rat carcass. Easy meat, but a starving cat needed fresh-kill. Only when times were very hard would a warrior eat crow-food.

Just then he paused, scenting a young rabbit ahead. A few more steps and he saw it. Flattening himself down, he stalked the creature. He was barely a mouse-length away before it detected him. By then it was too late.

The white bobtail darting away sent the thrill of the chase surging through Firepaw’s veins. A rush of speed, a flash of claws, and he had it.

He held the wriggling body fast and finished it off quickly.

Yellowfang looked up tiredly as Firepaw dropped the rabbit on the ground beside her. Her grizzled jaw dropped. “Well, hello again, kitty! I thought you’d gone to fetch your little warrior friends.”

“Yeah? Well, I might still do that. And don’t call me kitty.” Firepaw growled, shoving the rabbit closer with his nose. He felt embarrassed by his kindness. “Look, if you don’t want this...”

“Ah, no,” Yellowfang meowed hastily. “I do want it.”

Firepaw watched the she-cat rip open the prey and start to swallow it down. His own hunger rose up and his mouth filled with water. He knew he shouldn’t even be thinking about eating.

“Why were you on Thunderclan Teritory?” Firepaw snarled trying to seem intimidating, he would rather use the interrogation skills his older brother taught him instead of the torturing skills.

Well… This is a ShadowClan cat, an enemy of his clan. Torture might be fine.

Firepaw grimaced at the memory of the screams of a cat having a claw broken off, effective but… traumatizing.

“I came to hunt, then leave. Now scram.” Yellowfang hissed and tried to get up but failed.

Firepaw took a deep breath. Yellowfang’s core emotions rushed into him.

Empathy, Guilt, and Sarcasm

Firepaw wanted to laugh at sarcasm being one of her core emotions but held it in.

He tilted his head, one smell stunk to her under her normal smell…

Herbs?

“Are you… a medicine cat?” Firepaw asked, causing Yellowfang to flinch.

Yellowfang froze as if he’d struck her. Her ragged pelt bristled, but her reaction wasn’t the righteous fury of a warrior accused, it was something closer to shame. 

Her amber eyes flicked to Firepaw, sharp and measuring, but he could see the tremor in them.

“What makes you say that, kittypet?” she rasped, her tone trying for biting sarcasm, but it came out uneven, as if his words had clawed too close to her heart.

Firepaw’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. He wasn’t sure why, but pressing her like this stirred something deep in his chest, the part of him that relished pulling secrets from another creature’s soul.

“Because I can smell it on you. The herbs cling to your fur, under the stench of ShadowClan. And because you don’t move like a warrior. You… hesitated earlier, didn't you? Because you don't like hurting.”

Yellowfang’s ears flattened. Her claws scraped the dirt. “You think you’re clever.”

“I know I am.” Firepaw’s tail flicked. He crouched closer, eyes glittering as his instincts stretched out, pulling at the emotions bleeding from her. Empathy. Sarcasm. Guilt so thick it was almost suffocating. 

The guilt made him hesitate, it always did, but his dragon-blood whispered to pry, to hoard knowledge like gold, while his wolf half urged him to test her loyalty and see if she could be trusted or destroyed.

Yellowfang’s gaze didn’t break. “So what if I was a medicine cat once? That life’s over. ShadowClan cast me out.” Her voice cracked at the edges before hardening again. “Now I’m just an old crowfood-eater trying to keep my belly full.”

Firepaw blinked. He hadn’t expected her to admit it so easily. “Why would they throw out a medicine cat? That’s like cutting off your own claws. It doesn’t make sense.”

Yellowfang growled, low and bitter. “ShadowClan has no need for compassion anymore. Brokenstar doesn’t want healers, he wants killers.” Her tail lashed, spraying dust. “I was in the way. And so, they spat me out like bile.”

Her words hit Firepaw harder than he expected. He knew what it was like to be rejected for what you were. Monster. Kittypet. Not one of them. His claws dug into the earth as that familiar rage tried to coil out of him.

“I don't know who that is since I've only been an apprentice for a few moons, but he sounds horrible and like some other cats I know.” Firepaw muttered, breathing deeply to force back his anger and any trembling that tried to appear. He paused, glancing at her. “And I know what it's like to be rejected. I didn't fit in with any of the other Kittypets because of who my parents were. Part of why I joined ThunderClan.”

 

Yellowfang blinked, surprised, pausing as she stared at him, as if trying to study him. The remnants of the rabbit had since been swarmed by ants, but neither noticed.

Firepaw shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his paws, his fur prickling at her stare.

Firepaw’s claws kneaded the dirt as his mind churned. His instincts collided inside him like thunder on stone, each screaming for a different path.

The dragon in him growled for treasure, not gold or jewels, but secrets, knowledge, power. Yellowfang’s confession was a gem dropped at his paws, and part of him wanted to hoard it, twist it, use it later. Brokenstar. ShadowClan without compassion. It was something valuable, something his Clan didn’t know.

The werewolf in him snarled with protectiveness, though it confused him. This wasn’t his cat. Yellowfang wasn’t Graypaw, wasn’t Ravenpaw, wasn’t anyone who should fall under his circle of possession. Yet seeing her struggle, ragged and hungry, triggered a primal urge to shelter the weak, to pull her into his pack whether she wanted it or not.

The vampire in him whispered of blood. He could hear the faint stutter of her heart, smell the exhaustion and hunger clinging to her like a second pelt. One strike, one bite, and her struggles would end. And no one would ever know. He would be safe again.

The kitsune in him, sly and cunning, urged deception. Bring her back, spin the tale however he wished. A loyal apprentice finds a trespasser, a weakened rogue, maybe even a chance to look good in Bluestar’s eyes. Lies were easy. He’d always been good at lies.

And the mercat part… it recoiled. It remembered the pull of currents and tides, the instinct to sense storms. And Yellowfang was a storm. She reeked of guilt, of something larger than her frail body. 

If he dragged her into ThunderClan’s camp, he wasn’t sure whether he was saving her… or dragging a storm right into their nest.

Firepaw swallowed hard, throat dry. His tail lashed once, then stilled, trying to smother the war inside his chest.

He looked at her, this ragged, exiled cat, with sarcasm in her eyes but guilt buried so deep it nearly drowned her. She wasn’t lying. His instincts screamed that much. She wasn’t a ShadowClan warrior sent to spy, she wasn’t some threat ready to leap for his throat. She was just… broken.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how close he had come to being broken too, tossed aside for what he was.

“Foxdung,” Firepaw muttered under his breath, glaring at the earth like it had personally betrayed him. He couldn’t leave her. Not like this. If the forest didn’t finish her, a patrol would. And what then? Another mouth silenced, another secret gone to rot in the dirt?

He flicked his gaze back to her, sharp, conflicted. “You can’t stay here. If a patrol finds you, they’ll kill you on sight. Or worse.”

Yellowfang snorted, trying to lift her head higher though her body sagged with fatigue. “Don’t pretend you’re worried about me, kittypet. Do what ThunderClan trained you to do. Drag me in and boast about your catch. Or sink your claws in and be done with it.”

Her words hit like claws. For a heartbeat, he almost wanted to, just to prove her wrong. But his muscles locked, his chest burned, and instead he found himself growling low in his throat. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be bleeding at my paws.”

They stared at each other, the silence thick. Firepaw’s fur prickled as his instincts coiled tighter, demanding a choice.

He could take her to Bluestar. It would earn him credit. Respect. But it would also mean exposing her, maybe even killing her slowly if ThunderClan decided she was too much trouble.

 He could kill her now, clean, simple, done. 

But the thought twisted his stomach. He could walk away. Pretend he never saw her. But the wolf in him howled at the thought of abandoning prey, or a wounded packmate.

Firepaw’s claws dug deep into the soil, his tail curling tight around his legs. What do I do with you…?

Finally, his voice came, low and strained, more to himself than to her. “…I can’t just leave you here.”

Yellowfang’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. For once, sarcasm didn’t come. She only rasped, “Then you’d better make up your mind, kittypet. Because one way or another, your Clan will notice what you drag home.”

Firepaw paused, knowing that she was right. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off at the sound of approaching pawsteps. He stiffened, his ears twitching. “Shit.” He muttered, turning towards where the pawsteps were coming from, his tail twitching anxiously behind him.

“The Clan must be fed first!” Lionheart’s voice rang though his head once more. But surely he would understand why Firepaw had fed this wretched creature. His mind reeled, suddenly fearful of what would happen to him. His first apprentice task, and he had ended up breaking the warrior code!

Chapter 9: Chapter 7: Bite the Hand that Feeds You.

Summary:

Summary: Yellows accepted into the Clan bc yes.

Notes:

Another chapter co-written by both me and JustADrunkDemon!
:3

Yellowfang growled in defiance at the approaching pawsteps, but Firepaw could sense her panic. The she-cat struggled to her feet. “So long. Thanks for the meal.” She tried to limp away on three legs and then winced in pain. “Nuh! This leg stiffened up while I was resting.”

Now it was too late for her to run. Silent shadows slipped out of the trees, and in a heartbeat the ThunderClan patrol had encircled Firepaw and Yellowfang. Firepaw recognized them: Tigerclaw, Darkstripe, Willowpelt, and Bluestar, all of them lean and hard-muscled. Firepaw smelled Yellowfang’s fear at the sight of them.

Graypaw followed close behind. He bounded out of the bushes and stood beside the warrior patrol.

Firepaw mewed a hasty greeting to his Clan. But only Graypaw returned it. “Hi, Firepaw!” he called out.

“Silence!” Tigerclaw growled.

Firepaw glanced at Yellowfang and groaned inwardly; he could still smell the fear-scent on her, but instead of cowering in submission, the scruffy creature was glaring in defiance.

“Firepaw?” Bluestar’s question was cool and measured. “What have we here? An enemy warrior, and recently fed by the smell of her..” Her eyes burned into him, and Firepaw dropped his head.

“She was weak and hungry...” he began.

“And what about you? Was your hunger so bad that you had to feed yourself before you had gathered prey for your Clan?”

Firepaw blinked, surprised, lifting his head and staring at her. “But I didn't eat anything.” He replied, his tone genuinely confused, Yellowfang nodding beside him.

Bluestar went on. “I assume that you have a very good reason for breaking the warrior code?”

Firepaw was not fooled by the leader’s soft tone. Bluestar was furious, and rightly so. He crouched lower to the ground.

Before he could speak there was a loud hiss from Tigerclaw. “Once a kittypet, always a kittypet!”

Bluestar ignored Tigerclaw and looked instead at Yellowfang. Suddenly she looked surprised. “Well, well, Firepaw! It seems you have captured a ShadowClan cat. And one I know well. You are ShadowClan’s medicine cat, aren’t you?” she meowed to Yellowfang. “What are you doing so far into ThunderClan territory?”

“I was the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now I choose to travel alone,” hissed Yellowfang.

Firepaw listened, confused about the lie, but didn't say anything, knowing it wouldn't do any good.

“Yellowfang!” Tigerclaw meowed mockingly. “It looks like you have fallen on hard times if you can be beaten by an apprentice!”

Now Darkstripe spoke. “This old cat is no use to us. Let’s kill her now. As for this kittypet, he has broken the warrior code by feeding an enemy warrior. He should be punished.”

“Keep your claws in, Darkstripe,” Bluestar purred calmly. “All the Clans speak of Yellowfang’s bravery and wisdom. It may help us to hear what she has to say. Come; we’ll take her back to camp. Then we'll decide what to do with her, and with Firepaw. Can you walk?” she asked Yellowfang. “Or do you need help?”

“I’ve still got three good legs,” the grizzled she-cat snapped back, limping forward.

Firepaw saw that Yellowfang’s eyes were glazed with pain, and he wanted to walk over and carry her back, but she seemed determined not to show any weakness, and he knew how that felt, so he didn't. 

He noticed a look of respect flicker across Bluestar’s face before the ThunderClan leader turned and slowly led the way through the trees. The other warriors took up positions on either side of Yellowfang, and the patrol moved off, carefully keeping pace with their lame prisoner.

Firepaw and Graypaw fell in step together at the back of the group.

“Have you heard of Yellowfang?” Firepaw hissed to Graypaw.

“A bit. Apparently she was a warrior before she became a medicine cat, which is unusual. I can’t imagine her as a loner, though. She has lived her whole life in ShadowClan.”

“What’s a loner?”

Graypaw glanced at him. “A loner is a cat that isn’t part of a Clan or cared for by Twolegs. Tigerclaw says they are untrustworthy and selfish. They often live around Twoleg dwellings, but belong to no one and catch their own food.”

“I might end up a loner once Bluestar has finished with me,’ Firepaw mewed.

“Bluestar is very fair,” Graypaw reassured him. “She won’t throw you out. She certainly seems pleased to have such an important ShadowClan cat as a prisoner. I’m sure she’s not going to make a fuss about your feeding the poor old mange-bag.”

“But they keep moaning about prey being scarce! Oh, why did I give her that rabbit?” Firepaw felt shame burn through his fur.

“Well, yeah.” Graypaw nudged his friend. “That was mousebrained. You really broke the warrior code there, but no cat is perfect!”

Firepaw didn’t answer but trekked onward with a heavy heart.

This was not the way he had hoped his first solo task would end.

As the patrol passed the sentries who guarded the camp entrance, the rest of ThunderClan came running to welcome their warriors home.

Queens, kits, and elders crowded on either side. They peered curiously at Yellowfang as she was led into the camp. Some of the elders recognized the old she-cat. 

Word spread quickly through the Clan that this was ShadowClan’s medicine cat, and a steady jeering hum rose up around them.

Yellowfang seemed deaf to the taunts. Firepaw couldn’t help admiring the way she limped with dignity through the corridor of stares and insults. He knew she was in a great deal of pain, and hungry in spite of the rabbit he had caught for her.

When the patrol reached the Highrock, Bluestar nodded toward the dusty ground in front of it. Yellowfang followed the ThunderClan leader’s silent command, sinking gratefully onto the earth. Still ignoring the hostile stares around her, she began licking her wounded leg.

Firepaw noticed Spottedleaf emerge from her corner. She must have scented the presence of an injured cat in the camp. He watched the crowd part to let the young tortoiseshell through.

Yellowfang glared at Spottedleaf and hissed, “I know how to take care of my own wounds. I don’t need your help.”

Spottedleaf said nothing but nodded respectfully and stepped back.

Some of the cats had been out hunting, and fresh-kill was brought for the returning warriors to eat. They each took some food and carried it away to the nettle patch to eat it. Then the other Clan cats crowded forward to take their own share.

Firepaw blinked, surprised, staring at Spottedleaf. Was Yellowfang somehow in the inner circle of cats who got treated? He paused, trying to figure out how that worked. 

He was so focused on trying to figure out who was in the inner circle of cats who got treated that he had completely forgotten about his hunger.

Besides, he had broken the warrior code. He guessed that this meant he was forbidden his share in the fresh-kill. Not like this is the first time. He thought, absentmindedly pacing around the clearing.

He paused beside the Highrock where Bluestar was sharing words with Tigerclaw. Uncertain, Firepaw looked to his leader for a signal that he was allowed to eat. But the gray cat and her senior warrior were busy murmuring at one another in low tones. 

Firepaw wondered if they were talking about him. Desperate to know his fate, he strained his ears to hear what they were saying.

Tigerclaw’s yowl sounded impatient. “It’s just too dangerous to bring an enemy warrior into the heart of ThunderClan! Now that she knows the camp, even the youngest ShadowClan kit will hear of it. We will have to move.”

“Calm down, Tigerclaw,” Bluestar purred. “Why should we move? Yellowfang says that she is traveling alone now. There is no reason for ShadowClan to hear of it.”

“Do you really believe that? What on earth was that foolish kitty pet thinking of?” Tigerclaw spat.

“But think for a moment, Tigerclaw,” mewed Bluestar. “Why would the ShadowClan medicine cat choose to leave her Clan? You seem to be afraid that Yellowfang will share our Clan secrets with ShadowClan, but have you thought about how many ShadowClan secrets she might share with us?”

Firepaw could see by the way Tigerclaw’s fur began to flatten that Bluestar’s words made sense. The warrior nodded briefly, and then stalked off to take his share of the fresh-kill.

Bluestar remained where she was. She looked out across the clearing, where some of the younger kits were fighting and tumbling playfully in the dust. Then she stood up and began to walk toward Firepaw. His heart lurched. What was she going to say to him?

But Bluestar walked straight past him. She did not even glance at him; her eyes were clouded with unknown distant thoughts. “Frostfur!” she called out as she approached the nursery.

A pure white cat with dark blue eyes slipped out of the brambles. Inside, the noise of mewling grew louder.

“Hush, kits,” purred the white cat reassuringly. “I won’t be long.” Then she turned to her leader. “Yes, Bluestar? What is it?”

“One of our apprentices has seen a fox in the area. Warn the other queens to guard the nursery carefully. And make sure all kits less than six moons stay inside the camp until our warriors have driven it away.”

Frostfur nodded. “I will pass on the warning, Bluestar. Thank you.” Then she turned and squeezed back into the nursery to quiet the crying kits.

At last Bluestar strode over to the pile of fresh-kill and took her share. A plump wood pigeon had been left for her there. Firepaw looked on longingly as she carried it away to eat with the senior warriors.

He paused, hesitating for a few minutes as he glanced at the fresh-kill pile, silently cursing under his breath as he realized that he forgot to dig up his catches. 

He sighed, glancing around before turning and walking over to the apprentice's den, but walked past the entrance and behind it, his ears twitching as he listened for anyone. Maybe he could-

“Where do you think you're going?” A voice called out from behind him. Firepaw jumped, spinning around to face them, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw it was only Goldenflower and Whitestorm.

“I forgot to pick up my catches on the way back, so I was going to go get them.” Firepaw muttered, lying and feeling a bit bad about it.

Goldenflower hummed, raising an eyebrow. She shared a glance with Whitestorm, clearly sensing there was more to the story.

“And yet, you chose to leave through the wall behind the apprentice's den instead of telling Bluestar and leaving through the entrance.” Whitestorm replied, his tone confused and curious, instead of the suspicion and anger Firepaw expected.

Firepaw’s ears flattened as he shuffled his paws nervously. “I… I was trying to sneak out to find a rabbit,” he admitted, his voice low and a little sheepish. “I didn’t want Bluestar to see me eating before she decided what to do about… you know… feeding Yellowfang.” 

He flicked a glance at Goldenflower and Whitestorm, tail twitching. “I thought… maybe if I caught something for the Clan, it might make up for it.”

Whitestorm’s amber eyes softened as he crouched a little closer. “Firepaw, that’s… thoughtful, but it’s also not your call to make right now.” His tail flicked sharply in emphasis. “Bluestar still needs to decide what to do about you breaking the warrior code. You can’t just try to fix it on your own.”

Goldenflower gave a quiet hum of agreement. “Besides,” she added, “if you go wandering around now, you might get into more trouble. Or worse, you might run into ShadowClan. Bluestar will want to handle all of this properly first.”

Firepaw’s shoulders slumped, his green eyes glancing down at the dirt. “I… I just didn’t want to get in trouble for feeding her.” His voice was almost a whisper, laden with guilt. “It felt… wrong to leave her hungry.”

Whitestorm placed a reassuring paw on his shoulder. “That’s not wrong, Firepaw. Your heart’s in the right place. But right now, the code matters. Catching prey later, after Bluestar decides, will count for more than running off on your own.”

Goldenflower nudged him gently. “Think of it this way, you’ll still get a chance to make up for it. You just have to wait a little while. And maybe learn a bit more about how to balance your instincts with the warrior code.”

Firepaw blinked, tail flicking slowly as he let their words sink in. “Okay… I guess I can wait. I just… I wanted to help.”

Whitestorm gave a small, approving nod. “And you will. But the Clan comes first, Firepaw. Always remember that.”

Firepaw swallowed, the heavy knot of shame in his chest loosening slightly. He forced a small, determined nod. “Right. Clan first.”

Goldenflower gave him a gentle smile, while Whitestorm stepped back, letting the apprentice gather himself.

He awkwardly began making his way to Bluestar’s den, dreading whatever punishment she decides a bit.

He glanced and saw Yellowfang reluctantly being treated by now, probably falling for the weirdly relaxing aura around Spottedleaf.

Firepaw stopped at the entrance, gulping nervously, breathing deeply to calm himself down. “Bluestar?” He muttered, shifting his weight nervously.

Firepaw padded cautiously into Bluestar’s den, ears twitching nervously. The air smelled faintly of dried herbs and the faint tang of the river. 

He hesitated at the entrance, taking in the sight of the gray leader lounging in the small cave, her pale eyes fixed on the corner of the den.

She didn’t blink. She didn’t shift. She just stared, utterly still, as if she weren’t seeing him at all. Firepaw tilted his head. Is she… asleep?

“Bluestar?” he ventured softly, stepping a little closer. His claws scraped the stone floor lightly.

The gray queen blinked, her gaze snapping to him. Her pupils widened slightly, and she gave a small shake of her head, as if shaking off cobwebs. “Firepaw,” she said, her voice smooth but with a faint tremor Firepaw didn’t catch at first. “Come in. Sit.”

He lowered himself onto the den floor, tail curling tightly around his paws, green eyes fixed warily on her. Something was… off. Bluestar’s usual calm authority felt slightly fractured, like a thin line of fog had settled over her thoughts.

“Your… feeding of Yellowfang,” she began slowly, as if tasting the words before speaking. Her voice had its usual weight, but there was a hint of distraction behind it. “It is… a serious breach of the warrior code. Normally, such actions demand punishment. Severe punishment.”

Firepaw’s ears flattened. He braced himself. Here it comes.

Bluestar’s gaze lingered on him, distant, and then… she blinked and shook herself again. “But,” she added, her tone brightening suddenly as if nothing had happened, “I think the matter will be simple to rectify. You will make up for this… by hunting extra prey for the next few moons. Bring back more than usual. Make sure the Clan’s stores are full. That is your punishment.”

Firepaw’s jaw dropped slightly. Hunting extra? That was it? That was all? His chest felt lighter, like a weight had lifted. “That… that’s it?” he asked cautiously.

Bluestar’s eyes met his, the fog gone momentarily. She nodded, but the way her tail twitched, the slight tilt of her ears, and the uncharacteristic blankness in her gaze made Firepaw hesitate. 

Something’s wrong with her, he thought. She didn’t act quite like herself, not completely.

“Yes,” she said smoothly, as if reading his thoughts. “Hunt more. Learn responsibility. Show me the instincts of a good ThunderClan warrior. That will suffice.” Her gaze lingered on him for another heartbeat, then she blinked again and looked away, staring at nothing in particular.

Firepaw padded out of the den slowly, still uneasy. Hunting more didn’t sound like punishment at all, in fact, it sounded almost… easy. He lowered himself onto the soft earth outside the den, tail flicking nervously.

Something about Bluestar’s behavior didn’t sit right. She had snapped back and acted completely normal, but he had seen the brief dazed moment, the fogged-over eyes. Was she… sick?

He shook his head. That’s not my concern right now, he told himself. I have to focus on the extra hunting.

Still, a small knot of worry lingered in his chest. Bluestar wasn’t just giving him an easy punishment, something had distracted her, something that Firepaw couldn’t quite put his claws on.

Firepaw wandered over to Graypaw. His friend had eaten his fill and lay with Ravenpaw outside the apprentices’ den. He was stretched out on his side, rhythmically washing a foreleg.

Graypaw saw Firepaw approach, and paused in his licking. “Has Bluestar mentioned your punishment yet?” he asked.

“Yea, but she just wants me to hunt extra prey for the next few moons.” Firepaw replied, still confused about the whole thing.

Graypaw blinked, surprised, sharing a glance with Ravenpaw before turning back to him. “You’re joking.”

Firepaw shook his head, still baffled. “Wish I was. I honestly don't know what I was expecting, but I certainly didn't expect to be given such a light punishment.” He muttered, but he paused at his own words. 

What punishment had he even been expecting? And why do I feel so disappointed, yet relieved that it was such an easy punishment? He thought, shaking his head to clear it. He'd worry about it later.

Bluestar’s call sounded across the clearing. “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join together for a meeting of our Clan.”

Most of the warriors had finished eating and, like Graypaw, were busy grooming themselves. They lifted themselves gracefully to their paws and walked over to the Highrock, where Bluestar waited to speak.

“Come on,” mewed Graypaw. He leaped up. Ravenpaw and Firepaw followed him as he scampered over and nudged his way forward into a good position.

“I’m sure you have all heard about the prisoner we brought back with us today,” Bluestar began. “But there is something else you need to know.” She glanced down at the raddled she-cat who lay very still beside the Highrock. “Can you hear me from there?” she asked.

“I may be old, but I’m not deaf yet!” Yellowfang spat in reply.

Bluestar ignored the prisoner’s hostile tone and continued. “I'm afraid I have some very grave news. Today I traveled with a patrol into WindClan territory. The air was filled with the scent of ShadowClan. Almost every tree had been sprayed by ShadowClan warriors. And we met no WindClan cats even though we journeyed deep into their heartland.”

Her words were met with silence. Firepaw saw confusion in the faces of the Clan cats.

“Do you mean ShadowClan has chased them out?” called Smallear hesitantly.

“We can’t be sure,” Bluestar meowed. “Certainly the scent of ShadowClan was everywhere. We found blood, too, and fur. There must have been a battle, though we found no bodies from either Clan.”

A shocked yowl rose from the crowd in a single voice. Firepaw felt the cats around him stiffen with shock and fury. Never before had one Clan driven another from its hunting grounds.

“How can WindClan have been driven out?” One-eye croaked hoarsely. “ShadowClan is fierce, but WindClan is many. They have lived in the uplands for generations. Why have they been chased out now?” She shook her head anxiously, her whiskers trembling.

“I don’t know the answers to any of your questions,” meowed Bluestar. “It is well known that ShadowClan has recently appointed a new leader, following the death of Raggedstar. Their new leader, Brokenstar, gave no hint of any threat when we met him at the last Gathering.”

“Perhaps Yellowfang has answers?” snarled Darkstripe. “After all, she is of ShadowClan!”

“I am no traitor! Nothing would make me share the secrets of ShadowClan with a brute like you!” growled Yellowfang, glaring aggressively at Darkstripe. The ThunderClan warrior moved forward, ears flat, eyes closed to slits, ready for a fight.

“Stop!” yowled Bluestar.

Darkstripe immediately halted in his tracks, even though Yellowfang goaded him on with blazing eyes and a ferocious hiss.

“That’s enough!” Bluestar growled. “This situation is too serious for us to be fighting among ourselves. ThunderClan must prepare itself. From this moonrise onward, warriors will travel in larger groups. 

Other Clan members will remain close to the camp. Patrols will travel the boundary edges more frequently, and all the kits must stay in the nursery.”

The cats below her nodded in agreement.

Bluestar continued. “Our need for warriors is our greatest obstacle. We shall get around this by speeding up the training of our apprentices. They need to be ready even sooner to fight for our Clan.”

Firepaw saw Dustpaw and Sandpaw exchange a thrilled glance. Graypaw was gazing up at Bluestar, his eyes wide with excitement. Ravenpaw just shuffled his paws anxiously. The black apprentice’s wide eyes showed worry rather than excitement.

Bluestar went on. “One young cat has been sharing mentors with Graypaw and Ravenpaw. By teaching him, I shall speed up the training of all three apprentices.” She paused and looked down at her Clan. “I shall take on Firepaw as my own apprentice.”

Firepaw opened his eyes wide in amazement. Bluestar was to be his mentor?

Beside him, Graypaw gasped, unable to hide his surprise.

“What an honor! It’s been moons since Bluestar had an apprentice. Usually she trains only the kits of deputies!”

Then a familiar voice rose from the front of the crowd. It was Tigerclaw. “So Firepaw is to be rewarded, not punished, for feeding an enemy warrior when he should have been feeding his own Clan?”

“Firepaw is my apprentice now, and I've already dealt with him,” answered Bluestar. She stared into Tigerclaw’s fierce eyes for a moment before lifting her head to address the whole Clan once more. “Yellowfang will be allowed to stay here until she has recovered her strength. We are warriors, not savages. She is to be treated with respect and courtesy.”

“But the Clan cannot support Yellowfang,” Darkstripe protested. “We have too many mouths to feed already.”

“Yeah!” Graypaw whispered into Firepaw’s ear. “And some of them are bigger than others!”

“I don’t need anyone to care for me!” spat Yellowfang. “And I'll split open anyone who tries!”

“Friendly, isn’t she?” Graypaw murmured.

Firepaw flicked the tip of his tail in silent agreement. There were muffled meows from the other warriors as they grudgingly recognized the enemy warrior’s fighting spirit.

Bluestar ignored the murmuring. “The meeting is over. I would like to speak to my senior warriors alone now.” With that, she jumped down from the Highrock and marched toward her den.

Lionheart followed her. The other Clan cats began to move away from the Highrock. One or two congratulated Firepaw on being chosen as Bluestar’s apprentice; others mockingly wished him luck looking after Yellowfang. 

Firepaw felt so dazed by Bluestar’s announcement that he just nodded blankly.

Longtail padded up to him. The vee-shaped nick that Firepaw had cut into the tip of his ear still showed. The young warrior drew back his whiskers into an ugly snarl. “Well, I hope you'll think twice about bringing strays back into the camp next time,” he sneered. “Like I said, outsiders always bring trouble.”

“Says the cat who got beat up by a new, 6 moon old apprentice.” Firepaw shot back.

Longtail paused, his eye twitching in annoyance, but composed himself. “You’re lucky that you beat Yellowfang. I bet she let you win.” He snarled, his tail twitching behind him.

Firepaw blinked, surprised, but nodded respectfully, even if he was confused about the half-insult, half-compliment, catching a whiff of his core emotions as Longtail walked away.

Protectiveness, Honor and Traditional

Firepaw blinked, surprised, sniffing his core emotions still lingering in the air before nodding as he realized something. Longtail wasn't a bad cat, well, not fully. 

He may follow Tigerclaw (of his own will or not is hard for him to say) and be buried deep in the Clan mindset, but he'd always put the warrior code and ThunderClan first.

Firepaw hummed, I guess you learn something new every day.

He wonders if he could eventually warm up to Longtail.

 

Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. Maybe I misjudged him. Maybe he’s not an enemy… just a cat bound too tightly to the code.

Graypaw padded over and nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re staring off again,” he teased, his purr bubbling with amusement. “Careful, or Ravenpaw’s going to think you’ve turned to stone like an elder’s tale.”

Ravenpaw, hovering just behind, shuffled his paws with a sheepish glance. “He… he does that a lot,” he murmured softly.

Firepaw rolled his eyes and gave Graypaw a light shove. “I’m thinking,” he muttered, though warmth curled in his chest at Graypaw’s easy closeness. He let his tail brush against his friend’s side for just a heartbeat before stepping away.

The clearing was alive with energy, warriors dispersing, elders murmuring about WindClan’s fate, apprentices buzzing with the thrill of danger. Above it all, Yellowfang crouched like a lump of stone, her ragged fur bristling with defiance. 

Firepaw’s gaze flicked toward her, catching the heavy shadows under her eyes, the way her limbs trembled faintly with exhaustion.

A pang of something tangled, pity, irritation, and reluctant respect, twisted inside him. She looked ready to claw Darkstripe’s face off, and yet… she was still too thin, still too tired.

Bluestar’s words echoed in his ears: You are my apprentice now.

That weight settled on his shoulders, heavier than any punishment could have. His instincts shifted restlessly inside him, dragon hunger for secrets, wolf loyalty howling for a pack to protect, fox cunning whispering to tread carefully, vampire hunger tugging at the warm blood rushing in every cat around him, and the mercat’s yearning for something deeper, quieter, beneath it all.

He sighed. So much was expected of him now. And he had no idea if he could live up to it.

“C’mon,” Graypaw broke into his thoughts again, flicking his tail toward the apprentices’ den. “Let’s get some rest before Tigerclaw decides to make us chase squirrels until sunrise.”

Ravenpaw dipped his head quickly in agreement, already half ready to bolt into the safety of the den.

Firepaw followed, but before slipping inside, he cast one last look across the camp. Yellowfang’s amber gaze met his for the briefest heartbeat, sharp and knowing, like she could smell the storm of instincts roiling beneath his skin.

He shivered, slipping into the den’s shadows. Sleep would be hard to find tonight.

Chapter 10: Chapter 8: The Past Haunts You

Summary:

Summary: Nobody can escape their past forever

Notes:

Almost the whole chapter was written by JustADrunkDemon! I just wrote a few sentences, lol

"While we originally planned for just you Firepaw, Ravenpaw and Graypaw to have a hunting assessment, since Bluestar wants to speed up training, you five will be taking a hunting assessment together." Tigerclaw said roughly, beside him sat the other mentors, Whitestorm, Lionheart and Darkstripe.

The five apprentices sat there listening

Firepaw was excited, hunting should be easy! Prey have very strong smells so he should be able to get plenty if he just focuses on his sense of smell.

Graypaw was not really paying attention and looked like he was lost in his own thoughts.

Ravenpaw shrunk back a bit trying to seem small and insignificant under Tigerclaw's gaze

Sandpaw was glaring at Firepaw with Dustpaw looking bored until Sandpaw nudged him and he joined in on glaring at Firepaw.

Firepaw shifted his weight, trying not to let the tension get to him. Sandpaw’s glare was sharp, and Dustpaw’s lazy follow-up only made him feel… singled out.

Why did Sandpaw hate him so much? He knows kinda now that whatever Sandpaw feels, Dustpaw follows along so its more Sandpaw hating him then both of them hating him.

Tigerclaw’s rough voice cut through the clearing. “Today, you'll each be sent to a different part of the territory. Each of you will be judged on your tracking, stealth, and prey capture. You will hunt seperately then you will be led by your mentors to a partner to figure out how to hunt together afterwards."

That seemed simple enough Firepaw thought.

“Ravenpaw, you will follow the trail beyond the Great Sycamore as far as the Snakerocks. That should be easy enough for your pitiful skills. You, Graypaw,” Tigerclaw continued, “will take the route along the stream, as far as the Thunderpath.”

“Great,” mewed Graypaw. “Wet paws for me!” Tigerclaw’s stare silenced him.

Tigerclaw’s amber eyes narrowed at Firepaw. “And you, Firepaw, you will hunt near the Treecut Place. Plenty of cover there to test your stealth, and make sure you don’t get distracted.” He gave Firepaw a sharp glance, as if warning him not to make a fool of himself.

Firepaw nodded quickly, excitement bubbling in his chest. Treecut Place… good cover, lots of scents. I can do this. He flexed his claws slightly, tail flicking with anticipation.

Tigerclaw’s gaze then swept to Sandpaw and Dustpaw. “Sandpaw, you’ll take the western ridge near the Windy Hollow. And Dustpaw, you’ll patrol the edge of the Bramblewall.”

Sandpaw’s ears twitched at the mention of the western ridge, and a sly smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Dustpaw just yawned, his expression as indifferent as ever, but Firepaw caught the faint twitch of alertness in his eyes.

“Remember,” Tigerclaw’s growl cut through the chatter, “focus on tracking, stealth, and making a clean kill. Once that’s done, you’ll pair up and see if you can work together without getting in each other’s way.”

Firepaw’s green eyes shone. Finally. Some real hunting practice. I can do this… I have to do this. He glanced at Graypaw and Ravenpaw, noticing Ravenpaw shrinking back as usual, and Graypaw still looking a bit lost, though excitement was flickering across his fur.

He shifted his weight, sniffing the air as Tigerclaw’s eyes lingered on him one last time. Treecut Place… let’s see what you’ve got.

It felt strange to be going in this direction, toward the Twoleg place he had been raised in. Cautiously Firepaw crossed the narrow path into the pine forest. He looked through the straight rows of trees, across the flat forest floor, alert for the sight and scent of prey.

A movement caught his eye. It was a mouse, scrabbling through the pine needles. Remembering his first lesson, Firepaw dropped into the stalking position, keeping his weight in his haunches, his paws light on the ground. The technique worked perfectly. The mouse didn’t detect Firepaw until his final leap.

He caught it with one paw and killed it swiftly. Then he buried it, so that he could pick it up on his return journey.

Firepaw traveled a little farther into the Tallpines. The ground here was deeply rutted by the tracks of the huge Twoleg monster that tore down the trees. Firepaw took a deep breath, his mouth open. The monster’s acid breath had not touched the air here for a while.

Firepaw followed the deep tracks, jumping across the ruts. They were half-filled with rain, which made him feel thirsty. He was tempted to stop and take a few mouthfuls, but he hesitated.

One lap of that muddy trench water and he’d taste the monster’s foul-smelling tracks for days.

He decided to wait. Perhaps there would be a rainwater puddle beyond the Tallpines. He hurried onward through the trees and crossed the Twoleg path on the far boundary.

He was back amid the thick undergrowth of oak woods. He moved onward until he found a puddle and lapped up a few mouthfuls of the fresh water. Firepaw’s fur began to prickle with some extra awareness. He recognized sounds and scents familiar from his old watching place on the fence post, and knew instantly where he was.

These were the woods that bordered the Twolegp lace. He must be very close to his old home now.

Ahead Firepaw could smell Twolegs and hear their voices, loud and raucous like crows. It was a group of young Twolegs, playing in the woods. Firepaw crouched and peered ahead through the ferns. The sounds were distant enough to be safe. He changed direction, skirting the noises, making sure he was not seen.

Firepaw stayed alert and watchful, but not just for Twolegs, Tigerclaw might be somewhere nearby. He thought he heard a twig snap in the bushes behind him. He sniffed the air, but smelled nothing new. Was he being watched now? he wondered.

He paused hearing ruffling.

He turned seeing... a stick against the bush? Wait was it thro-

"AGH!" Firepaw screamed as claws slammed into the back of his neck and pinned him down.

He writhed to try and get up but only managed to roll onto his back before letting out a gag as the paw was crushing down on his neck.

"I gave you, an explicit warning."

Firepaw's eyes shot wide in horror hearing the voice, his eyes bulging from the strangulation and fear.

"I helped you out, I gave you a peaceful life." The cat holding him down snarled.

Claws, covered in broken shards of glass that gave it a cyan coloration, dug against his neck making it start to bleed.

"All you had to do, was never leave your twoleg nest or garden, and here you are in the WOODS WITH CLAN CATS?" The cat snarled, piercing cyan eyes glaring down at Firepaw.

"S- Sto..." Firepaw choked out trying to breathe, "Stop... Sco... Scourge."

The cat pinning him down was only a bit bigger then him, yet had far more experience and was more built then him. Scourge, his older brother... and the person who saved him from The Hope Colony.

"I gave you the option of a peaceful life, you think I wouldnt do check ups on you? What the hell do you think your doing Rusty." Scourge snarled leaning down and glaring into his green eyes.

Firepaw’s heart slammed against his ribs as he tried to wriggle free, the claws at his neck digging in with sharp precision. His green eyes darted desperately, searching for any opening, any escape. But Scourge’s grip was iron-strong, a clawed hand braced against his chest as well, and the sheer force of it held him down completely.

“Scourge… I-” Firepaw began, his voice strangled, but he couldn’t finish. His lungs screamed for air, and the world tilted beneath him. Panic clawed at his chest as he realized just how serious this was.

This wasn’t a scolding, this wasn’t a gentle correction, this was his older brother, fully aware of his betrayal, fully ready to punish him for it.

“I warned you, Rusty,” Scourge hissed, his cyan eyes burning like shards of ice. “I gave you a life. A safe life. You think I wouldn’t check up on you? You think I’d let you run wild with… those cats?” His paw pressed harder against Firepaw’s chest.

Firepaw’s instincts screamed at him in chaotic waves. Dragon, fear and shame, wolf loyalty, warring with self-preservation, vampire hunger, turning sharp and bitter at the threat, kitsune cunning, searching desperately for any angle of escape, mercat intuition, whispering that something in Scourge’s posture wasn’t purely rage but betrayal and… disappointment?

“I… I didn’t mean to… I just…” Firepaw choked out. The word 'Clans' caught in his throat. How could he explain? How could he tell Scourge that he was training to hunt, that this was part of something bigger than himself, something… sacred? That he wasn’t just a kittypet anymore?

Scourge leaned in closer, pressing his cyan eyes into Firepaw’s like twin daggers. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You broke the promise you made to me. You broke the life I gave you. I kept you alive… safe… and you throw it all away to run with these…” His claws scraped lightly along the fur at Firepaw’s neck, a warning touch that made Firepaw flinch violently.

“I... I’m not-” Firepaw tried to protest, but fear tangled with adrenaline, making his words useless.

Scourge’s voice dropped, softer, sharper: “You were supposed to stay here, Rusty. You were supposed to stay safe. Now you’ve gone into the forest. You’ve joined them. Do you have any idea what that could cost you?”

Firepaw’s claws scraped against the ground, his mind a whirlwind of panic and regret. “I… I didn’t know… I didn’t know it would be like this. I… I didn’t mean to-”

“You didn’t know?” Scourge’s voice cracked with disbelief. “You didn’t know that I’d find you? That I’d enforce the rules? That there’s a price for betrayal?”

Firepaw’s tail whipped wildly, sensing the rising tension in the air. The forest around them was eerily silent, the rustle of leaves no longer masking the fear spiraling through him. His heart pounded in his ears. He could feel the wolf part of him bristling, the dragon wanting to fight, the mercat and kitsune halves screaming for escape.

Scourge pressed harder, his claws tracing a deliberate line along Firepaw’s shoulder, enough to draw a trickle of blood. “Answer me, Rusty. Are you still the same kit I raised? Or have you gone soft with these… these Clans?”

Scourge's head shot up and his eyes narrowed, Firepaw had the sense of smell of a monstercat but Scourge's sense was always better.

Scourge snarled, a clear sign to indicate he knew someone was there.

Tigerclaw stalked out of the bush, claws already unsheathed.

"Your trespassing in ThunderClan territory, why are you attacking one of out apprentices?" Tigerclaw snarled, baring his teeth.

Firepaw looked worried between the two, why was Tigerclaw saving him?

Actually he already knows, just to save face and keep thunderclan looking good.

Still, thank god hes here.

Scourge went silent his icy cyan eyes sharpening as his pupils narrowed.

Firepaw really, really hopes they dont fight as he knows Tigerclaw cant win against Scourge, Scourge is HER right hand afterall.

Scourge paused, staring at Tigerclaw with narrowed eyes. “Why I’m attacking him is none of your business. Now shoo and scatter before I attack you instead.”

Tigerclaw growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You think you can win against me? You're a puny kit compared to me.”

“And yet, I have your newest apprentice pinned down with no escape.”

Tigerclaw paused, as if knowing he was right. Despite being larger, Scourge had easily pinned down Firepaw without even trying.

Tigerclaw’s snarl deepened, his shoulders rolling like a storm about to break. His amber eyes locked on Scourge, cold and calculating, like he was measuring him, testing his every twitch of muscle.

But Firepaw knew better. His brother’s claws were steady, precise, and every ounce of Scourge’s small frame radiated killing intent. He wasn’t bluffing. Tigerclaw’s size meant nothing against Scourge’s experience

Scourge pressed his glass-laced claws harder against Firepaw’s throat, a bead of blood welling up and sliding into his fur. “One step closer, ThunderClan brute, and I’ll gut him before your claws even touch me.”

Tigerclaw froze. His tail lashed, but his paws didn’t move. He hated being forced still, Firepaw could smell it rolling off him, rage, pride, a bitter sting of humiliation. But beneath that, a steel-cold core of calculation. He wasn’t going to risk his image, not in front of an apprentice.

“Let him go,” Tigerclaw growled, his voice low, controlled. “ThunderClan will not tolerate trespassers, and if Bluestar hears of this-”

Scourge chuckled darkly, the sound more like shattered glass scraping together than laughter. “Bluestar, is that your leader? You think I care about your Clan leader’s words? She has no power here. None of you do. And if you so much as breathe my name outside of this moment, I will return. Not for him-” his claws flexed against Firepaw’s chest, “-but for all of you.”

Firepaw’s instincts screamed in a chaotic chorus.

Firepaw trembled, every muscle taut. He met Scourge’s eyes, green fire clashing with cyan ice. “If you kill me,” he rasped, voice cracked but steady, “then everything you gave me… means nothing. You’ll just be another monster proving the Clans right.”

Scourge’s expression twitched, just for a breath. Disappointment flickered in his icy gaze, sharp as broken glass. Then his weight lifted, claws withdrawing, leaving shallow lines in Firepaw’s pelt.

He stepped back with predator grace, his tail tip lashing once. “You’re lucky, Rusty. Very lucky. I’ll give you one chance. Stay alive long enough for me to decide whether to drag you back, or bury you here.”

He turned his head to Tigerclaw, pupils still narrowed. “This apprentice is under my eyes, ThunderClan dog. Lay one claw too heavy on him, and you’ll answer to me. Do you understand?”

Tigerclaw bristled, but his silence was answer enough.

And then, with a flash of glass-blue claws, Scourge vanished into the undergrowth, the forest swallowing him whole.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Firepaw lay frozen on the ground, every nerve buzzing, breath coming in sharp gulps. His brother’s scent still lingered, sharp and metallic, mixing with his own blood.

Tigerclaw loomed over him, amber eyes gleaming with something unreadable, anger, suspicion, maybe even curiosity.

“Get up,” Tigerclaw ordered, his tone flat but carrying an edge of something Firepaw couldn’t place. “You’ve wasted enough time already.”

Firepaw’s paws shook as he stood. Inside, his instincts still churned. His past and present had collided, and it had nearly killed him.

And he knew now, beyond doubt: Scourge wasn’t done with him.

"Come on, you barely pass since you caught something, We've already decided who your going to be paired with." Tigerclaw sneered and turned to begin leading the way.

Firepaw, shaken up from his past literally mauling his neck, awkwardly followed.

Tigerclaw luckily didnt notice how fast the scratch healed on his neck, being a mosntercat has many benefits.

Firepaw reeled his head up and sniffed the air deciding to cheat and see whos scent he could-

Smell...

Uh oh.

Firepaw grimaced and walked into the small clearing, Lionheart came a moment later with the apprentice he was tailing and Firepaw's hunting partner for the second half of the assessment...

Immediately green eyes glared at him with hatred.

Sandpaw.

Firepaw’s paws itched, his throat still raw from Scourge’s claws, even if the wound was already a faint, pink line instead of a gash. He’d hoped for Graypaw, maybe Ravenpaw, anyone but-

Sandpaw’s fur bristled as her green eyes locked onto him like he’d just rolled in fox dung and sat in front of her. She didn’t speak, but her lip curled slightly, and Firepaw caught the faintest flick of her tail toward Dustpaw’s usual direction. Almost like she was asking herself how she got stuck with him without her shadow at her side.

Lionheart’s warm voice broke the tension. “You two will hunt together. Not separately, together. Think of it like a battle move. Learn each other’s strengths, support each other. You’ll need that skill as warriors.” His amber eyes glinted with the kind of wisdom Firepaw couldn’t wriggle out of. “Bring back at least one piece of prey you both worked for.”

Tigerclaw’s sneer was razor-sharp, his gaze stabbing into Firepaw like claws. “If either of you fails, it reflects on both of you.” He didn’t need to add who he expected to ruin things.

Then, like shadows peeling back, Lionheart and Tigerclaw padded away, leaving only the rustle of the undergrowth behind.

And silence.

Sandpaw stood stiff, shoulders taut, her gaze cutting into Firepaw. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just… stared. The silence dragged, heavy and awkward, until even Firepaw’s chimera instincts couldn’t decide what to do.

His wolf side wanted to break the silence with dominance, his dragon pride bristled at her glare, but his kitsune cunning whispered to be careful, this wasn’t a fight, it was a test.

Finally, Firepaw cleared his throat, forcing a crooked smile. “Sooo… I’m guessing you’re not thrilled about this either.”

Sandpaw’s whiskers twitched. She didnt say anything.

Firepaw wondered a bit if she had speaking issues, maybe thats why she always whispered to Dustpaw.

Firepaw tilted his head, watching her carefully. Sandpaw’s tail lashed once, sharp and precise, but her mouth stayed shut. Her green eyes narrowed as if she could carve his pelt open with a look alone.

Firepaw blinked, unsettled. He wasn’t used to silence being this heavy. With Graypaw, silence usually meant they were about to laugh at something stupid. With Ravenpaw, it meant Ravenpaw was lost in his own thoughts. But with Sandpaw… silence felt like a wall slammed down between them.

“…You can talk, right?” Firepaw asked, trying for humor. His voice cracked halfway through. “Like, I didn’t suddenly go deaf or something?”

Her ears flicked back, and for just a heartbeat, her eyes darted away before snapping back to his. It wasn’t just hatred. It was… nerves. Something sharper, fragile under the surface.

His vampire senses tugged at him, aching to pull her emotions apart and taste the truth. His wolf instincts wanted to growl, shove past her stubbornness. But his kitsune blood whispered softer, patience. She doesn’t need claws, she needs a crack in the wall.

So Firepaw forced his fur to smooth down and shrugged. “Fine. Don’t talk. But we’re supposed to work together, so unless you’re planning to mime ‘squirrel’ at me when you see one, we’ll need some kind of… uh…” He wiggled his paw in the air. “Signal system?”

For a second, he thought she’d just turn and walk away. But then, barely, a flicker crossed her face. The tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth, not a smile, but not her usual scowl either.

She lifted her paw and flicked it sharply to the side, then jabbed it down into the dirt like a claw striking. A signal. Clear as day.

Firepaw’s ears perked. “Oh. Okay. So… that’s ‘I see prey?’ Or ‘shut up, kittypet?’”

Her whiskers twitched. She didn’t answer.

But Firepaw realized something. Sandpaw could talk. She just… didn’t. Not unless she had to. Dustpaw had been her voice all this time.

For once, Firepaw didn’t push. He just nodded. “Got it. You signal, I follow.”

Sandpaw blinked at him. Not a truce, not even close. But her fur finally smoothed down just a little.

"Paw up to signal prey?" He suggested and Sandpaw narrowed her eyes again but just nodded slowly.

Firepaw’s ear flicked as he watched her, tail twitching. He hadn’t expected her to actually agree. But the nod was real, sharp and deliberate, like everything Sandpaw did.

“Okay…” Firepaw muttered, scanning the undergrowth as if prey might suddenly leap into his jaws just to save them both from this suffocating silence. “Paw up means prey. Got it. What about…” He mimed stomping his paw down, claws unsheathed. “That’s, like, pounce now?”

Sandpaw blinked once, then lifted her paw and repeated the motion, firmer, more precise, as if correcting his sloppy version.

Firepaw huffed a laugh under his breath. “Alright, alright, you’re the boss of the signals.”

She flicked her tail across the ground once, slow. Then jabbed her paw forward.

Firepaw tilted his head. “That’s… what? ‘Go ahead’? ‘You first’? ‘You’re fox-dung and I’m not risking my fur for you’?”

Her ears angled back, and for the first time, a faint sound escaped her throat, half a scoff, half a suppressed growl. She didn’t answer, but she repeated the tail-flick, this time pointing toward a patch of ferns.

“…Oh. That’s direction, isn’t it? Like, ‘prey over there.’”

Sandpaw’s whiskers twitched. Not a smile, but the closest thing to approval Firepaw had ever seen her give him.

“I’m not going to force you to talk if you're not comfortable, y'know. But I need you to be clear on what the signals mean.” Firepaw replied, his tone gentle and understanding, his ears twitching to try and show her that he wasn't a threat.

Sandpaw remained silent and just poked him then repeated the gesture and then nodded, Firepaw took a moment.

“So I was right in what that meant?”

She nodded.

Firepaw hummed, so they were getting somewhere at least.

“Where do you want to start hunting?” Firepaw asked, keeping his gaze on her, watching for any signs without making her uncomfortable.

They just looked around then pointed in a random direction with her tail, she began heading that way without saying anything.

Firepaw just shrugged and started following.

Firepaw followed behind her, his ears twitching to make sure they weren't being followed by any predators or passing any prey, his mind already racing with potential signals and their meanings while focusing on completing the task.

Sandpaw froze and crouched, raising her paw and gesturing ahead.

Firepaw went low and raised his head a bit, a squirrel was scurrying around a few nuts ahead, picking up one and chewing on it.

Sandpaw stared at him and he began moving around the clearing slowly, heading to try and surround the squirrel from two sides.

He stopped next to some ferns, where he could see the squirrel and any signals Sandpaw sent him while still being hidden enough that the squirrel wouldn't see him.

He stared at the squirrel before glancing at Sandpaw. Sandpaw noticed his gaze and gestured, stomping quietly with an unsheathed paw, carefully dragging her tail then moving her paw forward.

Firepaw blinked, taking a moment before nodding, turning back towards the squirrel and pouncing. The squirrel lifted its head and ran, but Sandpaw was faster. She shot out from her hiding place and killed it with a swift bite to the neck.

Firepaw purred, shaking out his fur as he stood, walking over to her, stopping next to her. She glanced up at him, studying him. Firepaw said nothing, but gave her a nod. She seemed to understand and nodded back..

Sandpaw began moving ahead, Firepaw expected a smile or a purr or SOMETHING! But nope, he just sighed and buried the prey to get it later.

He moved to catch up, Firepaw fell into the rhythm quickly adjusting to Sandpaw’s terse signals with a surprising ease. He kept his body low, muscles coiled, and senses sharp, following her direction without needing words. The squirrel kill had set a tentative standard, now they moved as a silent unit, each step measured, each pawfall deliberate.

He noted the subtle cues: a slight flick of her tail to the side meant adjust direction, a sharp flick of her paw meant alert, danger or prey, and the soft tap of her claws meant slow, careful movement. Her silence made him hyper-aware, forcing him to rely on instincts and observation instead of conversation.

At first, he was nervous, tail twitching, green eyes constantly scanning for any mistake. But Sandpaw didn’t scold him; she simply corrected him with gestures, clear and precise, and kept moving forward.

He realized he was learning not just about hunting but about patience, observation, and communication without words.

For the first time, Firepaw understood the weight of silent teamwork. Every misstep would be glaring, every hesitation noticeable, but if they paid attention, they could anticipate each other’s moves almost instinctively.

They moved through the undergrowth for a while, catching the faint scent of a field mouse. Firepaw crouched, paw raised instinctively, waiting for Sandpaw’s signal. She stomped lightly with her claws, dragged her tail, and jabbed her paw forward. Prey, over there.

He nodded to her, inching closer, stalking carefully, watching her movements. She circled around, paws silent, ready to pounce, and in perfect timing, they closed in on the mouse together.

Firepaw lunged, but Sandpaw was faster this time, sinking her teeth into its neck. She gave a quick tail flick toward Firepaw, a silent acknowledgment of their teamwork.

Firepaw couldn’t help a small, quiet purr of satisfaction, just enough that she might notice but not enough to intrude on her silence. She glanced at him, sharp green eyes meeting his, then turned and started moving again. He followed, settling into the rhythm.

No words were exchanged. None were needed. The signals were enough. And as they moved together, Firepaw realized that despite the tension, despite the mutual dislike, or at least Sandpaw’s clear resentment, they were beginning to function as a unit.

He thought about the half-smile that had flickered on her face earlier, the small nods, the silent gestures. Not friendship. Not trust. Not yet. But… a truce of sorts. A mutual understanding, earned claw by claw, paw by paw, in the rhythm of the hunt.

And Firepaw, heart still racing from Scourge’s attack earlier, allowed himself a sliver of pride: he could do this. Even with Sandpaw’s hatred, even with the weight of the signals and the tension, he could hunt. He could survive.

The forest around them was quiet again, save for the rustle of leaves and the soft crunch of paws on needles. Prey was out there. And together, if only just barely, they would find it.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 7 of Fading Sun