Warriors: The Prophecies Begin, Book 1 - Into The Wild (Human AU)

by asexual_cat_furry

Summary:

Four clans, one destiny.

Since time immemorial, the children of the english town of Chelford have been told by their parents not to get off the trails in the wild, lest they get caught by the mythic monsters who dwell there. Off the trails is the land of the wild folk, those cat-worshipping warriors who wander the town markets with spears by their sides and wild herbs in their pockets. No child dares approach. Not until now.

For generations, four clans of wild folk shared the forest, with war, yet balance. But only a few years after the new leader of ShadowClan is appointed, ThunderClan is in grave danger as the swamp-dwellers grow hungrier and hungrier for new hunting lands. Prophecies are spoken of the fire that will save the clan… but will it come in time? In the midst of this turmoil appears a tame boy named Rusty… who may turn out to be the greatest warrior of them all.

Fire alone can save our clan.

Notes:

This AU was inspired by WillowBranches' human!WC series (on here) and by koras-human-warriors on tumblr! Be sure to check them out too :)

Chapter 1: Allegiances

ThunderClan

Leader: Bluestar - tall blue-eyed woman with blue-gray hair woven with silver threads (she/her)

Deputy: Redtail - small man with freckled skin and long, distinctly ginger hair (AFAB, he/him)

Apprentice: Dustpaw

Medicine woman: Spottedleaf - beautiful woman with distinctly freckled skin and shimmery, almost mottled hair (she/her)

Warriors:

Speckletail - pale-haired woman, oldest warrior & one of the oldest women in ThunderClan (tied with her sister One-eye) (she/her)

Lionheart - tall, handsome man with golden hair and a thick beard like a lion’s mane (he/him)

Apprentice: Graypaw

Tigerclaw - tall imposing man with thick dark brown hair (he/him)

Apprentice: Ravenpaw

Whitestorm - tall white-haired man (he/him)

Apprentice: Sandpaw

Willowpelt - hard-muscled woman with pale gray hair and unusual, vivid blue eyes (she/her)

Runningwind - swift brown-haired man (he/him)

Mousefur - small woman with dusky brown hair (he/him)

Brindleface - pretty woman with brindle-tawny hair (she/her)

Darkstripe - sleek man with gray-black hair (he/they)

Longtail - long-limbed man with pale hair with dark streaks in it (he/him)

Apprentices:

Sandpaw - tall girl with pale sand-colored hair (she/her)

Dustpaw - lithe boy with dark brown hair (he/him)

Ravenpaw - small black-haired boy with a white streak in his hair (he/him)

Graypaw - broad-faced boy with gray hair (he/him)

Queens:

Goldenflower - broad-shouldered woman with golden hair (she/her) (mother of Swiftkit and Lynxkit - 5 years old)

Frostfur - beautiful blue-eyed woman with white hair (she/her) (pregnant with Lionheart's children)

Elders:

Smallear - gray-haired man with small ears, oldest person in ThunderClan (he/him)

Halftail - tall brown-haired man with his right foot missing (he/him)

One-eye - slim woman with pale gray hair, with a knotted scar across her right eye, virtually blind & deaf, one of the oldest women in ThunderClan (tied with her sister Speckletail) (she/it)

Dappletail - once-pretty woman with lovely dappled hair like autumn leaves (she/xe)

Patchpelt - light man with salt-and-pepper hair (he/him)

Rosetail - gray-haired woman with a rose-ginger streak in her hair (she/her)

Children:

Swiftkit - lean boy with white-patched black hair (he/him)

Lynxkit - ginger-haired girl with a few dark patches on her skin (he/him)

 

ShadowClan:

Leader: Brokenstar - broad-faced man with long, messy dark brown hair (he/him)

Deputy: Blackfoot - tall man with white hair and dark skin, leader of the Sunshadow Guard (he/him)

Medicine man: Runningnose - small man with shimmery gray hair (he/him)

Warriors:

Ratscar - battle-scarred man with messy dark brown hair and a long scar down his back (he/him)

Nettlespot - thin woman with ginger-brown hair with white threads (she/her)

Toadskip - blue-eyed man with dark brown hair and unusual fair skin (he/him)

Mudclaw - dark-skinned man with gray hair (he/him)

Newtspeck - short woman with dark, kinda-black kinda-ginger hair (she/her)

Frogtail - hard-muscled man with dark gray-black hair, member of the Sunshadow Guard (he/him)

Scorchwind - ginger-haired man with messy hair (he/him)

Rowanberry - broad-faced woman with brown hair that looks cream in places due to the white threads in it (she/her)

Nutwhisker - stocky brown-haired man (he/him)

Wolfstep - heavyset gray-haired man with a mangled ear (he/him)

Boulder - tall, skinny man with gray hair, member of the Sunshadow Guard (he/him)

Apprentice: Wetpaw

Russetfur - battle-worn woman with dark ginger hair, member of the Sunshadow Guard (she/her)

Apprentice: Whitepaw

Snowbird - muscular white-haired woman (she/her)

Clawface - battle-scarred man with brown hair, member of the Sunshadow Guard (he/him)

Apprentice: Littlepaw

Nightpelt - battle-scarred man, completely melanistic (he/him)

Fernshade - slender woman with auburn hair (she/her)

Flintfang - gray-haired man with large hands (he/him)

Apprentice: Badgerpaw

Tallpoppy - long-limbed woman with light brown hair (she/her)

Deerfoot - lithe man with pale brown hair (he/him)

Tangleburr - dark-skinned woman with gray hair, member of the Sunshadow Guard (she/her)

Stumpytail - short brown-haired man, member of the Sunshadow Guard (he/him)

Apprentice: Brownpaw

Apprentices:

Whitepaw - handsome black-haired boy with unusually fair skin (he/him)

Brownpaw - short brown-haired boy (he/they)

Wetpaw - gray-haired boy with oily hair (he/him)

Littlepaw - very small brown-haired boy with blue eyes (he/him)

Badgerpaw - small black-haired boy with birthmarks resembling badger patterns on his face (he/him)

Queens:

Brightflower - broad-faced woman with orange hair, nursery queen, oldest in the nursery (she/her)

Darkflower - black-haired woman with sharp eyes (she/her) (pregnant with Scorchwind’s children)

Dawncloud - small woman with ginger-brown hair (she/her) (mother of Finchflight’s children: Blossomkit and Swampkit - 4)

Elders:

Finchflight - broad-shouldered man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard (he/him)

Ashfur - gray-haired man (AFAB, he/him)

Volewhisper - small man with light brown hair and a heavily scarred left leg, joined the elders due to repeating infection (he/him)

Children:

Blossomkit - white-haired girl with green eyes (she/her)

Swampkit - white-haired boy with green eyes (he/him)

 

WindClan:

Leader: Tallstar - very tall man with black hair and unusually fair skin, moor runner (he/him)

Deputy: Deadfoot - black-haired man with a malformed right foot, moor runner (he/him)

Medicine man: Barkface - short-limbed man with brown hair (he/him)

Moor runners:

Cloudrunner - long-limbed man with pale gray hair (he/him)

Apprentice: Robinpaw

Larksplash - dirty-blonde-haired woman with freckled skin (she/her)

Aspenfall - white-haired man with dark skin (he/him)

Ryestalk - gray-haired woman with soft hair and amber eyes (she/her)

Doespring - lithe woman with light brown hair (she/her)

Apprentice: Gorsepaw

Stagleap - broad-shouldered man with brown hair (he/him)

Pigeonflight - gray-haired man with pale patches on his skin (he/him)

Apprentice: Thrushpaw

Wrenflight - tall woman with brown hair (she/her)

Mudclaw - wiry man with messy dark brown hair (he/him)

Apprentice: Webpaw

Onewhisker - small and lean man with brown hair (he/him)

Apprentice: Whitepaw

Morningflower - dark-haired woman with freckled skin (she/her)

Tunellers:

Oatwhisker - cream-haired man with long limbs (he/him)

Apprentice: Nightpaw

Darkfoot - dark-skinned man with blue-gray hair and a few scattered pale patches on his skin (he/him)

Apprentice: Stonepaw

Mistmouse - tall woman with brown hair (she/her)

Rushtail - skinny man with creamy-brown hair (he/him)

Flytail - light man with snowy-white hair (he/him)

Rabbitear - brown-haired woman with fluffy hair (she/her)

Bristlebark - black-haired man with bristly hair (he/him)

Tornear - gray-haired man with a split right ear (he/him)

Apprentice: Runningpaw

Apprentices:

Stonepaw - stocky gray-haired boy with amber eyes, tuneller apprentice (he/him)

Thrushpaw - stocky brown-haired girl with ruddy skin, right eye green left eye amber, moor runner apprentice (she/her)

Runningpaw - wiry girl with light gray hair, tuneller apprentice (she/her)

Robinpaw - wiry girl with light brown hair, moor runner apprentice (she/he)

Webpaw - wiry boy with dark gray hair, moor runner apprentice (he/him)

Whitepaw - small girl with white hair and cornflower blue eyes, moor runner apprentice (she/her)

Nightpaw - wiry black-haired girl, tuneller apprentice (she/her)

Gorsepaw - wiry tawny-haired boy with long limbs, moor runner apprentice (he/him)

Queens:

Sorrelcharm - brown-haired woman with ashy skin, moor runner, oldest queen (she/her) (mother of Tornear’s children: Tawnykit and Dewkit - less than 1)

Ashfoot - lean woman with sparkly blue eyes and gray hair (she/her) (mother of Deadfoot’s son, Eaglekit - 2)

Elders:

Whiteberry - small man with pure white hair, former tuneller, oldest man & oldest person in WindClan (he/him)

Flailfoot - black-haired man with yellow eyes and unusually loose joints, former tuneller (AFAB, he/him)

Lilywhisker - amber-eyed woman with light brown hair and an injured right leg, former tuneller, oldest woman in WindClan (she/her)

Plumclaw - small woman with dark gray hair, former tuneller (she/her)

Appledawn - unusually fair-skinned woman with cream hair, former moor runner (she/her)

Hareflight - hard-muscled man with light brown hair, former moor runner (he/him)

Redclaw - small man with dark ginger hair and tawny patches on his skin, former moor runner (he/him)

Children:

Eaglekit - gray-haired boy with amber eyes (he/him)

Tawnykit - golden-eyed girl with tawny-gold hair (she/her)

Dewkit - green-eyed girl with gray hair (she/her)

 

RiverClan:
Leader: Crookedstar - burly man with brown hair and a twisted jaw (he/him)

Deputy: Oakheart - burly man with rich reddish-brown hair (he/him)

Medicine man: Mudfur - long-haired man with brown hair and freckled skin (he/him)

Warriors:

Cedarpelt - short-limbed stout man with graying brown hair (he/him)

Marshcloud - short-limbed stout man with brown hair (he/him)

Lakeshine - long-haired woman with gray hair and unusually fair skin (she/her)

Shimmerpelt - glossy-haired woman with night-black hair (she/her)

Rippleclaw - sleek silver-haired man with dark skin (he/him)

Owlfur - sleek-haired man with brown hair and unusually fair skin (he/him)

Softwing - small woman with a large white patch in her golden hair (she/her)

Beetlenose - broad-shouldered man with black hair (he/him)

Petaldust - dark-haired woman with freckled skin (she/her)

Voleclaw - lithe gray-haired man (he/him)

Blackclaw - muscular man with smoky black hair (he/him)

Apprentice: Heavypaw

Skyheart - battle-scarred woman with light brown hair (she/her)

Leopardfur - golden-haired woman with freckled skin (she/her)

Lilystem - gray-haired woman with broad shoulders (she/her)

Sedgecreek - long-legged woman with brown hair (she/her)

Reedtail - long-legged man with gray hair (he/him)

Loudbelly - brown-haired man (he/him)

Apprentice: Silverpaw

Dawnbright - ginger-haired woman with unusually fair skin (she/her)

Mallowtail - brown-haired woman with long limbs and fingers (she/her)

Stonefur - battle-scarred man with blue-gray hair (he/him)

Apprentice: Shadepaw

Mistyfoot - blue-eyed woman with blue-gray hair (she/her)

Whiteclaw - muscular black-haired man with unusually fair skin (he/him)

Silverstream - slender silver-haired woman (she/her)

Apprentices:

Heavypaw - heavyset boy with brown hair (he/him)

Shadepaw - heavyset girl with dark gray hair and dark skin (she/her)

Silverpaw - silver-haired girl with dark skin (she/her)

Elders:

Echomist - long-haired woman with glossy pale gray hair, oldest woman & oldest person in RiverClan (she/her)

Piketooth - skinny man with graying brown hair and protruding teeth, oldest man in RiverClan (he/him)

Fallowtail - soft-haired woman with light brown hair (she/her)

Graypool - thin gray-haired woman, forced to retire early due to progressing memory & movement problems (she/her)

 

Loners, rogues, and tames:

Henry Pine - plump brown-haired man, tame (he/him)

Alaska MacNeil - plump white-haired man, deaf, tame (he/him)

Yellowfang - broad-faced woman with long, matted dark gray hair, loner, formerly ShadowClan medicine woman (she/her)

Nutmeg O’Connor - brown-haired woman, tame (she/her)

Barley - stocky black-haired man with fair skin, loner, lives on a farm close to the moor (he/him)

Rusty O’Connor - green-eyed boy with fiery ginger hair, tame (he/him)

Princess O’Connor - brown-haired girl with hazel eyes, tame (she/her)

Luna O’Connor - dark-haired girl with hazel eyes, tame (she/her)

Filou O’Connor - ginger-haired boy, tame (he/him)

Tommy O’Connor - brown-haired boy, tame (he/him)

Smudge Firenze - black-haired boy with fair skin, tame (he/him)

Notes:

there's a pretty high chance that I'm gonna end up having to go back and edit the allegiances later, so. just a heads up if they change a bit hh

Chapter 2: Prologue - Fire Alone

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.

A shadow slunk out of the river and onto the rocky bank. Yellow eyes flashed behind water-dripping hair as the man scanned the rocks. His teeth glinted as he smirked at the empty rocks. He turned and flicked his hand, the simple motion calling more people crawled out of the river, water glistening off of duckskin clothes, smug whispers filling the air like the murmur of mosquitos. Nets softly splashed as the folk unrolled them and set them up in the water.

The whispers stopped dead and the man snapped his head around when a bird call whistled through the night air. Quiet, but out of place. The tie-tie-tie-tie of a wren.

There was a stirring in the shadows on the other side of the boulders, and from all around in the undergrowth lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. The soft scraping of boots on the stone. Unsheathed weapons glinted in the moonlight. Flicks of movement in the shadows of leaves. Eyes flashing from behind the catlike masks, like the glares of creeping wolves. Then, the call of a horned lark - ty-ty-ty-tri-ti-ti - and, as if on a signal, the groups lunged at each other. The air was filled with shouts and the crash of wood against stone against bone, and the rocks were alive with wrestling, clashing people, faces twisted with exhilaration and fury.

The first man hissed with rage as he blocked an axe-strike from a towering, dark-haired man. The attacker growled like a tiger and swung again, and again, and again, each strike with the strength of an enraged predator. Grunting with effort, the man tried to defend himself, but a hard shoulder-slam sent him down onto the rock. His head swam from the strike against the ground.

The dark-haired man pinned him down with his heavy weight and pressed the blade of his axe to his throat, his other hand gripping his bracken-colured hair to pin him to the ground. He drew his head back, lips curled in a snarl matching the mask covering his upper face, a brown tabby almost tiger-like in demeanor. “Oakheart!” he 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-haired man managed. Though pinned and clearly overwhelmed by the towering, dark warrior, he spat in his face regardless.

A warning cry came from the rocks closer to the shore, shrill and anxious, struggling to be heard over the sounds of battle - and the new sound of battle horns echoing from the other bank. “Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!”

Tigerclaw turned to see the water below the rocks part. River-drenched RiverClan warriors slid out of the river, bounded silently up the shore, and hurled themselves into battle. Their blades and hands dripped with water, their hair damp in their eyes.

The dark-haired man 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 man struggled beneath him. The blade of Tigerclaw’s axe slowly slid up along Oakheart’s jaw, the threat clear in the tight grip of his fingers.

The desperate scream of a ThunderClan warrior rose above the clamor. A wiry RiverClan warrior had pinned her flat on her belly, hand gripped in her brown hair as he pressed her head to the ground. Only her struggles and the river-wet on his hands slowed him in trying to slice her neck with his knife.

Tigerclaw heard the cry and let go of Oakheart. He leaped up the rocks with great speed and slammed his entire bodyweight into the enemy warrior and knocked him away. “Quick, Mousefur, run!” he ordered over his shoulder, before turning on the RiverClan warrior who had been threatening her life just a moment earlier. Mousefur scrambled to her feet, wincing from a deep gash on her shoulder, and raced away.

Behind her, Tigerclaw spat with rage as the RiverClan warrior sliced his nose open with his knife, nearly knocking his mask away. Blood blinded the ThunderClan warrior for an instant, but he lunged forward regardless and swung his axe into the leg of his enemy. The RiverClan warrior screamed hoarsely as the blade struck flesh, and struggled away, fists curled defensively, dark blood splurting on the rocks. Tigerclaw bared his teeth and readied to strike again. The other warrior’s mouth moved in prayers, begging as he braced-

“Tigerclaw!” The shout came from a warrior with hair as red as fox fur. “Don’t! There’s no point!”

Tigerclaw stopped, long enough for the RiverClan warrior to stumble down the rocks until one of his clanmates noticed his wound and dragged him off and across the river. Tigerclaw exhaled raggedly, shoulders sagging slightly, before he began clambering up the rocks towards the red-haired man. Perhaps there’ll be a better view from up there…

The red-haired man stared at the battlefield with narrowed eyes, worry evident even behond the tortoiseshell cat-face of the mask. “There’s no point,” he whispered. Almost to himself, but Tigerclaw heard. “This is useless, there are too many RiverClan warriors…”

“No, Redtail!” Tigerclaw said, voice hoarse and almost shouting, as he dragged himself up to the top of the rocks beside the red-haired man. “ThunderClan will never be beaten! This is our territory!” Blood was welling up on his broad dark nose, and he wiped his face impatiently, smearing the back of his hand with scarlet.

“ThunderClan honors your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot affort do lose any more warriors,” Redtail said, voice firm, yellow eyes hard as he turned to look at Tigerclaw. “Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against impossible odds-”

“‘Impossible odds’? Please, we’ve fought much worse,” barked Tigerclaw, waving him off, eyes still fixed on the ground. The muscles in his legs flexed slightly as he prepared to leap back down into the fray.

“Yes, but at what cost, Tigerclaw ?” Redtail urged. “We’ve lost Robinwing and Fuzzypelt to battles for the Sunningrocks just this year!” Sensing that his words only made Tigerclaw’s muscles tense more, he reached out and grabbed his arm. “We will have many more chances to avenge our folk and our land.” He met Tigerclaw’s amber-eyed gaze steadily, an unspoken message firm.

Tigerclaw stood still for a moment, panting with battle-rage and simple anger, before he relented. He reared up and away from the edge, and sprang down the slope of the rocks until he was at the last boulder before the trees. He lifted his hands to cup his mouth and let out a piercing fhieeee - the call of a swift. At once his clanmares squirmed and struggled away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, weapons raised defensively, backs facing away from the river, they retreated towards the boulder where Tigerclaw, and now Redtail also, were standing.

For a heartbeat, the RiverClan folk looked confused. Was this battle so easily won? Then Oakheart chuckled, threw his head back and let out a jubilant cry. As soon as they heard him, it was like a spell had been broken - the RiverClan warriors raised their voices and weapons, laughed and clapped each other on the backs. Someone pulled out a battle horn and began playing. Even the injured folk, dragged onto the other side of the river to be tended to, found the strength to pump their fists and grin as their clanmates caterwauled their victory.

Redtail looked down at his warriors. He could feel the chagrin, confusion, frustration, disappointment, anger, anger at him . He took a small breath to steady himself. His hands curled upwards and he licked his lips, opening his mouth to give the commands…

Tigerclaw interrupted with the tu-tu-tu-tu-ti-ti-ti of a black redstart. Danger. Regroup. Retreat. Exactly the commands Redtail would’ve wanted to give. Exactly the commands Redtail was about to give. The ThunderClan warriors moved. Tigerclaw kept his gaze fixed on the crowd of warriors as they padded through the forest, hands pressed to wounds, mutters and whispers of discontent spread through the air. He still refused to look at Redtail. Redtail exhaled and walked to the front of the group, acutely aware of the glares sent at the back of his neck.

Tigerclaw followed last, lagging somewhat. He hesitated at the edge of the forest and glanced back at the bloodstained battlefield and celebrating RiverClan folk. The mask was back on his face, shrouding his already-grim face in shadow. The blood on his nose was beginning to dry, but it was still dripping down his chin in dark streaks, glistening in the moonlight. His eyes were furious amber slits. Then he treaded after his clan into the silent forest.

---

In a deserted clearing, an old woman with silvered gray hair sat alone on the grass, arms around her knees, staring up at the clear night sky. All around her, in the huts in the shadows, she could hear the breathing and stirrings of sleeping folk.

A short woman emerged from a dark corner, her footsteps quick and soundless. The golden-brown hair curling out from under her catlike headdress glinted as she entered the moonlight.

The gray-haired woman dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she asked.

“Her wounds are deep, Bluestar,” answered the headdressed woman, settling herself on the night-cool grass. “But she is strong and full of life; 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 woman, Spottedleaf.” She tilted her head up again and studied the stars. “I am deeply troubled by tonight’s defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten so shamefully 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 children in years. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive.”

“But the year is only just beginning,” Spottedleaf pointed out calmly, gently brushing Bluestar’s hair. “Frostfur’s children will come with greenleaf, and Goldenflower’s two will be ready for apprenticeship in a couple years.”

The gray-haired woman shrugged her broad shoulders. “Perhaps. But training them will take time, and that’s only if they survive the five or six more leafbares to come. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, we must have new warriors as soon as possible.”

“Do you want to ask StarClan for answers?” asked 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 I- we need the words of ancient warriors to help us. Has StarClan spoken to you with advice?” Bluestar asked, glancing at Spottedleaf with a glint of hope in her eyes.

“Nothing new for some moons, Bluestar.”

Suddenly, a shooting star blazed over the treetops. Spottedleaf’s hands twitched and her spine stiffened.

Bluestar’s eyebrows raised, but she remained silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upward even as the fiery blaze faded out from the sky.

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, even when bound in its place! 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 woman. “You have never been wrong before, Spottedleaf,” she said. “If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will save our clan.”

Chapter 3: Chapter 1 - Into The Forest

It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near. The young boy’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense forest. The place was unfamiliar, but strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply through his nose and mouth, letting the warm smells of the forest fill his sinuses. Musty odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting, musky smell of a hoofed creature.

Suddenly a crackle of leaves, slightly out of place, sounded to his left. Rusty stopped still, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than ten meters away. Rusty knew already it was a young fallow doe, her speckled flanks brushing at the leaves as she slowly walked through the bushes, unaware to the danger. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon, he’ll be able to start a fire and satisfy his hunger.

Slowly he lowered his body, hunching, letting the shadows swallow his form. His fingers were firm on his bow as he prepared for the attack. He was downwind of the doe. He knew she was not aware of him, merely strolling through the night and snacking on the may-green leaves. With one final check on his prey’s position, Rusty pulled back the bowstring and released the arrow. The whizz of the fletching broke the silence.

The doe dived for cover, heading towards a gap in the trees. But Rusty was already cornering it. He quickly flicked up another arrow, notched it, and fired it in one go. The arrow flew like a hawk and embedded itself in the doe’s shoulder, and she crumpled to the leaf-covered ground. She was dazed, but alive. She tried to scramble away, but she only made it a few paces before Rusty caught up with her. He’d slung his bow over his shoulder and unholstered his knife, deciding it would be less effort to just throw it and end the animal without wasting any more arrows.

Suddenly a voice called his name nearby. Rusty looked around, startled, the adrenaline from the hunt suddenly working to put him on edge. As he did, the doe was able to pull herself to her feet and stumble away through the undergrowth. Rusty turned, trying to search her out again, but he only saw her spotted rump disappearing in the darkness between the tangled brambles.

Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his fingers locked around the handle of his knife, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the voice that had cost him his kill. The voice called on, becoming more familiar. Rusty blinked open his eyes right before a heavy weight landed across his stomach.

“Oof!” Rusty’s breath was knocked out of him.

“There you are! I was starting to get worried!” said Luna lightheartedly, brushing her dark her out of her face. “Mum made supper. Come on, naptime’s over!” she said, climbing out of bed and running to the door of their room, her socked feet making a soft thump-thump-thump footfall against the hardwood floor.

Rusty propped himself up slightly, one hand groggily searching for his watch. He remembered taking it off, right? “How long was I-” He paused to yawn. “-asleep?”

Luna giggled. “Mate, you flopped down as soon as we came home from school. Pretty sure you were dead asleep since then.” She wrinkled her nose with silent laughter as Rusty continued to scrabble through the bedding. “Also, you’re still wearing your watch,” she added, amused.

Rusty paused and glanced down at his left wrist. 8:35 PM. “Mmmh…” he groaned, flopping back down and put his arm over his face. “You could’ve woken me up earlier…”

“We thought you deserved some rest,” Luna said, her voice a bit softer now. “You were up to 4 AM yesternight. Or have you forgotten?”

Rusty looked up, startled. “4 AM?! I thought it was just midnight!” he exclaimed.

“Nope!” Luna snickered. “4 AM! We just didn’t have the heart to tell you to close the computer. What was it about, anyway?” she asked. “Bushcraft again?”

Firepaw shrugged sheepishly. “Building safe fires in the forest,” he confirmed.

Luna shook her head. “Honestly, I’ve never seen the point of all that. We live in the UK, not Uganda, for frick’s sake!”

“It could come in handy someday- You never know!” Rusty bristled, defending his fascination. He untangled his hand from the sheets to point at her for emphasis. “What if one day we’re flying on a plane and it crashes in Malaysia somewhere? You’re gonna be begging me to start a safe fire then!”

Luna laughed. “Alright, alright. Whatever.” She started heading out the door. “Be quick, or Filou’s gonna eat all the eggs!” she called over her shoulder before Rusty heard her running down the stairs.

Rusty sat up and paused, staring at his feet as they dangled over the edge of the bed. The dark spots-for-eyes of the rabbits on his socks stared back.

I wish I could be like them… Just running around in the grass. Nobody wants them to know who Shakespeare is or what’s the Pythagorean theorem.

Moonlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows on the floor. The moon was nearing full. The voice must have been Luna trying to wake him up. The hunt, the forest… Rusty had been dreaming.

Lifting to his feet, he paused in the middle of the room, which after the free forest of the dream seemed tight and claustrophobic. The synthetic fabric of his clothes rubbed uncomfortably against his skin. In his dream he had been wearing soft clothes of leather and animal hide. Rusty leaned against the doorframe, staring out the window, where the trees swayed gently in the evening wind. He listened to the crickets in silence. He could still smell the doe’s musk. It was the third time this month that he’s had this exact same dream, and every time the doe had escaped him.

His mother called his name again, so he sighed, stretched the last bits of sleep from his limbs, and walked out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen, where the scent of slightly-burnt eggs filled the hot and stuffy air.

He sat down at the table, gaze fixed on the plate. Nutmeg walked around the table, giving each of her children a share of scrambled eggs. They were maybe a little burnt - Nutmeg has never been a particularly skillful cook - but they were always made with love, and had just the perfect amount of white and yolk. Normally, all of them loved it. But today, they felt like sand on Rusty’s tongue. Every fault seemed ten times worse, the dryness parching, the tastelessness turning bland. If I was in the forest, and could just… collect some berries, blue- or bramble, get some eggs from a wood pigeon or grouse… maybe hunt a rabbit and boil it all together, make a stew, it’d be more satisf-

“How was your day, Rusty?” His mother’s voice felt like it was coming from underwater. He glanced up briefly. Nutmeg was smiling, but there was concern in her eyes. But Rusty didn’t really have anything to say. He just hummed, shrugged, and gave a nothing-answer. Nutmeg frowned slightly, but didn’t push, turning her attention to Tommy. His family’s voices blurred together, broken up only by the scraping of his fork against the plate as Rusty finished his meal. His mind kept trying to focus on the sound of wind through the trees, and the songs of the evening birds and crickets…

He didn’t even wait for his family. As soon as he’d finished, he put his plate into the sink and trodded out into the garden. He heard Nutmeg calling, the words eluding his understanding, the tone telling him enough. “‘M just going for a walk,” he mumbled before he walked out the back door into the garden, hoping that the sounds and smells of the forest across the fence would bring back the feelings of his dream. “Need some fresh air…”

Outside, the moon was bright through the patchy evening clouds. It was raining lightly. Rusty walked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones push against the soles of his shoes. He passed by a large rosebush, with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly scent cloyed the damp air around him, and he scrunched up his face to drive the scent out of his nostrils and sped up until he was away from the bush. He’d never told his mother how much he hated the roses, he knew that would hurt her. But they were annoying, almost artificial in scent. The fact that they were not artificial was perhaps the only part of nature Rusty could wholeheartedly hate.

He walked to the edge of the garden and leaned on one of the posts in the fence that marked its limits. It was a favourite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighbouring gardens as well as the dense green forest on the other side.

The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond the fence the woods were full of shadows. Rusty stretched on his tiptoes to take a sniff of the damp air. His back was warm and dry under his shirt, but he could feel the weight of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger hair.

He heard Princess giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, he could play games with them until their mother chased them all to bed, and then stay up all night talking about school drama.

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

Suddenly the back of his neck prickled. Was something moving out there? Was something watching him? Rusty stared ahead, but it was impossible to see or hear anything in the dark, tree-scented air. He lifted his chin boldly, stood up straighter, and stretched, hands gripping the rails on either side of the post as he straightened his legs and arched his back like a cat. He straightened back up, closed his eyes, and breathed in the scent of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward into the whispering shadows. He tensed his muscles before throwing one leg over the fence. He tried to perch on it, maybe get a more comfortable roost, but he overshot, lost balance, and tumbled onto the ground on the other side of the garden fence. A muffled oof rang out through the still night air as he landed, momentarily out of breath.

“Where are you off to, Rusty?” called a familiar voice to his side.

Rusty looked up. A young boy with ink-black hair and clean, somewhat expensive white clothes was standing by the fence, clearly having come from one of the nearby houses.

“Hello, Smudge,” Rusty replied, still on the ground with one leg hooked on the fence.

“You're not going into the woods, are you?” Smudge's amber eyes were huge.

“Just for a look,” Rusty promised, tucking his legs into order and rolling over to push himself back up.

“You wouldn't get me in there. It's dangerous!” Smudge wrinkled his nose with distaste. “Mr. Henry said he went into the woods once.” The boy gestured over the rows of fences where Mr. Henry Pines lived.

“That fat old sot never went into the woods!” Rusty scoffed. “He's hardly been further than the Tesco in years. All he wants to do is drink and sleep.”

“No, really. He set a trap and caught a big boar in there!” Smudge insisted.

“Well, if he did, that was before he started drinking. Now he complains about the morning birds because they disturb his hungover dozing.”

“Well, anyway,” Smudge went on, ignoring the scorn in Rusty's voice. “Mr. Henry told me that there are all sorts of dangerous animals out there. Even mythical creatures, like- like dragons or griffins! And wild people who eat live rabbits for breakfast and build their houses out of old bones!”

Rusty rolled his eyes. “Please. Next thing you know, you're going to be telling me there's fairies in the forest out to steal my name. You're starting to sound like my mum.”

“You never know!” Smudge said, voice tight, as if panicked.

Rusty felt bad for worrying his friend so much. “I'm only going for a look around,” he said, gentler now. “I won't be long.”

“Well, don't say I didn't warn you!” laughed Smudge nervously, brushing some dirt off of Rusty's shoulder. With a final concerned glance, the inky-haired boy turned and jogged back down the street into his own garden.

Rusty walked down the only slightly-beaten-out path through the tall, thick, coarse grass beyond the garden fence. As the shadows of the trees around him grew and swallowed the lights of the town behind him, he couldn't help but swallow nervously and wonder how much of Smudge's gossip was true.

Suddenly the movement of an animal caught his eye. He watched as some shape descended from the air and landed between the trees.

Instinct made him drop into a low crouch. With slow movements, he found a pointed rock with his hand and quietly picked it up. With one slow step after another he drew his body forward through the undergrowth, letting the rhythm of the forest hide his footfall. Nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, he moved toward the animal. He could see it clearly now, perched among the barbed branches of a bramble, nibbling on the berries. A hazel grouse.

Rusty flexed his fingers on the rock, adjusting his grip before he threw. He held his breath in case the bird heard it. Excitement coursed through him, making his heart pound. This is even better than my dreams!

Then a sudden, strange, creaky, booming call made him jump and shift some crunchy old leaves. The bird took off and fluttered away through the thickest tangles of tree branches.

Rusty stood very still until the call trailed off. It was strange, like something you'd hear an alien sing in a video game. He didn't recognise it, of course - it didn't even sound real… He stayed still for a moment longer before slowly starting to move towards the direction the call sounded from. Some part of him whispered that this was a bad idea, but he kept pushing forward, deeper and deeper into the woods, his curiosity getting the better of him.

When the lights of town were mere whispers behind him, and his eyes were fully used to the darkness, that is when he spotted tracks. Weaving a bit, but seemingly leading the same way as the voice had come from… Like a chicken's foot, but much, much larger… Damn it, if only I'd taken my camera! Rusty followed the tracks, which were now leading him through a clump of tall ferns up ahead. He smelled a strong, strange, disgusting scent, like rotten eggs on top of compost. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was slowly getting stronger as Rusty kept walking. Whatever made that smell must be close… He wanted to find whatever it was. Maybe he'll discover a new creature, then he'd be famous!

All of Rusty's senses strained ahead as he prowled forward. He heard the call again, much louder this time, much closer… but hidden under it, barely audible through the song, Rusty detected another noise. It seemed to come from behind, but it and distant, and muted by the call he was tracking. But it itched on his nerves, so Rusty turned his head slightly to hear it better. Footsteps? he wondered, but kept following the huge tracks.

It was only when the faint rustling behind him became a loud and fast-approaching leaf-crackle that Rusty realised he was in danger.

A hard object hit him like an explosion, knocking him to the ground. The weight of the attacker threw both of them sideways into a clump of nettles. Twisting and yelping, Rusty tried to throw his assailant off, but they had fastened themselves into his back and were gripping him with incredibly strong hands. Rusty could feel their nails scraping his skin where they met it. He writhed and squirmed from head to toe, but he couldn't free himself. For a second he felt hopeless; then he froze. Thinking fast, he pulled all his limbs in sharply, rolled over onto his back, and kicked out with his legs with all the strength he could muster.

He was lucky - the ploy seemed to work. He heard a hhuuffff as the breath was knocked out from his attacker. Rusty rolled away, ignoring the pinecones that pressed against his skin hard enough to hurt, scrambled up, and without looking back, he sprinted towards his home.

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

It was another boy, wearing warm fur clothes, with shaggy gray hair tied up in a ponytail, strong legs, and a broad face. In a heartbeat, Rusty sensed the power in the sturdy shoulders underneath the soft coat. Then the boy crashed into Rusty at full pelt. Taken by surprise by Rusty's turnabout, the boy slammed into him with a huph- and they both fell to the ground in a dazed heap.

The impact knocked the breath out of Rusty, but he didn't let himself stay on the ground long. Shoving his opponent away, he quickly scrambled to his feet and lifted his fists, ready to swing at the boy like it was just a schoolyard fight (he'd gotten into those before). But when his attacker staggered to his feet, he simply raised his eyebrows, grinned with wide, surprised eyes, and started picking pine needles from his hair, all signs of aggression gone.

Rusty felt strangely disappointed. Every part of him was tense, ready for battle.

“Hi there, tame!” said the gray-haired boy cheerily. “You put up quite a fight for a tame boy!”

Rusty remained stanced-up for a second, wondering whether to attack anyway. Then he remembered the strength he had felt in the boy's hands when he had pinned him to the ground. He lowered his fists, loosened his muscles, and let his breathing slow. “And I'll fight you again if I have to,” he growled.

“I'm Graypaw, by the way,” the gray-haired boy went on, ignoring Rusty's threat. “I'm training to be a ThunderClan warrior!”

Rusty remained silent. He didn't understand what this Graywhatsit was talking about. He hid his confusion by staring off in the direction the strange call had been coming from.

Graypaw noticed. “Were you following that cockatrice earlier?” he asked incredulously. “Don't you know how dangerous that is?!”

Firepaw paused and looked at Graypaw. “Wait, sorry, did you just say… cockatrice ?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. No way… cockatrices aren't real… Are the stories true?

“It's a good thing that I attacked you when I did, then,” remarked Graypaw, voice shaky. “A minute later and you would've been noticed!” He narrowed his eyes at Firepaw, glaring. “Or worse, you could've gotten both of us noticed! Huh, so I saved my skin too…” he muttered. “This is why tames like you shouldn't go out into the forest. You don't know what you're doing, you're going to get yourself killed! Just the people here are dangerous, not to mention the animals!”

“If you're the most dangerous person these woods have to offer, then I think I could handle it alright,” Rusty bluffed.

Graypaw looked at him for a moment with his big yellow eyes before laughing. “Oh, I'm far from the most dangerous! If I were even half a warrior, I'd have given an intruder like you some real wounds to think about.”

Rusty felt a thrill of fear at those words. What does he mean by ‘intruder’?

“Anyway,” said Graypaw, tugging a dry leaf out from a tangle in his hair, “I didn't think it was really worth hurting you, honestly. You're obviously not from one of the other clans.”

“Other clans?” Rusty echoed, confused.

Graypaw let out an impatient hiss. “You're from the town, right? You must've heard of us!”

“No, not in specifics,” said Rusty, somewhat offended. “Cut me some slack, I'm only ten!”

“And? So am I. You should really be listening to your elders more then,” Graypaw replied snappishly.

“If only you knew my ‘elders’-” Rusty huffed, then shook his head to calm himself. “Alright, what are the clans then?”

Graypaw squinted at him for a second longer, before shrugging and relaxing his muscles. “There are four warrior clans that hunt around here. I belong to ThunderClan. The other clans are always trying to steal prey from our territory, especially ShadowClan. They're so fierce they would've ripped you to shreds, no questions asked.”

Graypaw paused to spit at the ground angrily and continued: “They come to take resources that are rightfully ours. They chose to live in the swamp, if they're not happy with what they get from there, then they should just move! Ugh… It's the job of ThunderClan warriors to keep them out of our territory. When I've finished my training, I'll be so dangerous, I'll have the other clans shaking in their flea-bitten skins!” He swung his weapon, a club, around with a fierce smile. “They won't dare come near us then!”

Rusty watched him in thought. This must be one of those wildfolk Smudge warned me about! Living rough in the woods, hunting and fighting for every scrap of food… Yet Rusty didn't feel scared. In fact, it was hard not to admire this confident boy. “So you're not a warrior yet?” he asked.

“Why? D'you think I was?” Graypaw chuckled proudly; then he shook his head. “I won't be a real warrior for ages . I have to go through training first. Children have to be ten years old before they even begin training. I’ve been training for almost half a year, and tonight's only my first night out alone!”

“...why don't you find some nice, warm, safe place where you can crash for a few days at a time?” Rusty asked, suddenly struck by a thought. “Your life would be much easier. There's plenty of places that'd help out a homeless kid, and I can't imagine there's many people who wouldn't let you sleep in their garden a day or two. All you have to do is hang out where they can see you and look miserable for a couple days-”

“And they'd feed me their slop-from-a-bag, take my weapons, and whisk me off to some faroff place!” Graypaw interrupted. “No way! I can't think of anything worse than being a tame ! They're nothing but lazy ignorants! Eating stuff that they don't even know the origin of, making dirt in a stone bowl, staying inside when it's even slightly windy? That's no life! Out here it's wild, and it's free. We come and go as we please.” He finished his speech with a proud heh , then smiled mischeviously. “Until you've tasted a fresh-killed, campfire-cooked buck, you haven't lived. Have you ever tasted deer?”

“No,” Rusty admitted, a little defensively. “Not yet.”

“I guess you'll never understand,” Graypaw sighed. “You weren't born wild. It makes a big difference. You need to be born with warrior blood in your veins, or feel the wind in your hair. Kids born into tame nests could never feel the same way.”

Rusty remembered the way he had felt in his dream. “That's not true!” he shouted indignantly.

Graypaw did not reply. He suddenly stiffened, fingers still tangled in his hair, tilted his head back, and breathed the forest in. “Folk from my clan,” he hissed after a moment. “You should go, cockatrice or not. They won't be pleased to find you hunting in their territory!”

Rusty looked around, wondering how Graypaw knew anyone was approaching. He couldn't see anything in the shadows or hear anything on the breeze. But his hair stood on end at the note of urgency in Graypaw's voice.

“Quick!” hissed Graypaw again, shoving him backwards gently. “Run!”

Rusty tensed his muscles and prepared to spring into the bushes, though he didn't quite know which way was safe to run.

He was too late. A voice spoke behind them, firm and menacing. “What's going on here?”

Rusty turned to see a tall gray-haired woman strolling majestically out from the trees. She was magnificent. Her face was hidden behind a mask, the face of a regal gray cat. A bow curled behind her back, an ancient-looking scabbard hung on her hip, and a wolf pelt fell from her shoulders like a cape of silver and moonlight.

“Bluestar!” Beside Rusty, Graypaw shrank down and narrowed his eyes in worry. He shrank back even further when a second warrior - a great man, his face hidden by a cat mask and a massive golden beard - followed the gray-haired woman into the clearing.

“I thought you were supposed to be patrolling the border , Graypaw,” growled the bearded man angrily, his green eyes flashing in the night as he narrowed them. “You are far from it.”

“I know, Lionheart, I’m sorry,” Graypaw mumbled, looking at his feet.

Rusty resisted the urge to take his hand, to comfort both him and himself. He copied Graypaw in lowering his head, his skin prickling nervously. These people had an air of strength he had never seen in anyone before, not even the toughest bullies at school. Maybe what Smudge had warned him about was true.

“Who is this?” asked the woman.

Rusty flinched as she turned her gaze on him. Her expression was completely hidden behind her mask, and her piercing blue eyes made him feel even more vulnerable.

“He’s no threat,” said Graypaw quickly. “He’s not a rogue. Just a tame boy who tried to track a cockatrice… I kinda saved him, hah…”

Just a tame boy! The words inflamed Rusty, but he held his tongue. The warning look in Bluestar’s stare told him that she had observed the anger in his eyes, and he looked away.

“This is Bluestar; she’s leader of my clan!” Graystripe hissed in Rusty’s ear. “And Lionheart. He’s my mentor, which means he’s training me to be a warrior.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Graypaw,” said Lionheart coolly, a little bit too loud. Graypaw sent him a nervous grin, then fixed his expression and looked back down, relenting under the warrior’s heavy gaze.

Bluestar was still staring at Rusty. “You fight well for a tame,” she said.

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 had our reasons to watch you, Graypaw… But then we noticed the tame boy too, and we wondered how you would deal with an intruder. You acted bravely; perhaps you didn’t even fully realise you were saving him from a horrible fate. But you did, nevermind that he’s an outsider. You acted like a warrior.”

Graypaw looked pleased at Bluestar’s praise.

“Down, both of you!” Bluestar looked at Rusty. “You too, tame boy.” She kneeled on the forest floor too, and after a moment, Lionheart did too. Rusty neatly tucked his legs under him and held Bluestar’s gaze evenly as she addressed him.

“You reacted well to the attack, tame. Graypaw is stronger than you, but you didn’t let your mind get overwhelmed by fear, and found a way to beat him, and later turned to face him when he chased you. And the very fact you’re even here - you clearly have managed to track a magical beast for a long distance, which is not an easy feat. I’ve not seen a tame your age do that before.”

Rusty managed to nod his thanks, taken aback by such unexpected praise. “I- I mean, it’s just tracking, and the tracks were pretty big, so it wasn’t that ha-” He stopped mid-word when Bluestar raised a hand; she wasn’t done. Her next words surprised him even more.

“I have been wondering how you would perform out here, beyond the Tameplace. We patrol this border frequently and go to the tame markets every few moons, and I have so often seen you hovering around your boundary, staring out into the forest. And now, at last, you have dared to set foot off the beaten paths… and you are exactly the age new apprentices are.” Bluestar stared at Rusty thoughtfully. “You do seem to have a natural tracking ability… Sharp eyes. Notice details others don’t, perhaps. Perhaps you would’ve been able to take a look at that cockatrice and get out of it alive after all.”

“R-really?” Rusty stammered. None of his schoolteachers have ever spoken of his odd attention to detail positively.

Lionheart spoke now. His deep voice was respectful but insistent. “Bluestar, this is a tame child . He should be on the paths with his family, not tracking monsters in ThunderClan territory. We should be walking him off to his home, not talking about hypotheticals.”

Rusty prickled at Lionheart’s dismissive words. “Walk me home?” he whined impatiently. Bluestar’s words had made him glow with pride. She had noticed him; she had been impressed by him, said he could make a good clan warrior ! “But I’ve only come here to hunt a grouse or rabbit. 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; she leaned forward, her fingers curling like claws into the needle-strewn ground. 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 towered by his leader’s side. Both warriors loomed over him now, and Rusty was suddenly acutely aware of how many weapons they had on hand. He looked into Bluestar’s threatening stare and his pride dissolved. These were not cozy ren faire cosplayers he was dealing with - they were ragged, hungry folk who were probably going to finish what Graypaw had started.

Chapter 4: Chapter 2 - On A New Path

“Well?” hissed Bluestar, her masked face mere centimeters from his face now. Lionheart remained silent as he towered over Rusty.

He hunched his shoulders and shrank under the gold-bearded warrior’s cold stare. On some unclear instinct, he bowed slightly. “I-I’m no threat to your clan,” he whispered, staring at his shaking hands on the ground.

“You threaten our clan when you take our food and distract our warriors!” snarled Bluestar. “You have plenty of food in your tame-nest already. You come here to hunt for sport and think stalking magic beasts is fun. We hunt to survive, and we don’t want you dying to these beasts either.”

The truth of the warrior leader’s words pierced Rusty like a thorn, and suddenly he understood her anger. He bowed lower, but stopped trembling. “I had not thought of it that way before. I am sorry,” he said solemnly. “I will not go out here alone again.” When silence dragged on for a few moments, he dared to raise his head and meet Bluestar’s eyes. They were filled with thought and… wonder?

Her muscles slowly relaxed, and she gestured to Lionheart to do the same. “You are an unusual tame, Rusty,” she said softly.

Graypaw’s sigh of relief made Rusty twitch and, after a moment, straighten back up. He heard the approval in Bluestar’s voice and noticed as she swapped a meaningful glance with Lionheart. That look made him curious. What flashed between them? Quietly, he asked, “Is survival here really that hard?”

“Our territory only covers 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 asked, eyes wide.

“Big enough,” replied Bluestar. “Our territory can support us, but we can’t give any more out.”

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

Lionheart answered him. “Most are warriors. Some are too young, or too old, or too busy caring for children to hunt and fight. And some don’t hunt because they have other, more important duties.”

“And you all just… live and share prey together?” Rusty murmured in awe. Now that he’s met the ‘wildfolk’, he could see they weren’t the feral savages the rumours have been painting them as, and he couldn’t help but think a little guiltily of his own easy, almost selfish life.

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

Rusty was so surprised, he couldn’t speak.

After a moment passed with both Rusty and Graypaw staring with mouths agape, Bluestar went on: “If you did, you would be apprenticed and, like Graypaw, would have to train to become a clan warrior.”

“But tames 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 is spilled by fate every year.”

She took off her mask, revealing a face beautiful, but creased by a lifetime of worry and war. She flipped the mask, staring at it in silence, her blue eyes dark with sorrows Rusty didn’t know and probably never would. One of her hands drew up to fiddle with a pendant on her necklace - a pale piece of wood. A flower? Her eyes seemed unfocused, lost in grief-filled memory.

When a few seconds passed in silence, Lionheart cleared his throat - quiety, as though he didn’t want to rouse his leader from her trance - and looked at Rusty, eyes softer than they were before, though still imposing. “Bluestar is only offering you training, boy. There is no guarantee you would make it to becoming a full warrior. Hunting and fighting might prove too difficult  for you. And that’s assuming you don’t fall ill. After all, you are used to a safe, comfortable life.”

Rusty was stung by Lionheart’s words. He swung his head around to face the golden-haired man. “Why offer me the chance, then?”

But it was Bluestar who answered, giving the group a spook as they’d assumed she would be silent for longer. Her voice sounded stronger, more determined, almost amused. “You are right to question our motives, young one. The fact is, ThunderClan needs more warriors as soon as we can.”

“Understand that Bluestar does not make this offer lightly,” warned Lionheart. “If you wish to train with us, you will have to fully join our clan. You must either live with us and respect our ways, or return to your Tameplace and never come back. You cannot live with a foot in each world.”

A cool breeze stirred the branches of the trees, ruffling Rusty’s hair. He shivered, not with the cold, but with the excitement at the incredible possibilities opening up in front of him.

“Are you wondering if it’s worth giving up your comfortable tame life?” asked Bluestar gently. “But do you realise the price you pay for your warmth and food?”

Rusty looked at her, puzzled. Surely his encounter with these people had proved to him just how easy and luxurious his life was?

“I can tell that you are still have that wild streak,” Bluestar added, “despite the tame clothes.”

“What do you mean, wild streak ?”

“You are still young. Children like you… they listen better. They can still run with the wind instead of just in the same direction. They still feel wonder and respect when in the shadow of a great tree. Tames say these are signs someone hasn’t ‘grown up’ yet. Thank the ancestors you dared to walk here before you started thinking of word and song as childish nonsense too. You’d be a much different person then. Not as keen to talk with a person from the clans, I suspect - just worried about the faraway happenings your glowing-boxes tell you of!”

Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Mr. Henry, who had grown into a fat, lazy, TV-glued drunkard since Rusty first met him… come to think of it, Mr. Henry hadn’t been so bad before he retired and bought a TV. Now all he did was sit on the couch, complain, and accumulate beer bottles. He thought of more and more. Older friends he’d had, a grade or two older than him, who’d stopped wanting to play with him as years went by, drifting away, and telling him to stop obsessing over forests because it was weird. The teachers who seemed to become more and more bitter and jaded with every grade he passed, and more and more weary of his excitement about survival techniques, telling him to ‘quit messing around’ and ‘grow up’. Grow up . The strangers he saw on the bus, all quiet, staring into their phones, barely moving even for elders sometimes. Grow up . No adults he knew seemed truly happy in their jobs. They were all lawyers, or accountants, or something else ‘sensible’ like that. Grow up . Their mother never really talked about their father, and he’d died when they were all too young to remember him much. Her family didn’t seem to like him. But Nutmeg always seemed so happy thinking about him… She’d only say offhand things, but it’s always positive, a genuinely in-love tone, no bitterness or fear… About his adventures. His adventures. His adventures .

He was like me. He was exactly like me. Maybe even was in this situation himself. He adventured. He loved the wild. He never lost that wild streak.

He never ‘grew up’. Whatever value that has. So everyone thought he was childish, good-for-nothing, that mum should’ve went for someone better, respectable…

Grown up. Grown up. Grown up.

Not wild. Not caring for the wild.

“The clan may not be able to offer you such easy food or warmth,” continued Bluestar. “In leaf-bare, nights in the forest can be cruel. The clan demands undying loyalty and much hard work. You will be expected to give your life for the good the clan if necessary. And there are many mouths to feed. But the rewards are great. You will remain wild. You will not forget respect for trees. You will remember the real bonds, of song and story and braided hair. You will be trained in the ways of the wild. You will learn what it is to be a real human. The strength and 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 tantalisingly, 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. Let’s walk this boy to the border of Tameplace and get going.” He stood up and looked at her expectantly.

“Wait,” Rusty said quickly when Bluestar started getting up. “Can I think about your offer?”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment and nodded. “Lionheart will be at your border tomorrow at sunhigh,” she told him. “Give him your answer then.”

Bluestar put her mask back on. Rusty knew what she was going to say next, so he interrupted her quickly. “I can find my way home,” he said, gesturing to the faint lights of the town flickering between the branches. “It’s not far. I’ll be fast, I promise.”

Bluestar nodded after a moment and murmured a low signal, and in a single movement the three wildfolk disappeared into the undergrowth, the rustle of leaves of their passage vanishing into the wind in seconds.

Rusty stood and blinked. He stared - excited, uncertain - up past the ferns and hazels that encircled him, through the canopy of leaves, to the stars that glittered in the wild-clear sky. The presence of the clanfolk still hung heavy in the evening air. And as Rusty turned and headed for home, he felt a strange sensation inside him, tugging him back into the depths of the forest. His skin prickled deliciously in the brisk light wind, and the rustling leaves seemed to whisper his name into the shadows.

Notes:

okay so i am going to be off the grid for like four days so the next chapter might take more time, + it is longer... but i hope i can get it out before august, so stay tuned!

kudos and comments keep authors alive, if you enjoyed please do comment i LOVE interacting with people who read my works :)))

Chapter 5: Chapter 3 - Camp And Challenge

Notes:

okay i KNOW i said i would post this before august but literally as i was writing this my cat got sick so. that delayed it a little
i dont want to accidentally curse myself but. you know what im talking about right. because i am getting worried it might be real

That morning, as Rusty slept off his night’s wanderings, the hunting dream came again, even more vivid than before. Free in soft animalhide clothes, beneath the full moon, he stalked the wild beast. Now, it was a mysterious shadow, whatever his brain imagined under the name ‘cockatrice’. Faceless, featureless, like the oh-so-enticing idea of the wild given a shape and a form.

But this time he was aware the cockatrice’s eyes weren’t the only ones on him. He was being watched, not with anger or fear. Shining from the shadows of the forest he saw dozens of yellow eyes; behind the dark trees he saw flitting bodies and heard soft whispers. The clanfolk had entered his dream world.

Rusty woke to the sound of a door slamming, quick footsteps, and someone yanking his covers off while somebody else shouted, “Wake up, sleepy-head!”

He stirred up and blinked groggily. Tommy snickered from beside his head and headed out. Rusty grumbled. They know I’m not a morning person, he thought, still sleep-grumpy. Who pulled my covers off?! He glared up to the bunk bed across him, hearing Princess giggle. The sight of his sleep-ruffled glare tipped Princess over the edge into full-on laughter.

“ Princess ,” he yelled as her head vanished over the edge of her bunk. “Hey- Stop laughing!” He climbed up the ladder and smacked her in the leg. “It’s not funny! I was tired! Why would you take my sheets?!”

“It was me, actually. Rusty, we need to talk.”

Rusty froze, and even Princess’ laughter trailed off. He turned his head. Their mother was standing in the doorway. She didn’t look angry per se, but she looked… almost disappointed. And that was even worse.

Rusty slowly climbed down the ladder and stood in front of her. “Yes, mum?”

“Where were you last night?” asked Nutmeg, her voice strained with frustration.

Rusty flinched. “Why didn’t you ask me yesterday evening?” he asked, half-curious, half-trying to dodge the question.

“You came in home, hit your bed, and fell asleep instantly,” Nutmeg said firmly. “Where. Were. You. Last. Night.”

Rusty cringed. I’m not getting out of this, am I? “...I was out for a walk,” he mumbled.

“On a walk where ?” Nutmeg pushed on.

“...the forest,” Rusty mumbled, so quietly that it was barely audible, like he hoped that Nutmeg wouldn’t hear.

Nutmeg sighed and kneeled down. She reminded Rusty of Bluestar now - the same tired face. Rusty blinked himself back to focus when he realised she’d started talking “...ing to the forest.” He stared at Nutmeg for a moment, hoping she’d get the hint that she has to say it again.

She sighed. “Rusty, focus.” She put her hands on Rusty’s shoulders. “You have to stop going to the forest.” She raised her hand to interrupt him as he opened his mouth. “Listen. Rusty. You keep walking the border. You learn about birds and mushrooms instead of doing your homework. I’ve been lenient, but now your grades are suffering. You’re grounded from going to the forest until your grades improve.”

Rusty gaped, speechless. She couldn’t be doing this!

“...what?” he managed finally.

Nutmeg sighed. “You are not allowed to go to the forest until your grades improve. It’s time to grow up, Rusty.”

Her words hurt Rusty like a dagger.

“Wh- No!” he whimper-yelled. “You can’t do that!”

“I can,” Nutmeg said, her voice cooling. “I’m your mother. And if you won’t care for your future, then I will.” She got up to leave.

Rusty pushed himself up to argue, but Nutmeg lifted her hand, silencing him. “That’s final, Rusty.” She left, leaving Rusty to sit in silent horror. Tears welled up in his eyes.

He heard the shifting of sheets, and Princess climbed down from the bunk and sat down with him. She was quiet for a moment. “That was harsh,” she murmured finally. “She knows how much the forest means to you.”

Rusty gritted his teeth and nodded. He wanted to speak, but there was a lump in his throat. He blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears from falling.

"I’m sorry for laughing. I told her to pull your sheets off. I didn’t know she was going to ground you,” said Princess guiltily. Rusty looked up at her, but she didn’t meet his gaze.

He took in a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself down. If it had been any other time, he’d just be upset. But after what happened last night?

He knew where he’d be heading.

He would not be listening to his mother. Not this time. Not ever again.

“Where’s Tommy?” he asked, opening his eyes. He remembered his brother yelling in his ear, but he hasn’t seen him since.

“He left before mum started talking to you,” Princess answered. “I don’t think he knew.”

“Mm.” Rusty leaned back. “When's breakfast?” His voice sounded… strange. Even to him.

Princess hesitated, almost scared at the weird tone of voice, but shook it off. “It's on the table already,” she said. “Mum made it while you were still sleeping.” She paused and smiled slightly. “You're always the last to wake up.” Rusty just hummed in response. Still silent, he got up, as if to head downstairs.

Princess got up too and followed him. “Try not to get on mum's bad side today, okay?” she said. “I think she's got something serious with work.”

Rusty paused. “Ohh… I forgot.” He cringed. “Shoot, maybe I shouldn't have gone out last night…” He narrowed his eyes, staring off into the distance. “But then again…”

“Yeah, you really shouldn't have…” said Princess, but trailed off when she saw Rusty's face twitch. “Sorry. Uh… yeah. Don't be late or Filou's gonna eat your eggs again,” she said, her tone lighthearted, but the joke falling flat and awkward in the bleak mood of the room.

Rusty listened to the footfall of her socked feet for a few moments, before turning towards his nightstand. Okay, it wasn't his ; he shared it with Tommy, the only part that was his his was one drawer. But how much space he had didn't matter now. What did is what was inside the drawer.

He opened it and dug around. In-between the old drawings and dried plants and long-forgotten homework sheets was his father's multitool, red and warm and carved with scrapes.

He ran his thumb across them. They were not random; they swirled and spiralled, like gusts of wind in a picture book. Rusty didn't know why his father had carved his multitool; perhaps he was just like him, unable to sit still and focus if his life depended on it…

The multitool was his most treasured possession. It was the last tangible thing he had left from his dad, and it was his . Not shared with his siblings or mum, like the house or the photos or the ancient macaroni art. It was his, just his, only his; Jake had given it to him the last Christmas before he died. If there was anything he refused to leave behind, it was this.

He pocketed it and went down the stairs. All his siblings were already there, eating cereal. There was one remaining empty bowl - his. He grabbed the box of cheerios from Tommy, giving a half-hearted glare at the back of his neck, and sat down. As he poured the milk and cereal in, his mind was already plotting out how he could sneak out. His mother was working today, and the window of her study faced the street; it wouldn't be too hard to sneak out into the garden and jump the fence, right?

As he ate the cereal however, his mind started heading in a different direction. He honestly would've preferred to eat something he gathered for himself. But the day was warm and humid, and the milk was still cool. The cheerios were sweet on his tongue and had a satisfying crunch. It was all so easy, so safe, so predictable. Could he really abandon his comfortable life? Was it worth it to abandon his family and the safety of his home, to live the life he's only ever dreamed of? He knew it would not be as glamorous as his dreams were. Is it worth it, then?

Nutmeg walked in, but she was only here for her coffee. She set the coffee machine and leaned back against the counter. “I have an important case today.”

The siblings nodded. Their mother was a lawyer; they knew she probably couldn't tell them about them just yet, but sometimes, after she's had a glass of wine in the evening, she'd tell them the funnier ones. And besides, that meant she earned a lot, and they never really struggled with money, even with five kids in the house.

“Don't bother me unless it's serious,” Nutmeg continued, “I need the quiet. I don't have time to make dinner. I'll order you pizza in the afternoon,” she announced, smiling at the cheers from her kids. She couldn't help but notice how Rusty seemed dulled since their talk… Oh, he'll get over it, she shrugged it off, despite her growing anxiety. He has to grow up someday.

A beep meant her coffee was ready. She grabbed her cup and headed for her study, but paused at the fridge. She squinted at the chorelist. “One of you weed the garden today,” she said. To the groans, she responded: “Don't whine, you like the flowers too. If you want to keep them, you have to weed them every once in a while.” She walked upstairs.

Luna listened, her head tilted, to her mother's footsteps until she heard her study door slam. As soon as the sound registered, she turned to her siblings with a smile. “So-”

Rusty was stirring the soggy remains of his cereal. He was lost in thought. It would be easy enough to sneak out, he'd concluded. But was it actually worth it? All his friends, his entire family, the only world he knew had been the ‘tame’ one. And he knew well that life in the wild was hard, so was it really worth it to run now, or was he just overreacting, and about to make a mistake that might cost him dear?

“...t it!”

Rusty drew up his head at the chorus of voices. “Huh?” All his siblings were staring at him, hands raised and fingers crossed, grins growing on their faces.

Tommy leaned in. “You're it,” he said. “You're weeding the garden!”

His siblings all laughed. To them, it was their brother being given a chore. But for Rusty, it was a chance . He would already be one step closer to escaping into the forest.

He glanced at the clock. 9 AM. Lionheart will be here at ‘sunhigh’, so probably around 12. That gives me like three hours… I can work with this. Just gotta keep myself distracted so that I don't think myself out of it. He went to change his clothes, picking the most comfortable outfit he could find, one that he knew could handle the wild. He checked his pocket for the multitool, took a deep breath, headed out the door into the garden, and got to work.

The weeds were more stubborn than he thought. He wasn't getting as much progress as he'd hoped. An hour in, he was barely through a quarter of the garden. He glanced at his watch and then the sun, worried. What if I don't make it to Lionheart?

I mean… I don't have to finish this. But I'd like to finish this. For mum.

Rusty kept working, but soon he sat down for a break. Filou had brought him some water, and he greatfully accepted it. British people aren't supposed to deal with this kind of heat. The day was warm, and the garden was heavy with the smell of rose blossoms. He glared in the direction of his mother's rosebush and tried to breathe through his mouth. At least I won't have to deal with it much longer.

“Hello, Rusty!” called a voice from beyond the fence. It was Smudge, climbing onto the fence. “I thought you'd still be asleep!”

Rusty rolled his eyes. “I'm not that much of a night owl, Smudge,” he said, exasperated but friendly.

“You complain about Mr. Henry sleeping his time away, but you're not much better yourself!” Smudge laughed. He clambered over the fence and bounced up to Rusty. “I came here cause I wanted to tell you- There's baby sparrows in our garden! They were out stretching their wings this morning.”

Rusty shot Smudge a playful grin. “Did you catch any?” he teased.

Smudge laughed awkwardly. “Hah, no! Why would I?”

Rusty turned away and waved his hand. “Oh, forget it, I was joking.” He yawned and rubbed his nose, before resting his chin on his knee and gazing wistfully at the forest.

Smudge's smile faltered a little. “Oh, right, I forgot- You were in the woods last night, right?” he said nervously. “How was it? Did you catch anything? Or did anything-” He swallowed nervously. “Did anything catch you ?”

Rusty kept staring into the swaying trees. “Mum forbade me from going there any more,” he murmured at last.

Smudge raised his eyebrows. “What?” he gasped. “I- Okay, I know you spend… maybe a little too much time on it, but… she knows how much you love it, right?” He shifted. “I mean, what does she expect, just banning you… Did something happen? Is it your grades? I can talk to her, it's not your fault the teachers don't give you a chance, I'll back you up…”

“It's fine,” Rusty murmured. “It won't matter soon.”

Smudge frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don't think I'll be listening to mum much longer,” Rusty mumbled.

Smudge's frown deepened, silent and increasingly worried. “...what do you mean,” he asked, voice flat with concern.

Rusty blinked and looked up at his friend. He seemed genuinely anxious. Smudge's mother was a psychiatrist, so if anyone in the neighbourhood got horror stories about bad cases, it was him.

“Are you thinking about running away?” The question jolted Rusty; it was too close to the truth for comfort. Smudge looked even more worried. “You should know it's a bad idea. Th-there's gangs and thugs and criminals and-!”

“H- No, I'm not gonna run off into the city, Smudge!” Rusty laughed. Not a lie . “I know enough about bushcraft to know that a ten-year-old isn't surviving on their own. I'm not gonna do that.” Also not a lie. “And besides, do you think I haven't heard ‘don't be like your half-brother, joining a gang is why we don't talk about him anymore’ at every family dinner ever?”

Smudge laughed, though a little worry still remained in his voice. “Oh, you know what, fair enough! Sorry, I get too anxious sometimes…”

“That's a good thing though,” Rusty told him, placing a hand on his upper arm. “It's better to worry too much and be wrong than worry too little and miss something.”

Smudge smiled at him greatfully, then turned to the garden. “Are you weeding?” he queried.

Rusty groaned and let his head fall back. “Yeah… It's taking forever. I want to be done by midday!” He glared at the small pile of nettles and thistles that he'd already gathered. “I don't think I'll make it by then, though.”

“I can help you!” Smudge offered. “If your siblings aren't doing anything, of course you're taking long!”

“Thank you!” Rusty brightened. “There should be a spare pair of gloves in the shed.” He gestured towards the small tin-roofed shed by the house.

Smudge got up, but looked over his shoulder. “I'm serious though,” he called. “If anything happens, please tell me! I'm here for you.”

Rusty watched his friend, but when Smudge vanished into the shed, his eyes wondered over to the trees, their shadows cool and full of secrets. His eyes seemed unfocused, dreamy.

“Something did happen though,” he murmured. “I met some wildfolk…”

Smudge, who had walked out of the shed armed with gardening gloves, glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Hm? Did you say something, Rusty?”

Rusty shook himself off. “Whatever,” he said. “It's nothing.” They got to work.

They pruned the garden together. Now, it was much faster. They joked, and gossiped, and reminisced, and laughed. They worked together well as a pair. Like two shoes of the same pair.

But only one of them knew this would be the last afternoon they'd spend like this.

 

As sunhigh approached, Rusty felt more and more impatient to see if Lionheart would really be waiting for him. Every one of his senses felt supercharged, as if he were poised before a huge jump. The idle buzz of Smudge’s voice seemed to fade into the background as all his senses strained towards the woods.

When they’d finished weeding the garden, Smudge said goodbye and headed home for lunch. Rusty watched him go. When his friend vanished into his house, Rusty waited a few more moments, still as a rock, before turning to the forest. He brushed his fingers over the multitool in his pocket, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, taking in the wind that blew from the woods. The town, its problems, the people in it, it all wasn’t going to matter soon.

He jumped his garden fence for the last time and crept into the woods. He wasn’t able to, but nor did he want to, say his goodbyes. Now all his thoughts were focused on the forest and the people who lived in it.

 He walked a little into the forest before sitting down behind a fallen log. Hidden from view of the town, he tilted his head back and sniffed the air, which smelled of pinesap and old tree needles. Tall trees shielded the ground from the midday sunshine, making it comfortably cool. Here and there a patch of sunlight shone through a gap through the leaves and lit up the forest floor. He swore he saw something between the trees, but he had no idea whether it was a human, an animal, or just another tree. He glanced around uncertainly.

“You have a lot to learn,” said a deep voice to his side. “Even young clan children know how to tell a human from an animal moving behind cover.”

Rusty turned his head and saw a masked face with a pair of green eyes glinting from behind an ivy-coated tree. Now he recognised the broad silhouette: it was Lionheart.

“Can you tell if I’m alone?” asked the bearded man, stepping into the light and crossing his arms. Between the mask and his beard, his face was hidden almost completely, spare for his eyes. His green gaze was stern, though not unkind.

Hastily, Rusty looked around, scanning the area. He noticed another silhouette slowly creeping in a circle around him and Lionheart - vertical, so human… but who was it? There was a swish of hair as the person hunched - too long to be Bluestar again. And Graypaw had thicker hair, plus he was much shorter, just a kid, right?

Hesitantly, he said to Lionheart, “There’s someone else with you, but not Bluestar or Graypaw.” He looked up at him. He wondered if there was some other trial he had to go through.

Lionheart’s mouth twitched in a slight smile. “That’s correct,” he said. He gestured for the person to come over. The second clansman straightened and walked into view. “This is Whitestorm,” Lionheart announced. “One of ThunderClan’s senior - and best - warriors.”

Rusty looked at Whitestorm and felt his spine tingle with cold fear. Is this a trap? A trial by combat or something? Tall and muscular, Whitestorm stood in front of Rusty and gazed down at him. Rusty could tell that the man would tower over him even if he’d been fully upright and not sitting on the forest floor. His hair was long and white, tied back with some twine. Like Lionheart, the upper half of his face was hidden by a mask - the likeness of a cat, its pelt snow-white and unmarked. The eyes glinting from behind it were the yellow of sunbaked sand, and Rusty felt like he was being stared down by a snowy owl. There was a necklace around the man’s neck, teeth of wolves and bears and weird ones he couldn’t recognise and… Is that a human tooth?!

Rusty dug his fingers into the ground, ready to push himself up at a moment’s notice, 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.” He glanced down. “Since you showed up, I assume you still want to join.”

Rusty didn’t answer. He sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, as Whitestorm kneeled down to his level. The warrior seemed to quickly notice Rusty’s tension, as he pushed his mask up and off his face, revealing kind, weather-worn features, with sun-tanned skin and crow’s-feet that showed he’s smiled a lot in his life. “Hello, young one,” he murmured. “I’ve heard some about you.”

Rusty still remained silent. He couldn’t help but glance down at the man’s necklace. With Whitestorm kneeling down, it was more visible than ever. Yup, that is definitely a human tooth. Oh god-

Whitestorm followed his gaze, letting out a soft oh when he realised. “Sorry,” he said, tucking the necklace behind his jacket. “It was my mother’s- The necklace, I mean. I never got to ask her whose tooth it was.” He smiled warmly at Rusty, looking almost a little bashful. “I promise I didn’t steal anybody’s teeth.”

The warrior’s gentle, almost paternal demeanor eased Rusty’s nerves. He relaxed, and even smiled a little. He dipped his head in a cautious greeting. When Whitestorm straightened and stepped back, Rusty finally pushed himself up. He glanced at Lionheart and nodded. “I want to go,” he said, determined.

Lionheart nodded. “Come, then,” he ordered. “We can speak more once we are in the camp.” Without pausing, he ran off into the undergrowth, surprisingly quiet and fast for his size. Whitestorm put his mask back on and sprinted off too. Rusty followed them as quickly as he could.

The two warriors made no allowances for Rusty as they sped through the forest, and before long he was struggling to keep up. Their pace barely slowed as they led him over fallen trees that they cleared in two bounds, but which Rusty had to scramble and slip over. He was quite aware of how little grace he had compared to them; the only sign of the two warriors’ presence was crackling footfall on leaf litter, meanwhile Rusty felt more like a rhino crashing through the forest. But now was not the time for sneaking. He’ll learn it later, anyhow. Now the only thing that mattered was not losing track of the wildfolk as they all sprinted through the woods.

They passed through sharply fragrant pine trees, where they had to jump across deep gullies churned up by feller-bunchers. From his garden fence, Rusty had often heard them roaring and working in the distance. This part of the forest was mostly pines, planted by some company for wood, so the fellers worked almost constantly. At the edge of the pines, a stream separated the worked land from the deep, wild forest. The warriors waded through without hesitating. Rusty was worried about the slippery, hard stones on the bottom, but he was determined not to show any signs of weakness, so he narrowed his eyes and focused hard on his steps, following the two wildmen onto the other shore. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable wetness in his shoes.

At last Lionheart and Whitestorm paused. Rusty skidded to a half 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,” said Lionheart.

“Where?” asked Rusty, excited.

“That way,” Whitestorm said, gesturing towards the copse of trees and thicket of brambles at the low end of the ravine. They were standing near that end, though the ravine walls here were too steep and tall to walk down and they would have to walk to the other end anyway.

Rusty strained his eyes. “I can’t see anything.”

“Use your eyes,” Lionheart hissed impatiently. “You must be able to spot the manmade in the forest.”

Rusty squinted at the thicket. After a moment, he began to notice signs of life - shadows moving behind leaves, the soft hum of voices behind the wind. As his eyes adjusted, he began making out the silhouettes of huts from branches and leaves, hidden amongst the trees. He spotted patches of earth where the ground had been worn down by generations of feet.

He nodded thoughtfully and announced, “I can see huts and people.”

Lionheart and Whitestorm exchanged amused looks.

“There will come a time, if you are accepted into the clan, when you will know each person’s peculiarities and habits, and will be able to give each flitting shadow a name,” Lionheart said. “Follow me!” He led the way nimbly at the edge of the ravine, pushed his way through a thick patch of gorse, and walked confidently down the beaten trail at the bottom. Rusty followed, and Whitestorm took up the rear.

As he raced down the rocks and to the entrance, Rusty looked down and noticed that the rocks beneath his feet were worn smooth and, in a few places, even visibly pitted, creating a broad track concentrating in a specific point in the wall of gorse taller than even Lionheart. This must be the main entrance into the camp, he thought.

Beyond the wall, a clearing opened up, surrounded by a ring of huts. The ground at the center was almost bare, with patches of just hard earth, shaped by generations upon generations of feet. This camp has been here for a long time. The clearing was dappled by sunshine, and the air felt warm and still. Rusty could smell smoke, and cooking meat, and the distinct smell of fresh animal hide.

Rusty looked around, eyes wide. There were people everywhere, walking and sitting and working, alone or in groups, sharing food or chatting as they brushed and braided each other’s hair.

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

“Sharing tongues?” Rusty echoed.

“Clanfolk always spend time grooming each other’s hair 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.”

The clanfolk had obviously noticed Rusty, with his foreign face and clothes so different, for heads began to turn and stare curiously in his direction, and voices hushed into confused whispers.

“I’ll get Bluestar,” Whitestorm said, before heading towards a massive boulder that stood on the side of the camp, with a small hut built by the side.

Suddenly shy of meeting anyone’s gaze directly, Rusty bounced on his feet and looked around the clearing. It was edged with gorse and thick grass, clearly cultivated to grow tall. In some thinner parts of the border wall, Rusty could see thick branches stuck vertically into the ground, and even trees that were clearly planted there to help the gorse grow up. The huts had walls of branches and leaves, tightly packed against the wind. The ground between them was dotted with treestumps, and one of the huts was even built partially around a fallen tree. Between the gorse camp wall and the ferns Rusty remembered seeing on the outside of camp, there probably weren’t many ways in and out other than the main entrance.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. “Over there,” said Lionheart, gesturing towards an impenetrable-looking tangle of brambles, “is the nursery, where the children are cared for.”

Rusty swiveled his head and squinted at the bushes. At first, he could only see a knot of prickly branches, but after a moment, he realised it was a hut like the others. With bramble branches woven through the walls, and the thicket like a moat around the hut with only one narrow path through to the entrance, this seemed like the most well-protected part of the camp. In the bright midday sunlight, Rusty could not see into the shaded inside, but he could hear children’s voices coming from within. As he watched, a golden-haired woman exited though the narrow doorway in the front. That must be one of the queens, Rusty thought.

A white-haired woman, clearly pregnant, appeared around the brambles, carrying a basked of freshly-tanned hide. The two women exchanged a friendly greeting before the pregnant woman slipped inside the nursery, gently shooing the laughing kids back inside, while the golden-haired woman took the basket and walked off.

“While the warriors do almost all the duties outside of camp, like hunting, patrolling, or gathering, the queens take care of the children, and do many of the duties inside the camp. Although, of course, the warriors do them too; there is never a shortage of work,” said Lionheart. “All folk serve the clan. Loyalty to the clan is the first law in our Warrior Code-” he said, looking sternly at Rusty- “-a lesson you must learn quickly if you wish to stay with us.”

Rusty nodded, solemn, before glancing up as he heard approaching footsteps. “Here comes Whitestorm with Bluestar,” he said. Even if it was a guess, Rusty was pleased he’d correctly identified the warriors before they appeared from the shadow of the large boulder.

“He came,” Bluestar - now maskless in the comfort of her camp - said with admiration, addressing the warriors.

“Lionheart was convinced he would not,” Whitestorm replied, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Lionheart gave him a heavy stare, but the white-haired warrior just smiled back.

Rusty noticed Bluestar roll her eyes. “Well, what do you think of him?” she asked impatiently.

“He kept up well on the journey, despite his background and age,” Lionheart admitted. “And he’s got conviction, alright. I doubt he would have returned if he wasn’t completely certain he could make it out here.”

“I know a bit about survival in the forest,” Rusty piped up. He shrank a little under the combined strength of the three warriors’ gazes. “I-I read about it. A lot. I know how to safely start a fire, and how to tell a poisonous mushroom from an edible one, and can recognise a bunch of different animal tracks!” He hoped he could convince them he was worth taking in.

He relaxed when he saw Bluestar smile. “Good to hear that you have at least some knowledge to start with, little one,” she said kindly. “Less for you to have to catch up on.” She looked at Lionheart and Whitestorm. “So it is agreed?”

Both men nodded.

“Then I shall announce his arrival to the clan.” Bluestar clambered up the boulder with practiced ease, stood on top, and let out a strange, melodic yell. “Let all those folk old enough to hunt their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a clan meeting.”

Her call and command brought all the clanfolk trotting toward her, emerging like liquid shadows from the edges of the clearing and masking themselves. Rusty stayed were he was, flanked by Lionheart and Whitestorm. The other clanfolk sat down below the Highrock and looked expectantly up at their leader, though a few glanced curiously at Rusty, and soft whispers persisted for a moment longer until they were shushed by their neighbours.

There were fourty-or-so, maybe fifty people in total. Rusty felt a rush of relief as he recognised Graypaw’s thick gray hair among the people nearest to the Highrock. Beside him sat a beautiful woman with a freckled face, her graceful hands curled neatly over her knees. Unlike the other adults, who all wore half-masks, she instead wore a headdress, decorated with dried leaves and speckled feathers, though it too was in the likeness of a cat. These people must really admire cats. Behind them sat a younger warrior, the dark tabby cat-face of his mask blending together like a shadow with his black hair.

When the people were silent and still, Bluestar spoke. “ThunderClan needs more warriors as soon as it can,” she began. “We’ve suffered many losses in recent years, and times will only get harder. ShadowClan is making its wants clear, and we must prepare to defend ourselves. It has been decided that ThunderClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior…”

Rusty heard whispers erupt among the clanfolk, but Bluestar silenced them with a firm shout. “I have found a boy who is willing to become an apprentice of ThunderClan…”

“ Lucky to be allowed to become an apprentice of ThunderClan!” caterwauled a loud voice above the ripple of shock that spread through the clanfolk. Rusty craned his neck and saw a young man with pale hair, in the back of the group, standing up and glaring defiantly at the leader.

Bluestar ignored the young heckler and continued addressing all of her clan. “Lionheart and Whitestorm have met this young man, and they agree with me that he is worth training with our other apprentices.”

Rusty looked up at Lionheart, then back at the clan, trying to stand up straighter as he found all eyes were on him now. The back of his neck prickled and he swallowed nervously. The silence stretched on for a moment.  Rusty was sure they must all be able to hear his heart pounding and smell his fear.

Then, like a spell had been broken, a deafening crescendo of shouts and snarls rose from the crowd.

“Where does he come from?”

“Isn’t he too young to be out in the forest alone?”

“What strange clothes he wears! Those aren’t the clothes of any clan I know!”

Then one shout in particular sounded out above the rest. “Look at him! He’s a tame!” It was the man with the pale hair again, having shoved his way to the front of the crowd. “Once tame, always tame. This clan needs wildborn warriors to defend it, not another soft mouth to feed!”

Lionheart bent down and hissed into Rusty’s ear, “That’s Longtail. He knows you’re afraid, they all do. You must prove to him and the others that fear won’t hold you back.”

But Rusty couldn’t move. He’d only fought other kids before, and Longtail was a full-grown man. How was he supposed to prove his worth against that ?

Longtail continued to jeer at him. “You only know the warm comforts of your tame nest, where water comes at a beckon and there is always light. You’re too soft to be a warrior, at best you’ll be a hindrance and poor hunter! At worst, you’ll bring the tames into our territory, looking for their poor lost baby who fills the woods with his cries! The things in this forest will send you crying for your stinking tame mummy by next sunrise!”

The crowd shouted in agreement. Rusty felt his blood boil at the insult.

Longtail went on, well aware he had the support of his audience. He turned to Bluestar up on the Highrock and gestured at Rusty like he was a dead rat he found in his shoe. “This tame boy will be in the belly of a beast by next moon. After all, we know how much they love a well-fed human!”

Lionheart hissed into Rusty’s ear once more: “Do you back down from a challenge?”

But Rusty wasn’t listening to him. He didn’t need to be riled up any more. The crowd had formed a semicircle around them, and Longtail was strutting around this stage with smug glee. Rusty narrowed his eyes and reached into his pocket. He flicked the multitool knife out and, with a furious shout, flung himself onto his tormentor.

Longtail was completely unprepared for Rusty’s attack. He staggered sideways, losing his footing on the hard-baked earth as the boy’s weight slammed into him. Filled with rage and desperate to prove himself, Rusty sliced and kicked and punched; he would bite if he had to. No subtle rituals of swiping and boxing preceded this fight. The two were locked in a screaming, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the clearing. The other clanfolk had to step back to avoid the screeching whirlwind.

As Rusty punched and struggled, he was suddenly aware that he felt no fear, only exaggeration. The knife was dropped; it was only punches and kicks now, like a feral catfight you’d hear on the street at an ungodly hour. Through the roaring of blood in his ears, Rusty could hear the people around them shouting with excitement.

Then Rusty felt hands tighten around his neck. Longtail had gripped his neck and was trying to strangle him. Rusty felt a terrible pressure at his throat. Unable to breathe, he started to panic. He felt his back slam into the ground. The fingers pressed into his throat harder and harder. Retching and gulping for air, he summoned up all his strength and kicked his legs out. And suddenly, with a loud oof from his opponent and the shift of ribs under his feet, he was free.

Longtail tumbled away from him, Rusty scrambled to his feet and looked around. Longtail was kneeled on the ground three-or-so meters away. He was breathing heavily. His hands curled into fists on the ground, and he glared at Rusty furiously. He began clambering to his feet again.

Bluestar had leaped down from the Highrock and silenced the noisy crowd with a shout. “Enough!”

Rusty and Longtail remained fixed to the spot, gasping for breath. Their clothes were ruffled and torn, and their knuckles raw. Rusty could feel a cut stinging on his brow, and his throat hurt. Longtail’s left ear was badly torn, and blood dripped down onto his lean shoulder; Rusty vaguely remembered the blade of the multitool meeting some resistance at one point… but it was all a haze. The two of them stared at each other, their hostility not yet spent.

Bluestar stepped forward and picked the multitool from the ground. She stared at the blood on the blade, then at Longtail’s torn ear. Her blue eyes were calculating, but Rusty hoped he wasn’t imagining the glimmer of pride deep within.

“The newcomer has beaten Longtail in a battle for his honor. StarClan has clearly spoken their approval - this boy has beaten a warrior in single combat. He has proven his worth, and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

Rusty looked at Bluestar and solemnly nodded his acceptance. He stepped forward into a shaft of sunshine, welcoming the warmth on his sore muscles. The pool of light blazed on his hair, making it glow. Rusty lifted his head proudly and looked at the circle of people that surrounded him. This time no person argued or jeered. He had shown himself a worthy opponent in battle, clearly no soft townsboy.

Bluestar approached Rusty and placed the bloodied multitool in his hands. “Your hair looks 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 stood back. “From this day forward, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Firepaw,” she announced. She scanned the clan for a moment, thoughtful. “Your mentors will be Lionheart and Tigerclaw. Tigerclaw isn’t here yet, but he will be alerted of this once he returns.”

Lionheart straightened and made his way through the crowd. Rusty looked up at him, and despite the warrior’s stoic face, he saw a friendly, paternal glimmer in his green eyes.

“Lionheart, you are an excellent mentor to Graypaw, as Tigerclaw is to Ravenpaw. If StarClan wills, Firepaw will learn much from the two of you.” Bluestar stared at Lionheart. “Lionheart, you have received excellent training from Swiftbreeze…” She hesitated for a moment. “As did Tigerclaw from Thistleclaw.” She paused for a split second and took an almost imperceptible breath before continuing.

Wonder what that's about.

“You have shown yourself to be brave and wise, and Tigerclaw has shown himself to be courageous and a skilled fighter. You will be the mentors of Firepaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

Bluestar stepped back and, with the other clanfolk, waited silently. Lionheart lifted up his weapon - a heavy wooden club, made from something that looked… suspiciously like bone - and held it out without a word. After a moment, he made a subtle beckoning motion with his free hand. Rusty cautiously tapped the blade of his multitool with Lionheart’s club.

Longtail growled and limped away, sitting down on a tree stump in a fern-shaded corner. The folk 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-haired apprentice.

“Great fight, Firepaw!” said Graypaw. “Especially for a tame kid! Longtail is a warrior, although he only finished his training last year. So there’s what, seven years’ difference? 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, a little breathless. “He put up quite a fight, though!” He wiped his forehead, feeling the wetness of blood from the cut. He cringed. “Ow…”

“I’ll get you something to clean it,” Graystripe said sympathetically. “Come on!”

Graypaw grabbed him by his wrist, and Firepaw didn’t resist when he got dragged through the clearing. As they walked Firepaw heard his new name again, echoing among the buzz of voices in camp.

“Firepaw!”

“Hey, Firepaw!”

“Welcome, young Firepaw!”

“Good name, too!” Graypaw said approvingly, looking over his shoulder.

Firepaw was jolted from his reverie. “Thanks,” he said, feeling proud.

Graypaw sat him down on a log, near to where the gorse wall seemed thinner. Firepaw noticed that the tangle of branches here was not actually part of the living wall; it was prickly, dead branches, tangled together by human hands, allowing the shallow pond on the other side to peek through. This must be where they get water from.

Graypaw suddenly snapped his head up. “Mum! Wait! Wait-” The apprentice ran up to a passing woman, who was hauling a large buck on her back. She must’ve entered camp during or after Firepaw’s fight with Longtail. Firepaw couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the woman quickly made her way towards the roofed firepit to stash her catch alongside all the other food, and then back to him with a piece of cloth.

“Hey, Firepaw!” Graypaw said, clinging to the woman’s arm. “Meet my mum, Willowpelt! She’s good at making weapons and hunting and-”

“I’m no master of hunting, Graypaw,” Willowpelt laughed, patting Graypaw’s head and gently pushing him off her arm. She looked at Firepaw curiously. “So you must be the tame apprentice Runningwind was talking about. You don’t look too bad. And if you beat Longtail today, I’d rather not meet you in battle when you’re an adult,” she said kindly. She wet the cloth in the pool and began gently dabbing at Firepaw’s forehead.

“Thank you,” Firepaw said softly, watching her. Though Willowpelt’s eyes were blue, and Graypaw’s hair was thicker and curlier, there was no mistaking them not being related. They had similar broad faces and strong-set shoulders, and their hair was rather similar shades of gray.

“No need to,” Willowpelt replied. “You’re our clanmate now. You’re in our care,” she said, pulling back to wet the cloth again.

Firepaw tilted his head. He remembered how many people seemed to hiss the word ‘tame’ like it was a curse. “But I was born in Chelford,” he said, a little surprised.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, and don’t let anyone tell you it does,” Willowpelt said firmly. She dabbed at his forehead again, maybe a little harshly. “Sorry.” She dabbed at it again, but gentler.

“You’re not the only one here with blood from outside the clan,” she said, softer now. “Smallear was born a loner and only joined later. Graystripe’s father was a loner.” She grinned. “Darkstripe’s father was a tame, but don’t remind him of that.”

Firepaw laughed, then squinted at Graypaw with a grin. “Wait, didn’t you say ‘tames can’t be warriors, they don’t have warrior blood’?” he asked, amused.

Graypaw pouted as Willowpelt looked at him. “I said tames , not loners !” he said defensively.

Willowpelt laughed. She looked critically at Firepaw’s forehead. “Well, that should be enough,” she said. “It’s stopped bleeding, at least. You should be fine, but if it starts hurting, go to Spottedleaf, alright?” She patted his shoulder and walked off.

Firepaw kicked his feet and looked around. “Where did Longtail creep off to?” He couldn’t see his enemy anywhere.

“I think he went toward Spottedleaf’s hut- There he is,” Graypaw pointed as the young warrior emerged from a narrow passage in the corner of camp. Longtail’s ear was wrapped up in cobweb and cloth, and judging by his face he was not pleased with the situation. Firepaw watched him stomp off to a large hut, the largest in camp.

“Spottedleaf’s my aunt, and the medicine woman,” Graypaw continued. “She’s very nice, everyone likes her! She’s not bad-looking either. Prettier than most-”

A low hum next to the two boys stopped Graypaw mid-word. They both turned, and Firepaw recognised the powerful man with the dark hair who had sat behind Graypaw earlier.

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

Why so formal? Firepaw wondered. Aren’t they brothers? Maybe that’s clan custom.

The sleek, black-haired warrior looked at Firepaw for a moment. “Lucky that kick landed. Perhaps Longtail wasn’t focusing. He is a young warrior, but I can’t imagine how one gets beaten by a little tame !” He spat the word tame scornfully, then turned and stalked off.

“Now, Darkstripe,” Graypaw muttered under his breath, “is neither nice, nor pretty…”

Firepaw was about to agree with his new friend when he was interrupted by a warning cry from an old, gray-haired man standing at the edge of the clearing near the entrance.

“Smallear smells trouble!” Graypaw shouted, immediately alert and on his feet.

Firepaw barely had time to stand up before a young boy crashed through the bushes and into the camp. He was skinny, and, apart from a thin white streak near the temple, his hair was jet black from root to tip.

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

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

“Who are you talking about?” Firepaw whispered to Graypaw, as they and several other people raced forward to greet the new arrival. “I think I’ve heard Lionheart mention Tigerclaw; is he important?”

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

“Who’s Redtail?” Firepaw asked, thoroughly overwhelmed by all these names.

“Bluestar’s deputy,” hissed Graypaw. “But why on earth has Ravenpaw come back alone?” he added to himself. He craned his neck to listen as Bluestar silenced the rising clamour.

“Ravenpaw?” the woman spoke calmly, but a look of worry clouded her blue eyes. Ravenpaw stared up at her, panting, eyes wide and unfocused, like he didn’t hear her. The other clanfolk drew back, their faces twisting with anxiety.

“What has happened?” Seeing that her efforts on the ground were failing, Bluestar climbed up onto the Highrock and looked down at the trembling boy with authority. “Speak, Ravenpaw!”

Ravenpaw was still struggling for breath, and his chest heaved fitfully while the dust around him turned red with blood from the wound on his leg, but he still managed to scramble up onto the Highrock when Bluestar helped him pull up. As he stood beside Bluestar, he turned to the crowd of anxiously awaiting faces that surrounded him, and summoned enough breath to declare…

“Redtail’s dead!”

Notes:

Firepaw is OUT FOR BLOOD holy shit see this is what i mean by "implied mental health issues" lmao. Also people lowkey forget Snowfur was like that too
Also, yes this is like 2x+ longer than the original chapter. It's not just so I can establish some more things. The big problem is that justifying why you'd run away is different with a cat than with a 10-year-old child
...
anyway yeah, hope you enjoy; as always, kudos keep authors alive, i love interacting so don't be afraid to comment, and THANK YOU TO THAT PERSON WHO BOOKMARKED ME YOU MADE ME SCREAM OUT LOUD AT 22:30 tysm <333

Chapter 6: Chapter 4 - Redtail's Dead!

Notes:

okayokay i'm sorry this took longer than i thought. life's been hitting me with bricks (/metaphor), and besides school is starting in like two weeks, so that's gonna slow me down probably...
i'm still hoping to get like. one chapter a month at minimum. hopefully more, but i don't want to overpromise...
anyway. doesn't matter. i'll get them out eventually. for now, enjoy chapter 4!

Shocked cries rose from the clanfolk and echoed through the forest.

Ravenpaw staggered slightly. His right arm glistened from a deep gash, and there was a dark, reddish patch on his right hip, wetting through his clothes and slowly spreading. “We m-met five RiverClan warriors on our side of the R-River, by Sunningrocks,” he went on shakily. “Oakheart was among them.”

“Oakheart!” Graypaw gasped beside Firepaw. “He’s the deputy of RiverClan! He’s one of the greatest warriors in the forest… Lucky Ravenpaw! Wish it was me. I’d have really-” Graypaw was silenced by a fierce glance from the old man who had first sensed Ravenpaw’s return. Firepaw turned his attention back to Ravenpaw.

“Redtail warned Oakheart to keep his hunting parties out of ThunderClan territory. He said the next RiverClan warrior to be caught in ThunderClan territory would be k-killed, but Oak…” Ravenpaw’s breath was wheezy. “Oakheart would not back down. He said that his cl-clan had to be fed, whatever we threatened, and that both sides of the River were theirs.” Ravenpaw paused, his chest heaving, breaths coming in quick pants. His wounds were still bleeding heavily, and he stood awkwardly to keep the weight off his right leg.

“That’s when the RiverClan warriors attacked. It was five of them against the three of us. It was hard to see what was happening. The fighting was vicious. I saw Oakheart has Redtail pinned to the rocks, but then Redtail…”

Suddenly Ravenpaw’s eyes rolled in his head and he lurched sideways. Half scrambling, half falling, he slithered off the Highrock and collapsed towards the ground below.

A brindle-haired warrior bounded out of the crowd and tried to catch him. She couldn’t hold him up, but she managed to slow and soften his fall. She crouched at his side, pressed her fingers to the side of his neck, and called out into the crowd, “Spottedleaf!”

Out of the croud trotted the pretty freckle-faced woman Firepaw had noticed sitting beside Graypaw earlier. She hurried over to Ravenpaw and gestured for the woman to stand back. Then, she flipped the apprentice onto his back, her graceful hands flying as she  quickly straightened Ravenpaw out and inspected his injuries. She glanced up and said, in a gentle but commanding voice, “It’s alright, Brindleface, his wounds aren’t fatal. But I’m worried about any broken bones, and I need to stop the bleeding. Fetch me some clean cloth, and get someone to bring straight sticks and bindweed. They’re stored together in my hut, it should be easy to find them.”

Brindleface nodded, lips tight, and sprinted to Spottedleaf’s hut, gesturing for Willowpelt to follow her. As Firepaw watched the two women vanish into the tunnel of ferns, the hushed silence in the clearing was broken by a mournful coooo-ww, coooo-ww . The call of a mourning dove. All eyes turned to the direction of the ravine, where it had come from.

A massive man staggered through the gorse tunnel. His face was grim behind his mask, the face of a dark brown tabby. His clothes and dark hair were smudged with blood. In his strong arms the warrior held not prey, but another person’s lifeless body. He carried the tattered corpse into the center of the clearing and laid them down. He straightened and lifted his hands to his mouth; he made the coooo-ww call again.

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

Shock rippled through the clan like a chill breeze. Beside Firepaw, Graypaw covered his mouth as grief swept over him. “Redtail!”

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

Tigerclaw looked steadily back at Bluestar. “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,” he continued, rising his voice and turning towards the clan, “for I doubt we’ll see RiverClan in our territory anytime soon. The Sunningrocks are ours once more, as they should.”

Firepaw glanced at Graypaw. The apprentices eyes were dark with sadness and welling up with tears.

After a moment’s pause, several people moved forward to gently brush Redtail’s battle-dusted hair and adjust his bedgraggled clothes. As they groomed, they purred hushed phrases to the dead warrior.

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

Graypaw didn’t take his eyes of the dead man as he replied. “His spirits may have left to join StarClan, but his loved ones will share tongues with Redtail one last time.”

“StarClan?” Firepaw echoed.

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

Firepaw looked confused, so Graypaw explained. “Silverpelt is that thick band of stars you see each night stretching across the sky…”

“You mean the Milky Way?” Firepaw asked, tilting his head. Graypaw looked at him, confused. Firepaw waved his hand. “Forget it. What about Silverpelt?”

“Each star is a StarClan warrior. Redtail will be among them tonight,” Graypaw said, voice thick with emotion. Firepaw nodded, and Graypaw stepped forward to share tongues with his dead deputy. As his friend kneeled in the dust, Firepaw saw Willowpelt crouch down beside him and gently hug around his shoulders for as long as Graystripe shared tongues with the dead warrior. Maybe they’re related? Firepaw wondered. It seemed like everyone here was related somehow. Well, that wasn’t maybe too surprising.

Bluestar had remained silent while the first group of people came to pay their respects to Redtail. Now she climbed down from the Highrock and walked slowly toward Redtail’s body. The crowd retreated and watched as their leader knelt down and 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 judgement, for it bore witness to the needs of the clan, and was never swayed by self-interest or pride. He would’ve made a fine leader.”

Then she resettled, crossing her legs. She placed her mask on her face, let her hands rest in her lap, and silently she grieved for her lost friend. Several others came and sat down beside her around Redtail, placing their masks on their faces too; their bowed heads and hunched backs echoed Bluestar’s mournful pose.

Firepaw watched them in silence, feeling the grief in the air. He had not known Redtail, but he couldn’t help feeling moved as he witnessed the clan mourn.

Graypaw came and stood beside him, blinking away tears. “Dustpaw will be sad,” he remarked, voice a little thick.

“Dustpaw?”

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

Firepaw glanced over at the short boy who sat 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 all night,” replied Graypaw. “Redtail was her deputy for many, many moons, ever since she became leader. She won’t want to let him go too quickly.”

“Are we all supposed to sit with her?” Firepaw asked. He kinda hoped not. He wanted to spend his first night sleeping in one of the branch-and-leaf huts, not sitting vigil for a man he hadn’t known. But if it was clan custom…

He abandoned the train of thought when Graypaw shook his head. “No, only the people closest to Redtail will share his final night. My mum probably will, she’s his sister. But I don’t have to.” He paused and grimaced. “Frankly, I don’t really want to, either…”

“Who else will sit with him?” Firepaw asked. He was curious about all the different connections and relations within the clan.

“Let’s see…” Graypaw looked thoughtful, scanning the crowd around Redtail’s body. “I already told you Willowpelt, Dustpaw and Bluestar - sister, apprentice, and leader… Uncle Patchpelt probably will, too, and aunt Spottedleaf once she can leave Ravenpaw be.” He started counting on his fingers. “Runningwind, his man… Mousefur, his apprentice before Dustpaw… Halftail, his mentor… Sandpaw, his daughter… and maybe Brindleface, they were good friends,” he finished.

Firepaw looked at the group sadly. “I feel sorry for them… I didn’t know him at all,” he said.

Graypaw shrugged sadly. “Hey, that’s life, you know. You’re lucky you weren’t here for Robinwing’s funeral…” He shook his head. He gently grabbed Firepaw's wrist, and they began slowly padding towards where Ravenpaw was laid out on the ground. “Oh, well. Redtail will get to see all his kin in StarClan, and meet all the great warriors. He himself was a good one. Not as big and powerful as Lionheart or Tigerclaw, but quick and clever.”

Firepaw looked at Tigerclaw, admiring the strength that swelled in his powerful muscles and broad shoulders. The warrior was standing near the camp wall, in the shadows of the trees. His mask was off, and his rugged face showed signs of his warrior life. His right ear was split in a deep vee shape - as was the mask’s, which was now hanging from his belt - and a thick scar sliced the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly Tigerclaw moved and stalked over to Ravenpaw. Spottedleaf was crouching beside Tigerclaw’s wounded apprentice, stabilising his arm in a simple splint and occasionally pressing a fresh wad of fabric to the wound on his leg, securing it tightly with cobwebs and bindweed.

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

“Uhhh… I’m no medicine man, y’know,” Graypaw squinted at the medicine woman. “I think she’s stopping the bleeding and putting his arm together. It looked like a nasty fall. He might’ve broken something, the poor guy… And he seemed really shaken up. Ravenpaw’s always been a bit jumpy, but I’ve never seen him this bad before. Let’s go an see if he’s woken up yet.”

They made their way around the grieving people toward the spot where Ravenpaw lay, and stopped a respectful distance away to wait until Tigerclaw had finished speaking.

“So, Spottedleaf,” Tigerclaw addressed the freckled woman, his voice confident. “How is he? 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 months of your valuable training, he dies of something as simple and dishonorable as blood loss , eh?” Firepaw could hear the echo of a snarl in the back of her throat. She clearly did not appreciate being distracted from her patient.

“Will he live?” Tigerclaw demanded.

“Of course,” Spottedleaf said, looking up at last after securing the final bandage on Ravenpaw’s leg. “He just needs to rest.” She turned to dig through her satchel, which she’d dropped on the ground nearby.

Tigerclaw snorted and looked down at the motionless shape. He jabbed Ravenpaw with his foot. “Come on, then! Get up!” Ravenpaw didn’t move.

“She just told you he needs rest,” Firepaw hissed under his breath. “Are you the healer here, or is she?”

“Too right!” replied Graypaw with feeling. “Tigerclaw hates ‘slackers’, though. I know I wouldn’t want to be caught napping by him!”

“Not so fast, Tigerclaw! What did I say?” Spottedleaf got up and pushed Tigerclaw back slightly with one hand. “This apprentice needs to keep his arm as still as possible until the cracks have healed. And we don’t want him opening more wounds 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 people dared to give orders to the warrior like that. The tall man stiffened, and he seemed about to speak when Spottedleaf said, slightly teasing, “Even you know better than to argue with a medicine woman, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw’s eyes flashed at the little woman’s words. “I wouldn’t dare argue with you , dear Aunt Spottedleaf,” he purred, voice almost mockingly sweet.

Spottedleaf seemed to accept it. “Go make yourself useful and get Frostfur here,” she said, waving him off.

Tigerclaw 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 said.

“He looks like a tame!” snorted the warrior.

“I was a townsboy,” Firepaw said 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 tame. So she’s actually going to try you out, is she?”

Firepaw stood very straight, anxious to impress this distinguished clan warrior. “That’s right,” he said respectfully. “Bluestar made you and Lionheart my mentors.”

Tigerclaw eyed him thoughtfully. “Then I shall hope you can keep up.” He stalked away.

Firepaw puffed his chest out proudly. “Do you think he liked me?”

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

Just then, Ravenpaw stirred, and his eyelids twitched half-open. “Has he gone?” he mumbled. Spottedleaf was a little bit away, talking to the pregnant woman with white hair Rusty had seen in the nursery earlier.

“Who? Tigerclaw?” replied Graypaw, kneeling down beside Ravenpaw. “Yep, he’s gone.”

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

“Go away, both of you!” Spottedleaf burst in. “How am I meant to help this boy with all these interruptions!” She impatiently flicked her hands at Graypaw and Firepaw as Brindleface lay out a mat of twigs beside Ravenpaw. Firepaw realised the medicine woman was serious, however warm her amber eyes may be.

“Come on then, Firepaw,” said Graypaw. “I’ll show you around. See you later, Ravenpaw.” The two boys left Spottedleaf and Brindleface to put Ravenpaw on the mat and drag him to the medicine corner.

They walked across the clearing. Firepaw was still looking around, curious to every aspect of the clan’s life.

Graypaw looked thoughtful. He was clearly taking his duties as a guide very seriously. “You know the Highrock already,” he began, gesturing toward the big, smooth rock. “Bluestar addresses the clan from there. Her hut is down there. The rock was carved out many moons ago by an ancient stream, and so the leader’s home is one with the Highrock.”

The hut was, indeed, seemingly growing into the side of the massive boulder; it didn’t look like there was too much space inside, but Rusty guessed the inside was larger than it seemed. An old, sun-bleached curtain draped the entrance, sheltering the leader’s bed from wind and rain. This hut seemed to be the oldest; some of the branches had bits of moss by the bottom.

“The warriors sleep over there,” Graypaw went on.

Firepaw followed him to a large hut in the bushes a few meters away from the Highrock. There was a clear view from here right down to the gorse entrance to camp. Firepaw could see a sheltered space inside where the warriors had their beds.

“The senior warriors sleep nearest to the center, where it’s warmest,” explained Graypaw. “They usually share tongues and eat over by that clump of nettles, near to where the prey is cooked. The younger warriors find some other spots if there’s no room…” Graypaw hesitated, then shrugged. “Or so I heard from mum. I don’t remember there not being enough room for all the warriors ever in my life.”

“Not a lot of warriors?” Firepaw asked.

“Yeah.” Graypaw sighed. “RiverClan killed two warriors last year. Another one died two years back. We have a lot of elders. And even one of them died when I was little. Not even of old age.”

Firepaw frowned. “That sounds horrible,” he said. “I can see why Bluestar offered me the opportunity to join the clan. I’m sorry that you lost all of them,” he murmured, putting a hand on Graypaw’s shoulder.

“Eh, I didn’t know them too well,” Graypaw smiled sheepishly. “Mostly from mum’s stories. That’s just life.” He thought for a second. “But yeah, that’s probably why Bluestar let a tame join now.” He waved his hand. “Anyway, where were we?”

“Okay, what about the elders?” Firepaw asked. He was fascinated, even if a little overwhelmed, by all the traditions and rituals of clan life.

“Well, people who are expecting children, or are nursing them, stay in the nursery. They do some tasks around or near camp, like the elders and the older children; they don’t hunt until their kids are apprentices…”

“Lionheart told me about the nursery,” Firepaw said. “You don’t have to explain. How many children are there right now?” He remembered hearing voices from the nursery earlier.

“Just Goldenflower’s two, ever since I became an apprentice,” Graypaw said. “Frostfur will have Lionheart’s children soon, though.”

“Just two?” Firepaw frowned in surprise. “I could swear I heard more…”

Graypaw laughed. “Oh, Lynxkit makes noise for ten children! I’m glad to not have to share a hut with her anymore.”

Firepaw tilted his head with a smile. “Won’t she be an apprentice in a few years?”

Graypaw gasped in fake horror. “Oh stars no! You’re right!” He grabbed his head like a horrified cartoon character. “We’re gonna have to train extra hard, so we become warriors early and get out before she becomes an apprentice!”

“That’ll only delay it,” Firepaw snickered. “Cause she’s also going to become a warrior eventually!”

“Oh, noo ! It’s a nightmare!” Graypaw made a dramatic pose like a victorian maiden. “She’s inescabeable! It’s a traged-” He couldn’t contained his laughter anymore, and started cackling.

Firepaw laughed with him. No adults came up to them to tell them to stop, or quiet down, or to go ‘do something useful’. Nobody tells us to shut up, even when there’s a funeral happening. This is so strange… I love this place.

Graypaw finally stopped laughing. “ Anyway ,” he said, laughter still bubbling in the back of his voice. “The elders have their own place over there. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Firepaw trotted after Graypaw, across the clearing, and down to the hut by the fallen tree. The fallen trunk sheltered a comfortable patch of lush grass, with some smooth mossy logs placed around, creating a nice hollow for people to sit. Perched in the soft green corner were four elderly folk, sharing a plump, well-roasted young rabbit amongst themselves.

“Dustpaw or Sandpaw must have brought them that,” whispered Graypaw. “One of the apprentices’ duties is catching fresh-kill for the elders.”

“Hello, youngster,” one of the elders greeted Graypaw. Firepaw recognised the old man who had sensed Ravenpaw first.

“Hello, Smallear,” responded Graypaw, nodding respectfully.

“This must be our new apprentice. Firepaw, isn’t it?” asked a woman. Her fluffy hair was gray, with a streak of rosy, strawberry blonde.

“That’s right,” Firepaw replied, copying Graypaw’s polite nod.

“I’m Rosetail,” purred the woman. “Welcome to the clan.”

“Have you two eaten?” asked another man, lightly-built with salt-and-pepper hair. Firepaw and Graypaw both shook their heads.

“Well, there’s enough here. Sandpaw is turning into a fine hunter, and Halftail will be at the funeral anyway. Would you mind if these youngsters shared some rabbit, One-eye?”

The old woman he’d turned to shook her head. Firepaw noticed one of her eyes was clouded and sightless, with a knotty scar cutting across her face. He also noted the spot beside her was empty. That must be where Halftail usually sits .

“What about you, Dappletail?

The other woman, a freckled woman with graying hair, said softly in a voice cracked with age, “Of course not.”

“Rosetail, Smallear?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Rosetail answered. Smallear just shrugged with a faint smile.

“Thank you,” Graypaw said eagerly. He stepped forward and sat down on the ground next to the log One-eye was sitting on. Firepaw followed, noticing a couple pieces of cooked rabbit on a large burdock leaf.

Graypaw looked up at him as Firepaw settled down. “You still haven’t eaten anything roasted on a fire?” he asked.

“No,” Firepaw admitted. He suddenly felt excited by the warm smells that were rising from the chunks of meat. A thrill went through his whole body at the thought of sharing his first real food as a clan member.

“In that case, you can have the first bite. Just save me some!” Graypaw dipped his head and pushed the leaf towards Firepaw.

Firepaw hesitated for a moment, then simply grabbed a handful of meat. He felt a smug satisfaction bubbling in his chest when nobody made a comment, or even glanced over as he stuffed it in his mouth like an orangutan and chewed like a contented cow. The meat was juicy and tender, and sang with the flavours of the forest.

“What do you think?” asked Graypaw.

“Fantastic!” mumbled Firepaw, his mouth still full.

“Leave me some, then,” laughed Graypaw, reaching out to grab some of the meat for himself.

As the two apprentices shared their meal, they listened to the elders talk among themselves.

“How long before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?” asked Smallear.

“Hm?” One-eye glanced up from her meal. “What did you say, Smallear?”

“I think you hearing has become as poor as your eyesight!” snapped Smallear impatiently. “I said , ‘how long before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?’.”

One-eye ignored Smallear’s irritated reply and spoke instead to the other women. “Rosetail, Dappletail, do you remember the day years ago when Bluestar herself was appointed deputy?”

“Oh, yes!” Dappletail said earnestly. “It was not long after she lost her children.”

“Poor thing,” Rosetail said, pity in her voice. “She threw herself into work like a dog at carrion. I’m glad she found happiness in duty, at least.”

Dappletail sighed. “Stormtail would’ve supported her if she’d let him…”

“He was too busy with you,” Smallear huffed. “But it doesn’t matter. She won’t be happy appointing a new deputy, Redtail served her long and well, but she’ll need to make up her mind quickly.” He glanced over at Firepaw, who was watching the conversation curiously. “According to the Warrior Code, the choice has to be made before moonhigh after the death of the old deputy.”

“At least this time the choice is obvious,” mumbled Rosetail.

Firepaw tilted his head, then looked around the clearing. Who could Rosetail mean? To Firepaw, all the warriors looked imposing and worthy of becoming deputy. Perhaps she meant Tigerclaw; after all, he had avenged Redtail’s death.

Tigerclaw had been sitting not far off, but his eyes were at the elders’ den; he was clearly listening in to their conversation. He got up and walked over to the group, leaning against the fallen tree. His amber eyes glittered, and a small smile danced at his lips.

“You don’t have to make yourself stay here, Smallear,” Tigerclaw said, voice a sweet, low rumble. “I know you and Redtail were friends. Nobody’s forbidding you from joining the funeral…”

Smallear waved him off. “Oh, please,” he said. “I’m not some fawn crying for its mother.” His voice was clearly raw, but it didn’t waver. “I won’t take up space.”

Tigerclaw still didn’t move. “It is horrible to see Redtail taken from us,” he said finally. “He still had many years left in him. Couldn’t even see his daughter’s warrior ceremony…”

“It was the will of StarClan,” Smallear said.

Tigerclaw paused. “Yes,” he said. “Each man has their own destiny. I suppose this was Redtail’s.” He turned and left without further ado.

One-eye sighed and leaned back. “Redtail won’t see Sandpaw’s warrior ceremony in person, but StarClan willing I live long enough,” she sighed.

As Firepaw wiped the last traces of rabbit from his lips, Bluestar’s voice called from the Highrock. Redtail’s body still lay in the clearing below, pale gray in the fading light; the warriors gave it a respectful distance as they settled below the Highrock.

“A new deputy must be appointed,” she said. “But first, let us give thanks to StarClan for the life of Redtail. Tonight he sits with his fellow warriors among the stars.”

Silence fell as many warriors looked up into the sky, which was beginning to darken as evening crept over the forest.

“And now I shall name ThunderClan’s new deputy,” Bluestar continued. She took a deep breath and tilted her head back, facing both the clanfolk and the stars. “I say these words before the body of Redtail, so that his spirit may hear and approve my choice.”

Firepaw looked at Tigerclaw. He couldn’t help noticing the hunger in the massive warrior’s amber eyes as he stared up at the Highrock.

“Lionheart,” Bluestar said, “will be the new deputy of ThunderClan.”

Firepaw was curious to see Tigerclaw’s reaction. But the dark warrior’s face revealed nothing as he moved to congratulate Lionheart with a shoulder pat so hearty that it almost pushed the golden-haired man off-balance.

“Why didn’t she make Tigerclaw deputy?” Firepaw whispered to Graypaw.

“Probably because Lionheart has been a warrior longer, so he has a lot more experience,” Graypaw murmured back, still looking up at Bluestar.

The leader spoke again. “Redtail was also mentor to young Dustpaw. Since there must be no delay in the training of our apprentices, I shall appoint Dustpaw’s new mentor immediately. Dustpaw, your new mentor will be Darkstripe.”

The black-haired man stood up and walked over to where Dustpaw was kneeling on the ground, next to Redtail’s body. Dustpaw stood up, his amber eyes still filled with sorrow for his old mentor.

“Darkstripe, you are ready to take on an apprentice,” Bluestar continued. “You have received excellent training from Tigerclaw, and you have shown yourself to be dedicated and a skilled hunter. You will be the mentor of Dustpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.”

Darkstripe unsheathed his knife and held it out awkwardly. Dustpaw tapped his axe to the knife with respect, but his expression was still dull with grief.

Bluestar raised her voice. “I shall keep a vigil with Redtail’s body tonight, before we bury him at sunrise. Any who wish to join are welcome among the mourning.” She jumped down from the Highrock and walked to sit beside Redtail’s body once more. Many of the others joined her. Firepaw recognised Willowpelt, Spottedleaf, and an older man with salt-and-pepper hair sitting together; nearby, a pair of lean warriors with brown hair, a man and a woman, sat in sorrow side-to-side. A woman with gray-brown hair and freckled skin - Brindleface, Firepaw recognised her - sat down next to Dustpaw. Another elder, this one with a missing right foot, made his way through the crowd and kneeled down next to the dead deputy with a heavy sigh. The rest of the clan slowly spread out, most heading towards the sleeping huts.

Graypaw nudged Firepaw’s arm. “Hey, you awake?”

Firepaw twitched. “Ah, sorry,” he said. “I just zoned out.”

“You must be tired,” Graypaw said, grabbing his wrist. “I don’t think your tame foods give you the energy for all the fighting! Come on, I’ll show you where we sleep. The apprentices’ hut is over here.”

Firepaw let Graypaw drag him to a smaller hut in a thick bush of ferns, with a mossy tree stump in front of it.

“We often eat our food by this stump,” Graypaw told him.

“How many apprentices are there?” Firepaw asked.

“Not as many as we’d like - just me, you, Ravenpaw, Dustpaw, and Sandpaw.”

As Graypaw and Firepaw walked towards the entryway of the hut, a young girl suddenly stood up from within the ferns, startling them. Her eyes were green, like Firepaw’s, but her hair was much lighter, pale like sand. Firepaw noticed her eyes were slightly reddish, as if she’d been just crying.

But her voice carried no grief when she spoke. “So here comes the new apprentice!” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Hello,” Firepaw said.

The girl sniffed rudely. “He looks like a tame! Don’t tell me I’m going to have to share a hut with that trash !”

Firepaw felt rather taken aback. Since his fight with Longtail, most everyone had been quite friendly, and only Darkstripe showed any disdain. Meanwhile, this apprentice was insulting him to his face!

“You’ll have to excuse Sandpaw,” murmured Graypaw in his ear. “She must be sad because of Redtail. She’s not usually this bad-tempered.”

Firepaw gave a quick nod. “I heard Redtail was your father,” he said carefully. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“And what would you know about it, tame ?!” spat Sandpaw crossly.

“Hold on, youngsters.” The deep voice of Whitestorm sounded behind the warriors. “Sandpaw! As my apprentice, I expected you to be a little more welcoming to this newcomer.”

Sandpaw looked at her mentor defiantly. “I’m sorry, Whitestorm,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “I just didn’t expect to ever be training with a tame , that’s all!”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Sandpaw,” said Whitestorm calmly. “Now, you two… It’s getting late, and Lionheart and Tigerclaw will surely take you out for training early tomorrow. You should get some sleep.” He gave Sandpaw one final stern look as she walked towards the group holding vigil for Redtail.

As Whitestorm walked off towards the warriors’ hut, Graypaw invited Firepaw into the apprentices’ hut with a flick of his hand. Inside the hut, beds of packed grass, leaves, and moss were scattered around, and the pale moonlight filtering through the roof gave everything a slight green light. The air was fragrant with fern scent, and warmer than outside. There were blankets and animal hides on all the beds, and a curtain to cover the door if needed, but Firepaw noticed only four beds looked occupied.

He stood in the hut, looking around for a moment. “Where do I sleep?” he asked Graypaw.

“Anywhere,” Graypaw said.

Firepaw looked around again. “Maybe not near Sandpaw,” he said. “I don’t think she’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Graypaw laughed. “She sleeps over there.” He gestured towards a bed in a far corner of the hut.

“And you?” Firepaw asked.

“Right here,” Graypaw answered, flopping down onto his back on one of the beds. There were a few ones next to it that seemed unoccupied.

“I’ll take this one, then,” Firepaw said, laying down on a bed next to him. Graypaw smiled.

Firepaw kicked off his shoes, settled himself, closed his eyes, and let himself breathe in the forest scents and listen to the singing wind. His whole body felt drowsy with contentment. This was his home now. He was a member of ThunderClan now.

Notes:

see this is what i mean when i say i want to expand things. add more dialogue and life and personality. make the clans seem more... interconnected. i feel like that's a part of the first arc the other series REALLY miss... but even TPB is shortish. i want MORE ULTIMATELY MOSTLY POINTLESS TALKING because IT MAKES THIS FEEL MORE LIKE AN ACTUAL COMMUNITY and IT'S FUN
also. yes i do use the website family tree. yes i do use missing kits. yes i do mix in my own hcs and other people's hcs that i liked enough to mix in. and yes everyone is fucking related. this is, ultimately, still warrior cats of course if you go back far enough everyone's descended from like one guy. i like families being messy and connected and fun i just think its neat
also also. my mum is a doctor so i... might be a little weird with writing doctors or doctor-equivalents... what can i say, i like my accuracy AND also i think spottedleaf deserves to yell at people who keep interrupting her work or disregarding her orders
...
as always: hope you enjoy, kudos keep authors alive, thank you to everyone who's bookmarked this, and please do comment i love interacting :) thanks for reading and have a great [time of day] ^w^