[TB] STARLIGHT -- Chapter 11

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Crowflight woke the next morning to a camp in motion.

Ashfoot had already assigned everything, it seemed – from hunting and border patrols to teams that were meant to clear away the remaining debris from the clearing. It seemed as if he and the patrol from the day before had been given unspoken permission to sleep in, as he hadn’t been woken up to help out.

Crowflight had to duck his head to keep from being clonked by a branch being carried past him. Poppyfoot mewed a muffled “Sorry!” as she walked by, determined to drag the branch to the boundaries of camp.

“Hang on, let me help!” Crowflight called. He got to his paws and shook out his pelt, springing over to the tortoiseshell she-cat's side. She paused, blinking gratefully at him as he grasped the opposite end of the branch in his jaws.

Together, they hauled it over to where Whitetail was directing Thornpaw and Thistlepaw. The apprentices were working on a patchwork wall made of the existing gorse and the bushes torn from the central clearing.

Beside Whitetail was a pile of branches, and it was here that Poppyfoot and Crowflight put their burden. Crowflight held back a sneeze at the sharp smell of so much raw sap.

Whitetail couldn’t seem to. She blustered hard before thanking the two, croaking, “Construction is difficult!”

“It sure is,” Poppyfoot agreed.

Crowflight peered at the white warrior. Her sneeze had been violent, and her nose was running. Her eyes were glazed, too, and something about her appearance rang as a warning to him. As if conscious of his gaze, Whitetail tilted her head away.

“Have you seen Barkface?” Crowflight pressed.

Whitetail shook her head. With a crackly voice she countered, “It’s just the sap...”

Crowflight glanced at Poppyfoot, who also look concerned, now. Whitetail’s symptoms didn’t come from sniffing sap – Crowflight didn’t have to be a medicine cat to know that. “Go see Barkface,” he told her.

Whitetail’s ear flicked. “Excuse me!” she rasped, her watery eyes narrowing, “Last I checked, I was senior warrior here...”

“Crowflight’s right, Whitetail,” Poppyfoot insisted. “I can take over here. There isn’t any harm in making sure you’re okay!”

Whitetail blinked, looking stubborn. For a moment, Crowflight thought she might snap at them – and in fact, she did open her jaws to say something, only to have a cough interrupt her words. That seemed to be more than enough convincing. Whitetail nodded her head in agreement and padded away, tail drooping.

“I hope it’s not anything serious,” Poppyfoot fretted. “A greencough outbreak would be a horrible way to start things here...”

Crowflight had to agree. Leafbare was ready to strike, if the cold, cutting winds and frost on the moor grass had anything to say about it. He watched Whitetail approach the caves beneath the rowan and, after a moment, enter the darkness.

“We need to get the camp done,” Crowflight sighed. “There’ll be greencough for sure if we’re all sleeping outside in the snow.”

Poppyfoot nodded in agreement. “As far as I know, they haven’t even decided where the rain dens are to be...”

Crowflight tried not to bristle. He looked to his mother, who was directing Emberstep to do something with the clot of branches she had at her paws. Where was Onewhisker? What was he thinking, not establishing the rain dens yet? All the work Ashfoot was coordinating wouldn’t mean anything if there was nowhere to shelter from bad weather.

There was nothing for it, though, but to help out. He turned to the camp wall, where Thornpaw looked as if she’d gotten stuck, and moved to help wrest her from the grasp of the gorse. After pulling her free, he set to work with the apprentices, learning from Poppyfoot the best ways to wind branches around one another without having them snapping back into one’s muzzle – not that poor Thistlepaw didn’t get slapped more than once.

Onewhisker didn’t appear in camp until near sunhigh, trotting in with Smokewillow. Both warriors had rabbits in their jaws. Crowflight pulled away from the camp wall, hunger stirring in his belly.

“Go eat,” Poppyfoot urged.

Crowflight thanked her and moved away from the camp wall, his paws sore in ways he hadn’t thought paws could get sore. If we cats were meant to play with twigs like that, wouldn’t StarClan have made it easier?

“Smokewillow and I marked the border by the Horseplace,” Onewhisker was telling those gathered near him. “WindClan’s borders are complete!”

Crowflight sighed. He supposed that that was a decent reason to be out of camp, but he hadn’t failed to notice that Onewhisker had left all construction duties to Ashfoot – and was continuing to do so, even having returned for the day.

Robinwing’s eyes went wide, and she turned to Smokewillow. “Was it dangerous? Horses as so big...”

Smokewillow twitched his whiskers, and pushed a bit of rabbit towards Robinwing. Nearby, Duskwhisker scoffed and rolled her eyes. Crowflight resisted the urge to copy her.

“No danger at all,” Smokewillow crowed, watching Robinwing eat. “Horses are dumb; even if they could jump that Twoleg fence, they won’t.”

Crowflight took a share of rabbit from the temporary fresh-kill pile, arranged against one of the hills. We need a better place for this, too, or it’ll all spoil... he thought as he lay down beside Duskwhisker to eat. He’d thought to share the meal with her, but as Smokewillow went on and on, she turned away from the conversation altogether, looking irritated as she padded away.

“The more dangerous thing were the loners we scented,” Smokewillow was meowing.

Onewhisker nodded along. “There were three, at least.”

“Loners?” Robinwing breathed. Her fur bristled, and her tail curled tightly around her body. “Are they dangerous?”

“Likely not,” Onewhisker soothed. “We think they live in the barn, and they’re probably mousers like Barley and Ravenpaw in the old forest.”

“There might be kits, too,” Smokewillow mused.

Robinwing’s eyes rounded, and she sighed, “Oh... well, we wouldn’t do anything to kits!”

Crowflight polished off his meal. “Was there a place to bury Tallstar?” he asked, running his tongue along his muzzle.

Onewhisker’s eyes darkened. Tallstar’s body was still laying out on the rocks above the medicine cat’s den, chilled by the cold and stiff from death. It was WindClan’s way to leave a body out in the wind for some days, to let their scent create a trail to the stars, but they were reaching their limits – their former leader would attract predators soon enough.

“We thought of burying him beneath the rowan,” Onewhisker explained. “Tonight. Any longer and the ground might get too hard to dig through.”

“That sounds good,” Crowflight murmured. He glanced up at the rowan tree, swaying protectively over the camp. “He’d like that, I think.”

“We did find another spot that might be good for burials,” Smokewillow pointed out. “It’s not far from camp...”

As Smokewillow described the spot – a spot of lower hills with soft soil and lots of heather – Barkface approached. The brown tom pulled Onewhisker aside and muttered something into his ear that made the WindClan leader flinch.

Crowflight frowned, and Smokewillow and Robinwing stopped conversing to stare, wondering what the conversation was for. Crowflight glanced back at the medicine cat’s den, from where Whitetail had not yet emerged.

Oh, no.

Onewhisker turned to them, and sighed heavily. “Whitetail has whitecough.”

Robinwing gasped, and Smokewillow’s tail bushed in alarm. Crowflight’s claws curled into the soil.

“Now, now,” Barkface soothed, “it’s just whitecough. Not greencough, not yet. Whitetail is being quarantined in the den, and it can be treated easily in these early stages – but we need the herbs to do it.”

“Do we have herbs?” Robinwing wondered. “We’ve only been here for two days!”

At this, Barkface shook his head. “Ryewhisper and I have gathered some leaves here and there, but they’re not any that will help Whitetail right now. We need tansy or catmint, something for sickness. With leafbare breathing down our necks... I don’t think I can find them on the moor when a lot of plants are already succumbing to cold.”

Onewhisker frowned in thought. “ThunderClan might have them,” he suggested. “Their forest doesn’t feel the chill as immediately as we do.”

“That’s true,” Barkface agreed.

Onewhisker’s eyes turned to Crowflight. “You know where ThunderClan’s camp is, yes?”

Crowflight nodded.

“Then take Ryewhisper with you and see if Brackenfur has anything to help,” Onewhisker ordered. “We need to stop this before it spreads.”

“I’m ready now,” Crowflight declared. Warmth filled his body – creating walls and barriers wasn’t something he was good at, but this was.

“I’ll get Ryewhisper, then,” Barkface grunted. The old tom hefted himself to his paws and trotted back to his den.

Onewhisker turned to Smokewillow and Robinwing. “Spread the news, but not the panic,” he said calmly. “Tell anyone with any symptoms to seek Barkface immediately. There’s no reason to hesitate.”

Both cats nodded, and off they went. Crowflight watched them flit from one group to another to spread the word. Crowflight wasn’t sure that panic was being avoided in this way, but no cat was outright losing their fur. That had to be something.

And then a dark shape emerged from one of these thickets of conversation, and Crowflight suppressed a sigh. Mudclaw.

He prowled up to Onewhisker and growled, his shoulders squared, “We need the rain dens.”

Onewhisker curled his lip. “I know that.”

“We need them now.”

Onewhisker’s gaze sharpened. He turned his muzzle away from Mudclaw and snapped, his voice traveling across the clearing: “Ashfoot! Start work on the rain dens!”

Ashfoot looked up from her task and, after a startled moment, nodded. With her tail she drew Poppyfoot, the apprentices, and Emberstep to her and immediately set to work.

Mudclaw scoffed, glaring at Onewhisker. “She told you to start them when we got here,” he growled. “Why did you dare hesitate?”

Crowflight stared incredulously at Onewhisker. Had he deliberately ignored Ashfoot’s recommendation? Why? Had he been the reason whitecough was allowed to infect Whitetail?

“There were other things to focus on!” Onewhisker’s tail bristled and his voice rose defensively.  
“Someone wanted the walls set up! I couldn’t predict whitecough-”

“No, you couldn't. No one can. But you don’t have to – sickness is as much a fact this season as the cold itself.” Mudclaw hissed. “But you, running to ThunderClan to solve all your problems? That you can predict.”

The dark tabby cat turned away before Onewhisker could respond. The thin tom was trembling, his claws digging deep into the earth. Crowflight took a half-step away from his leader. He was sure that Onewhisker might’ve struck Mudclaw, had the former deputy not already walked away.

More than that, though, Onewhisker did not meet Crowflight’s eye, as if afraid of the obvious question burning there.

He was saved by Ryewhisper’s arrival. The small, splotched cat looked between Onewhisker and Crowflight, his whiskers twitching nervously.

“Uh...” Ryewhisper looked as if he might be close to commenting on what just happened, but he clearly thought better of it. To Crowflight, he mewed, “L-Lead the way.”

———————————————————

They walked across the moors in silence.

Crowflight didn’t want to think about the implications of Onewhisker ignoring Ashfoot’s advice about the rain dens – it made him too angry, too frustrated. He’d show up in ThunderClan’s camp with his claws unsheathed if he lingered on his mother being dismissed with whitecough in the Clan as consequences.

Instead, he thought about the route ahead, doing his best to trace a path through the moors and the forest to reach ThunderClan’s camp. He didn’t want to stumble into it like Nightfrost had and sprain his leg; or worse, break his neck.

He also didn’t want Ryewhisper to think that he didn’t know where he was going. Ryewhisper had been appointed medicine cat apprentice to Barkface before Crowflight had been born. This cat had been there at his kitting, and knew so many intimate details about his early life – every scrape and scratch, every sneeze or cough... it had never taken much for Ashfoot to run to Barkface or Ryewhisper.

Crowflight had never liked the fussing, but Ryewhisper had been a fun part of the frequent visits to the medicine cat den. While Barkface was patiently trying to deal with a paranoid mother, Ryewhisper had played games of moss-ball and find-the-seed with little Crowkit, distracting him from the more boring parts of coming to the medicine den.

Though Ryewhisper was categorically a jumpy, nervous sort of cat, Crowflight had come to understand that it was because the small cat found it difficult to relate to the way warriors thought. He’d found his purpose as a medicine cat early on and wanted nothing to do with hunting anything but herbs, it seemed. When it came to his duties, he proved to be quite good at them – good enough for Barkface’s tastes, at any rate.

Blessedly, Ryewhisper’s skittish personality kept them from talking about the confrontation in camp as they made their way into the forest. The only sounds on their little patrol were the sounds of nature – rustling, dry grass, water from the river, and the creak of trees in the cold air.

Crowflight guided Ryewhisper to the tree-bridge, and when the patchy tom balked at the thought, he crossed it first to show how stable it was. Ryewhisper gave a quiet apology for his nervousness before letting Crowflight lead the way again.

Though they were on a peaceful mission, Crowflight couldn’t help but feel tense as they crossed the border. Already the smell of ThunderClan seemed so sharp, so hostile and alien. It felt like the days of the Great Journey were far, far behind, and enemy warriors were behind every furl of bracken.

They wove through the trees, their progress slowed by the rugged terrain and constant interruptions of roots or bushes. Already the smell of ThunderClan patrols had come to permeate the area, and Crowflight imagined that the forest cats were beginning to work out their hunting trails and patrol routes like ants in the dirt.

The smell of ThunderClan grew more intense the deeper they went. Crowflight tried to find the scents of the exploratory patrol, but they were buried by ThunderClan scents by now. He did vaguely recall the route, however, and the ThunderClan trails all seemed to lead to one point, which made it easier – after all, their camp only had one single safe point of entry.

Crowflight’s whiskers trembled as he neared a clump of brambles, and the smell of ThunderClan was overwhelming. He raised his tail for Ryewhisper to stop as he scented the air.

This must be the camp, he thought. He could smell Nightfrost on the brambles, just a touch stronger than the other scents.

Crowflight was shocked to have stumbled upon the camp like this. The bramble wall was well constructed already, firm and natural-looking as it barred access to the only gap the stone hollow had. The barbs pointed outward in an unfriendly fashion, and it stank of ThunderClan markers. Ryewhisper gave it a sniff and coughed.

Crowflight twitched his tail. He was uncertain as to why they hadn’t been discovered yet, but perhaps there were many patrols out at this time of day. He could faintly hear the sounds of activity beyond the brambles, so it didn’t seem as if the camp wasn’t wholly abandoned. With Ryewhisper by his side, there would be little chance of warriors outright attacking.

He spotted a gap in the brambles, just barely visible to the naked eye, and found it was big enough for a cat to squeeze through to the other side, if a little short for WindClan cats. Crowflight led Ryewhisper through, ducking his head to keep it from scraping against the thorns.

“Intruders!”

The call went out just as Crowflight and Ryewhisper emerged into ThunderClan’s camp. It was a wide, smooth area, hugged tightly by the straight-cut stone walls of the hollow. There were several fresh patches of dirt here and there, where bushes had been dug out and moved, and some vines still clung to parts of the camp, but otherwise it seemed like everything had been swiftly cleaned and arranged.

Sootfur, the cat that had called out, was a gray streak, heading for the back of the camp. He hopped up several of the jutting stones and slipped into a crack in the rocks situated on a prominent ledge. Crowflight guessed that was where Tinystar was sleeping.

“What’re you doing here?” asked Dustpelt. The dark tabby was one of the few warriors in the clearing, and his pelt was covered in bracken bits and leaves. His eyes flitted between Crowflight and Ryewhisper, suspicion in his gaze despite the medicine cat’s presence.

“I need to speak with Brackenfur,” Ryewhisper mewed, stepping forward. His tail was curled close to his hind leg, a sign of his nerves.

Crowflight didn’t suspect Dustpelt of outright attacking – he was a grumpy cat, but he wouldn’t dare break the warrior code unless one of them moved first. Instead, Crowflight took that moment to look over the camp in more detail. There he saw a low-hanging bush that he guessed was a warrior’s den. Here he spotted a small bush, an apprentice’s den. There were several other places that might serve as good dens, too, and it seemed like they were being built up even if they weren’t needed yet.

They seem so put-together, he thought. Everything was so clean and organized here, compared to back on the moors where the rain dens hadn’t even been created yet. Was it Dustpelt? Nightfrost had spoken of his former mentor like he was a force of nature when it came to following orders and creating walls and dens.

Poppyfoot is just as good, Crowflight decided.

Sootfur emerged from the cave at the back of the camp, Tinystar behind him. By then, the warriors in ThunderClan’s camp had all stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the WindClan trespassers. Crowflight searched for Mistyfoot or Nightfrost, and found that they were absent – likely on some patrol or another. Crowflight’s heart sank, just a little. He’d been hoping to see them.

“What is your business here?” Tinystar asked. Though Sootfur had clambered down the stones to the camp floor below, Tinystar remained up on the ledge, looking down at the WindClan patrol with sharp, icy eyes.

Ryewhisper seemed to shrink even more in his pelt, but he spoke regardless: “I need to see Brackenfur.”

“I’m here, I’m here...” The rumbling came from the side of the camp most covered in ivy – the golden-brown tom limped out from a gap in the plant-covered stone, shuffling towards the patrol. He flicked a bit of ivy off of his shoulder before telling Tinystar, “This is medicine cat business, clearly! No worries here.”

Tinystar nodded, and immediately all of ThunderClan relaxed – all except Dustpelt, who, according to Nightfrost, wouldn’t know relaxation if it hit him over the head with a stiff rabbit.

As Ryewhisper quietly explained the situation to Brackenfur, Crowflight glanced back at the ivy. He spotted the cavern now, a secret place at the camp floor that was half-encased in a weaving of bark and vines. Peering out from the dark crevice were bright, curious amber eyes – Shadepaw.

Crowflight’s heart caught in his throat at the sight of her. Conscious of Ryewhisper’s presence, he gave the tortoiseshell she-cat a wave with the tip of his tail. Shadepaw’s eyes softened in response, but she didn’t approach.

“Whitecough...” Brackenfur’s voice drew Crowflight’s attention away from the medicine cat’s den. The golden-brown tom was shaking his head. “No, we haven’t found any catmint yet... but we do have a stock of tansy you can use. Hopefully that will keep things from escalating. I’ll send Shadepaw back with you, and if any catmint is discovered, we’ll send some your way.”

“Wonderful!” Ryewhisper breathed, perking up. His eyes shone with hope. “We can’t repay you in herbs, unfortunately, but I’m sure we’ll find something...”

Brackenfur huffed. “Don’t worry about that,” he insisted, waving a pale paw. “We were lucky to find the tansy as it is! Graystripe stumbled upon some while he was out exploring with Whitepaw...”

The two medicine cats got to their paws and began to meander towards the medicine cat’s den. The two toms squeezed into the ivy crevice, with Shadepaw following a moment later. Crowflight, awkwardly, wasn’t sure whether he ought to follow. Given the way that Dustpelt was glaring at him, he decided against it.

Shadepaw is coming back with us... Crowflight knew he had to disguise his happiness at that thought. The most he’d hoped for was a pile of herbs he’d have to gag over on the way back – this was far better. As he stared at the medicine cat’s den, he was very aware of Tinystar’s gaze from atop the ledge.

Did Tinystar want to know how WindClan was doing? How Onewhisker was settling into his role as leader? Crowflight swallowed. Don’t give away that anything is amiss, he thought stubbornly. Tinystar knew as well as he and Mistyfoot that the naming of Onewhisker as deputy – and leader – of WindClan hadn’t been done properly. Crowflight wasn’t sure he could lie beneath the gaze of those powerful ice-blue eyes.

He was saved by Ryewhisper and Shadepaw emerging from the medicine cat’s den. Shadepaw carried a little leaf-wrapped bundle in her jaws, and her tail flicked good-bye to Brackenfur as she padded towards Crowflight.

“We’ll bring her home safely,” Ryewhisper promised to Tinystar. “Before sundown.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Tinystar said evenly, staring down at the WindClan cats. Crowflight felt that gaze like ice sticking in his pelt. “Take care.”

Ryewhisper turned to Crowflight, unaware of his Clanmate’s discomfort. “Lead on,” he mewed.

Crowflight nodded and hastily slipped into the bramble entrance again, happy to leave the seat of ThunderClan’s power behind him. The hollow was an intimidating place to be, with only one way in or out. Part of him had hoped that Tinystar wouldn’t choose such a place for his Clan’s camp, but as Crowflight emerged out into the forest, he was sure Nightfrost had made a very passionate argument for the spot.

He turned his paws to the river. Thankfully, the two medicine cats let him walk in front – they couldn’t see Crowflight’s troubled expression as he followed his own scent trail back towards the tree-bridge.

He’d expected every Clan to be struggling to set up their camps like WindClan was, except for RiverClan, maybe. Something about the thought had comforted him, because then at least WindClan didn’t need to place the blame on anything other than the struggle of moving to a new home.

But ThunderClan’s camp was not only nearly finished, it was clean and polished, and that was a Clan that didn’t even have a deputy – meanwhile, Onewhisker had delayed something as important as leafbare shelter.

Crowflight’s felt something sink, deep into his gut like a stone in the lake water.

Had Tallstar been wrong about Onewhisker?