ALONE

### ~~Fire~~ **Alone** ~~Will Save Your Clan~~

Alone is a WIP AU. It is a collab between siblings Flamecloud and Floofpaw/ybear.

In Thunderclan's darkest hour, Starclan sent them a hero. He was born not in the clans but in the twolegplace beyond, and while he may have started out as a young newcomer, by the end he was a leader and a legend.

But what if Firestar never set foot in the forest?

What if he lived his life in peace, as Rusty?

What if Thunderclan was alone?

## Prologue

*“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.’”*

 *Into the Wild (page 5)*

 The night held its breath as the small shapes crept along, the watching half moon catching on their fur. One group slipped from the river and scrambled up to the flat rocks beyond, while the second waited.

The cats regarded each wordlessly. For a long moment, they were just another stagnant part of the terrain, still and tense and wondering what came next.

A tail was twitched, an order given, and the peace died quickly.

Tigerclaw savored the taste of the silent death, watching with satisfaction as his clanmates tore through the Riverclan ranks, claws glinting in the low light. Then, a smile playing on his face, he joined the fray.

He ignored most of the enemy cats, pausing only to help his allies when needed. He was not here for petty squabbling. He was here to make a point, and to do that, he needed someone in specific.

The Riverclan deputy didn’t notice him until Tigerclaw had him pinned against the rock. That was what he got for spending his days lazing about on rocks, waiting for the fish to jump into his mouth.

“Oakheart!” Tigerclaw snarled, tearing the other tom a new scar on his shoulder, “How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to Thunderclan!”

“After tonight, Tigerclaw, this will be just another Riverclan hunting ground!” Oakheart retorted, twisting away.

The funny thing was, the Sunningrocks were no good for hunting. As near as Tigerclaw could tell, their main purpose was to be fought over, which suited him fine.

The battle had a familiar rhythm to it, and Tigerclaw lost count of the blows he dealt and received. His paws began to slip on the blood coating the rocks, but he kept his balance, and fought on.

The moon watched, as wounds were traded and lives were risked.

“Tigerclaw!” a familiar voice shouted in his ear, snapping him out of his trance. Tigerclaw blinked, startled to find that his muzzle was bleeding, and that his deputy was talking to him.

“This is useless!” Redtail shouted over the clamor of the battle, his eyes wild. “There are too many Riverclan warriors!”

Or, the way Tigerclaw saw it, too few from Thunderclan. If they had committed their full force, as he had suggested, he doubted he would be having this conversation.

“No, Redtail. Thunderclan will never be beaten!” Tigerclaw yowled back. “This is our territory!”

“Thunderclan will honor your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot afford to lose any more of our warriors,” Redtail insisted.

If Thunderclan loathed Redtail’s cowardice half as much as it honored Tigerclaw’s courage, someone more useful would be deputy.

*Tigerclaw* would be deputy.

Redtail put on his brave mask, and proudly informed the clan that they would once again be fleeing like spineless kittypets. Tigerclaw’s words withered into a low growl. It was impossible to reason with fear.

As Thunderclan retreated, Tigerclaw hesitated at the edge of the forest. The rocks were stained a rusty red, but no bodies were left behind. On the other side of the glittering river, another cat stood, looking at him.

Oakheart.

Tigerclaw let out a soft hiss of frustration, and shook a bit of blood from his muzzle. The next battle would be more satisfying, one way or another.

Bluestar did not often think of her age, but tonight she was certain that she was old, very old.

How long had it been since she’d lead Thunderclan to victory?

A lifetime, surely.

A rustle from the medicine den turned her attention back to reality, and she looked over at the younger she-cat who had joined her outside. Spottedleaf settled down beside her, her dappled pelt blurred murkily by the shadows.

Bluestar dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she asked, afraid of the answer. Losing a battle was bad enough. Losing a cat was far worse.

“Mousefur’s wounds are deep, Bluestar,” Spottedleaf replied, stretching her legs out in front of her. At Bluestar’s tense expression, she flashed a reassuring smile. “But she is strong and healthy; she will heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

Spottedleaf blinked at her. “They will all recover, too.”

Bluestar let out a long sigh of relief. She’d said goodbye to far too many clanmates in these recent moons. The leaf-bare had been hard, and the other clans did not yield for weakness.

She tipped her head up to the skies, wondering if her ancestors' eyes were on her now. What would Sunstar think of her? Would this battle have been a victory if he had orchestrated it?

“Are you asking Starclan for answers?” meowed Spottedleaf gently, following her gaze upward.

Perhaps she was letting too much of her fear show. “It is at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to help us,” Bluestar replied lightly, her eyes creeping back to the medicine cat. “Has Starclan spoken to you?”

“Not for some moons, Bluestar,” Spottedleaf said calmly. Bluestar looked away quickly, knowing those wise amber eyes saw more than they ought to.

The air was quiet. Sometimes Bluestar found it peaceful to stare up at the silent sky, when she was content to believe the twinkling stars held messages just waiting to be told.

Tonight, it felt awfully lonely.

“Do you see anything?” Bluestar murmured softly, trying not to betray her hopefulness.

Spottedleaf shook her head. “Not tonight, Bluestar.” The tortoiseshell rose to her feet, and gave the leader a gentle flick with her tail. “You need your rest. The stars will still be here tomorrow.”

It would appear that Thunderclan was on its own.

## Chapter 1

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

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

*Into the Wild (Page 10)*

The forest was dark. Thick, spidery branches heavy with damp leaves curtained out the moon and most of the stars. Green, growing smells wafted up Rusty’s nose along with the scent of something small, alive, and very tasty. His stomach growled and he dropped into a hunter’s crouch, quietly stalking towards the creature, which he could now tell was a mouse.

As he sprang, it darted towards a small burrow at the base of a tree, but it was too late. Rusty snared it in his claws and flung it into the air. It let out a frightened squeak as it fell and tried to scamper away, but he caught it and flung it again, a little higher this time. It hit the ground and ran a few desperate steps towards its burrow.

Rusty was about to pounce at it again when a familiar clattering sound distracted him. He glanced away for a moment and the mouse scurried to safety within its hole. He hissed in frustration as the clattering continued, a dry, bland scent piercing into the dream and shattering his sleep.

His housefolk were pouring food into his bowl, which they always refilled before going to bed. Rusty’s stomach growled again and he reluctantly hauled himself out of his bed, forcing himself to lap up the crunchy, tasteless meal.

Afterward, he slipped out the cat flap into the night, hoping the scents of the garden might revive some of the feelings from the dream. He leapt up onto the fence marking the end of the garden and stared out at the woods. The light from the twolegplace didn’t penetrate far into its shadowy depths, and it beckoned to him, vivid and mysterious.

But Rusty’s housefolk were calling to him. He could go inside and curl up with them to sleep, warm and safe.

He jumped back into the garden and trotted back to the twoleg den.

The woods would always be there tomorrow, after all.

## Chapter 2

*"'So here comes the new apprentice!" [Sandpaw] meowed, narrowing her eyes.*

*'Hello,' Firepaw mewed.*

*The young cat sniffed rudely. 'He smells like a kittypet!'"*

*Into the Wild (page 53)*

Sandpaw was dreaming of a storm.

It darkened the clear sky to a pitch black, as if an early night had fallen. The squall of wind and thunder blocked out all sound, and the shadows seemed to dance around her.

Even though she couldn’t hear or see past her whiskers, Sandpaw had the creeping sense that she was being watched. *Hunted.*

Something moved towards her, its teeth glinting sharp and-

The new apprentice was snoring.

Of *course* he was a snorer.

With a soft groan, Sandpaw rolled onto her stomach, glaring drowsily at the mound of kitten fluff in the nest next to hers. Graypaw slept on, oblivious to the monstrous noise he was making, but the dim light from outside reflected on two other pairs of eyes.

“I’m going to kill him,” Dustpaw growled, ears flattening back across his skull.

“I call dibs,” Sandpaw objected. “The warrior code doesn’t apply before the dawn patrol leaves.”

Ravenpaw glanced nervously between the two of them, as if he legitimately thought they were going to murder their own clanmate. As tempting as it was, Sandpaw wasn’t quite that desperate yet.

Sandpaw craned her neck to peer out of the den, and scowled when she saw Bluestar emerging from the leader’s den. It wouldn’t be long before Redtail sent out patrols and the clan awoke, and Graypaw didn’t show any sign of quieting, so there wasn’t much point to going back to sleep.

Reluctantly, she peeled herself from her warm nest, and stretched. Sandpaw gave Graypaw’s nest a sharp kick on the way out, smiling despite herself as the younger cat mumbled something about food. A grumbling Dustpaw and a twitchy Ravenpaw followed.

Redtail sat chatting with Bluestar, his expression grim. At the apprentices’ approach, he glanced sharply up, exchanged a harried glance with Bluestar, then flashed a grin.

“How’s my favorite kit?” Redtail purred, bumping his head playful against Sandpaw’s shoulder.

“I’m your only kit,” she muttered. She ducked her head, but not before she caught Dustpaw’s mocking smile.

Sandpaw shook off her embarrassment at the fond glint on Redtail’s face. She was his only kit, and he was her only kin, even though they shared no blood. No matter how humiliating he could be, Sandpaw would never forget that he’d been the one who’d found her abandoned in the woods and adopted her.

Besides, while one brother sneered, Ravenpaw watched them almost hungrily. Even though Dustpaw liked to pretend he wasn’t, Redtail was the closest thing he had to a parent as well.

“Redtail,” Bluestar murmured warningly, flicking her tail against her deputy’s side.

Sandpaw’s eyes narrowed as her father’s grin dimmed. “Right,” Redtail agreed, blinking at Sandpaw, “Sorry, ‘paws. Duty calls.”

“I bet they’re talking about Riverclan,” Dustpaw whispered to them. Ravenpaw wilted like a dead flower at the notion, but Sandpaw felt a thrill of excitement shoot through her.

All three of them had been left out of the last battle, to their great disappointment. Well, Sandpaw and Dustpaw anyway. Ravenpaw had practically cried with joy. She blamed Redtail, even though she knew he was only trying to protect her.

Still, after the last defeat, surly Bluestar would let them fight? It was clear the clan needed all the claws it could get, and according to Whitestorm, Sandpaw was ahead on her training.

“And *I* bet a certain deputy will claim it’s too dangerous for apprentices,” Sandpaw muttered back to Dustpaw.

Ravenpaw perked up. Great Starclan, if he weren’t a bony twig, Sandpaw would have assumed he literally didn’t have a spine.

Redtail trotted away from Bluestar, and ducked into the warrior’s den, only to reemerge a few minutes later with Tigerclaw. Sandpaw watched hopefully as the three older cats talked in hushed voices, her pelt prickling with anticipation as Tigerclaw glanced towards the apprentices.

“Ravenpaw!” Tigerclaw called, his voice booming across the camp, “Come here. We’re going to patrol the Riverclan border.”

Ravenpaw sucked in a sharp breath, shooting a frantic look at his brother. “What about Sandpaw and Dustpaw? I’m sure they’d like to go,” he suggested, the fur along his spine prickling.

“We really would,” Sandpaw agreed. “Ravenpaw could stay here and show Graypaw around.”

Tigerclaw’s amber gaze was flat and hard as he growled, “Is it really your place to question a senior warrior?”

Sandpaw wondered why the senior warrior was picking on the one apprentice not interested in adventure, but she held her tongue. As much as she respected Tigerclaw, she had to admit, she could see why Ravenpaw was afraid of him.

Ravenpaw ducked his head. “Sorry guys,” he mumbled to Sandpaw and Dustpaw, before slinking reluctantly to his mentor’s side. Sandpaw’s pelt prickled with jealousy as Redtail led the other two toms out of camp.

“Why does he always get to do all the fun things?” Dustpaw complained, flopping onto the ground beside her. “Ravenpaw doesn’t even like fun!”

“Ravenpaw likes playing mossball,” Sandpaw pointed out, giving Dustpaw a good natured nudge with her paw, “And at least he doesn’t snore.”

“I guess,” Dustpaw grumbled.

The morning progressed with a painful slowness. Sandpaw spent most of it hiding in the elders' den, trying to avoid the overly enthusiastic Graypaw, who somehow found even the most mundane tasks unbearably exciting. Sandpaw did *not* envy Lionheart, the poor tom stuck mentoring him.

“I’m sure he’ll mellow once he spends a few hours changing nests,” Whitestorm reassured her, as he passed her a soggy wad of mouse bile.

“I’m sure Graypaw will be *thrilled* to change nests,” Sandpaw said dryly. She leaned over, and dabbed at the fat tick next to Dappletail’s shoulder. “After all, gathering moss was just *so* wonderful.”

Whitestorm’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “That’s my son you’re talking about, you know.”

“Well, your son snores,” Sandpaw informed him.

Whitestorm let out a huff of laughter, his storm of white fur shaking. “I guess I should consider myself lucky that I didn’t have to stay in the nursery, then.”

Sandpaw was glad she had a mentor she could joke around with, not a grumpy old fox like Speckletail or scary Tigerclaw. She had to admit, though, she was a little jealous that Dustpaw had gotten Redtail.

There was a rustle at the den entrance, and Longtail’s pale tabby face popped through, creased with annoyance. “Whitestorm, have you seen Tigerclaw anywhere?” he asked, “Darkstripe and I want to go hunting with him.”

Sandpaw smiled politely at her clanmate. He was awfully arrogant for someone who was just a bigger cat’s shadow.

“Are he and Redtail not back yet?” Whitestorm murmured, brow furrowing. “They’ve been gone for quite a while now.”

As if on cue, a yowl of alarm split the calm air. Whitestorm bolted to his feet, his fur prickling, and Sandpaw quickly followed him out.

Ravenpaw stood in the center of camp, his ruffled black pelt strewn with twigs and slicked flat with blood. His usually nervous eyes were wild with panic so fierce that he cowered when Whitestorm rushed to his side, as if he thought the warrior was going to attack him.

“Ravenpaw, why are you alone?” Whitestorm demanded, sniffing the apprentice’s fur. “Where are Tigerclaw and Redtail?”

Bluestar emerged from her den, and crossed the space in a few swift strides. “What has happened?” she asked, her voice calm but her eyes clouded with worry.

“Don’t worry, young one, you’re safe here,” Whitestorm added in a comforting rumble, stepping closer to let Ravenpaw lean on his shoulder.

Sandpaw glanced nervously at the camp entrance, watching for her father’s dappled pelt. It was clear there had been a fight. Maybe he and Tigerclaw were still busy driving off enemies, or one of them was injured, or they were bringing hostages.

Or…

Ravenpaw swallowed hard, then, his voice rising in a wail, declared, “Redtail is dead!”

*Or he was dead.*

Sandpaw refused to believe it.

Any moment now, Redtail would walk into camp.

Bluestar drew in a sharp breath, and Sandpaw saw her own disbelief mirrored in the leader’s eyes. “Explain,” Bluestar ordered curtly.

“We m-met five Riverclan warriors near the Sunningrocks,” Ravenpaw stammered, slumping against Whitestorm as his injured leg gave out. “Oakheart was among them.”

“Oakheart!” Graypaw gasped in awe, grinning at the mention of the Riverclan deputy. “Lucky-”

He quickly fell silent at Whitestorm’s stern look. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Redtail warned Oakheart to keep his hunting parties out of Thunderclan territory,” Ravenpaw continued, but Sandpaw had stopped listening.

She knew the gist of it already anyway. Cats crossed territory, they fought, yada yada yada. She wanted to see her father.

An instant later, she regretted that wish.

Ravenpaw fell silent as Tigerclaw’s bulky form stalked into the camp, Redtail’s limp form snagged in his teeth like a broken kit’s toy. He stopped before Bluestar, and let Redtail’s scruff fall from his mouth, the dappled limbs folding awkwardly as he dropped.

Sandpaw waited for Redtail to move, her blood chilling when he didn’t. Spottedleaf, who had been fussing over Ravenpaw’s leg, pressed a paw carefully against the torn throat, and shook her head.

She could feel the burning gaze of her clanmates. Graypaw stared at her with open pity, Dappletail was eyeing her, and even Tigerclaw’s gaze flicked over.

“Sandpaw…” Dustpaw murmured, taking a hesitant step closer. His own grief was clear on his face, and somehow seeing his pain made the situation seem more real, less escapable.

Sandpaw sucked in a sharp breath, then, before she could do anything embarrassing, turned and stalked away to the apprentice’s den. The once familiar walls seemed tight, the shadows were hungry, and for some reason she was shaking like a leaf.

She was an orphan now, for the second time over. Sandpaw had lost the *one* cat she had the right to call kin.

She should have felt sad. Great Starclan, why wasn’t she sad? What was wrong with her?

She was mad, furious, absolutely *livid* at the outrageous universe that had robbed her once again. It hurt like an open wound. Sandpaw wasn’t crying, she was *bleeding.*

Sandpaw closed her eyes, resting her chin against the ground, and let out a slow breath. She had stormed off because she had wanted to be alone, but now she was beginning to feel the emptiness beside her.

Maybe the only cat who would have cared enough to check on her was the one lying dead outside.

“Sandpaw?”

Sandpaw looked up to find Whitestorm peering through the entrance, his yellow eyes worried. “Can I come in?” her mentor asked gently.

She shrugged, and was glad when he interpreted it as a yes.

“Are you okay?” Whitestorm asked, settling down beside her. Sandpaw shot him a glare, and he sighed. “Stupid question, sorry. Let me rephrase: is there anything you want to talk about?”

“It seems like everything’s going wrong,” she muttered, hiding her face in her paws.

“You’re perfectly justified in feeling that way,” he replied gently, “But even if it doesn’t seem believable at the moment, I can guarantee that things will get better with time.”

Sandpaw couldn’t help but feel that things would get worse before they got better.

## Chapter 3

*“‘Thank you,’ Graypaw mewed eagerly. He stepped forward and took a large mouse from the pile of prey, then dropped it at Firepaw’s feet. ‘You still not tasted mouse?’ he asked.”*

*Into the Wild, (pages 49-50)*

Longtail padded across the clearing and gave Redtail’s shoulder a lick. He hadn’t known the deputy well, but he knew he’d been smart and brave and that he would be missed.

And that Riverclan would regret this.

He settled himself down next to Dustpaw, who was staring at Redtail’s corpse with a blank expression, as if his mind was somewhere very, very far away.

Longtail let his tail rest on his half-brother’s back. He opened his mouth to say something before realizing that there probably wasn’t much he could say without making Dustpaw mad. Longtail knew he wouldn’t have wanted pity, and neither did Dustpaw.

Longtail sat with Dustpaw until the sun’s fire began to bleed over the horizon into the clouds, giving Dustpaw’s shoulder a lick as he stood up. Only those who had been closest to Redtail would share this final night with him, and he didn’t qualify. Sandpaw stalked out of the apprentice's den and sat down on the opposite side of Dustpaw from where Longtail had been sitting, glaring indiscriminately. Longtail could practically feel the waves of fury coming off of her, scorching hot and pitch black.

Longtail walked over to the medicine den and stepped inside. Spottedleaf was applying cobwebs to Ravenpaw’s shoulder while he lay unmoving in a nest.

“How’s he doing?” He asked quietly.

Spottedleaf looked up from her patient.

“It’s a deep cut, but it will heal,” She told him.

“Good,” Tigerclaw meowed, entering the den. “I’ve spent a lot of time training him, and I’d hate for my efforts to be wasted on the first battle.”

Spottedleaf looked back to her patient and continued applying cobwebs as she addressed Tigerclaw.

“Yes, it would be *such* a pity if, after *all of your hard work and training*, he died in *his first battle*, wouldn’t it?”

Tigerclaw frowned. Longtail found himself frowning in response to his frown. The way Spottedleaf said the words indicated a subtle disrespect that Tigerclaw found irritating, and because he found it irritating Longtail found it irritating.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the highrock for a clan meeting!” Bluestar’s voice rang out across the camp. Longtail filed out of the medicine den after Tigerclaw. Spottedleaf continued to tend to his half-brother.

Darkstripe joined them outside and the three of them sat down near the base of the highrock to hear the announcements.

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

Longtail looked to the sky with his clanmates as silence fell over the camp. The breeze whistled through the treetops, and somewhere an owl hooted. Silverpelt glittered back at him, shimmering and vast.

“And now I shall name Thunderclan’s new deputy,” Bluestar announced. The eyes in the camp turned back to her. “I say these words before the body of Redtail so that his spirit may hear and approve my choice.”

Darkstripe gave Tigerclaw an excited nudge, and the dark tabby tom smiled back at him. This was the moment Tigerclaw had been waiting for- what the three of them had been waiting for, really- for a long while now. Longtail noted with a pang of regret that Redtail had needed to die for them to get there, but at least something good could come out of this mess.

*Redtail will not have died in vain*, Longtail decided.

“Lionheart will be the new deputy of Thunderclan,” Bluestar announced.

Longtail’s excitement evaporated. For an instant, Tigerclaw’s expression shattered into moons of pent up frustration, but it transformed into a congratulating mask so quickly Longtail almost thought he’d imagined it. Tigerclaw thrust his way through the crowd and gave Lionheart such a hearty nudge that the new deputy stumbled a mouselength to the left, meowing something fake and congratulatory.

Longtail and Darkstripe shared a disappointed glance.

Almost.

## Chapter 4

*“‘The Gatherings are very important because they allow the Clans to come together in peace for one night. But you must understand that longer alliances bring more trouble than they’re worth.’*

*‘It is our Clan loyalty that makes us strong,’ Tigerclaw meowed in agreement. ‘If you weaken that loyalty, you weaken our chances of survival.’”*

*Into the Wild (page 61)*

Sandpaw curled her tail tighter around her paws, doing her best not to get stepped on as Spottedleaf bustled about her den, tidying it.

“Sorry about the mess,” Spottedleaf called over her shoulder, swiftly arranging a crumpled pile of something green into a crisp stack, “It’s usually much more organized.”

Sandpaw nodded. She had been in the medicine den before, enough times that the sea of disorganized plants mystified her. “It looks like a badger mauled it,” she complained.

The scent of the herbs made her nose itch. Spottedleaf’s whiskers twitched in amusement as the ginger apprentice tried and failed to stifle a sneeze, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Not a badger, just Tigerclaw,” Spottedleaf replied. “He was throwing a temper tantrum and got carried away.”

“Really?” Sandpaw marveled, her eyes widening. Beside her, Ravenpaw looked up, face creased with confusion.

“No, not really, but you believed me for a second, didn’t you?” Spottedleaf snickered. She finished stashing away the last of her herbs, and sat down beside the apprentices. Her amber eyes glittered, and she flashed a mischievous grin. “Because it's plausible. Between you and me, I think that big lump is moping.”

“Moping?” Sandpaw echoed. She’d never heard anyone accuse Thunderclan’s strongest warrior of moping.

“Oh, he hides it well,” Spottedleaf purred, “But yes, he's moping. He had his heart set on succeeding Redtail.”

Sandpaw flinched. It startled her, to hear Spottedleaf talk about Redtail without an awkward pause or a hasty apology.

“We can’t just pretend he never existed, Sandpaw,” Spottedleaf murmured, leaning forward to give her a gentle lick on the cheek. “Redtail wouldn’t want that. Besides, remembering him is the best way we can honor him.”

Sandpaw hesitated, then nodded.

“He was my kin as well,” Spottedleaf reminded her. “If you ever need to talk….”

“I’m fine,” Sandpaw replied sharply, shooting Ravenpaw a glare. The last thing she needed was for her denmates to be getting any ideas about her needing to talk.

Ravenpaw looked away. Then, after a quiet moment, he murmured, “You really shouldn’t gossip about Tigerclaw behind his back, Spottedleaf.”

Spottedleaf blinked. “Oh?”

“He’s a dangerous cat,” Ravenpaw murmured, seeming to shrink into his nest at the thought.

Spottedleaf laughed, and gave the black apprentice a playful flick with her tail. “He’s all bark, no bite,” she assured him. “Besides, I may be a medicine cat, but I can still take care of myself.”

Ravenpaw nodded miserably, hunching down until he became a little black spot of sadness.

Sandpaw squinted at him. He was always jumpy, but there was a hunted look to his eyes that wasn’t usually there.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She needed to get on with what she’d come to do. “Could I speak to Ravenpaw alone for a moment?” she asked Spottedleaf, who hesitated but then nodded.

Ravenpaw eyed her warily. His discomfort rose distinctly the moment Spottedleaf left the den, radiating through the den so thickly that Sandpaw could have cut it with her claw.

“How’s the leg?” Sandpaw asked gruffly, uncertain on how to start the conversation.

“It hurts a lot. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to walk again.”

Sandpaw let out a laugh as she glanced at the wound. “Toughen up, you big baby.” Ravenpaw’s mouth thinned into a scowl, but she pressed on, “I didn’t come here to listen to you whine.”

He glared at her for a long moment. “Then what do you want?” he growled.

“You saw Redtail die. Describe it.”

She’d meant for the words to be a harsh demand, but despite herself, a hint of weakness seeped into them.

Ravenpaw stared at her, his green eyes owl wide. It was unnerving. Did this cat never relax?

Then, to her dismay, he shifted, turning his back to her and burying his face under his tail. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sandpaw sprang to her paws, and stalked to the other side of the nest. Ravenpaw peered out at her as she gave it a rough shake. “Tell me!”

He sounded very small as he replied, “I can’t.”

She let out a snarl of disbelief. Great Starclan, he meant it. Of all times for Ravenpaw to finally dig in his heels about something, why did it have to be this? “Coward,” she spat, and stormed from the den.

Sandpaw wanted to murder whoever had picked her to go to the gathering.

“Look at those arrogant fishfaces,” she muttered under her breath to Dustpaw, flicking her tail in the direction of a cluster of Riverclan warriors. “How dare they show their faces?”

Gatherings were meant to be peaceful. Sandpaw wanted to kill someone. Obviously, this situation was not viable.

And yet, here she was.

Dustpaw let out a soft snarl of agreement, but didn’t add a jab of his own. The two of them hadn’t talked much since Redtail’s death. Sandpaw snuck a glance sideways at Dustpaw, just in time to see him look sharply away.

They were mourning the same cat, but it seemed Dustpaw wanted to mourn him alone.

“Dustpaw!” Darkstripe called, “Get over here! I’ve got some cats for you to meet!”

Dustpaw murmured a quick goodbye, then ducked away after his new mentor, leaving Sandpaw standing alone.

Sandpaw twitched her tail in irritation, her gaze raking the gathering in search of someone else to talk to. Her eyes landed on a gaggle of Riverclan apprentices, laughing at something she couldn’t catch.

A bubble of rage tickled her chest. With a hiss, she began to pick her way through the chattering cats. Perhaps if Ravenpaw wouldn’t tell her the details of her father’s death, she could squeeze them from the enemy.

“Sandpaw,” a deep growl rumbled behind her, making her freeze.

Sandpaw glanced over her shoulder, and was startled to see Tigerclaw standing over her, his amber gaze dark.

“There must be peace at the gathering,” he reminded her, “Even for those who don’t deserve it.”

“I wasn’t going to fight them. I was going to ask them if they knew anything about Redtail’s death,” she grumbled, avoiding his eyes.

She expected a reprimand. Instead, after a beat of silence, Tigerclaw replied, “Redtail was very brave. He defeated several Riverclan cats on his own, before he saw Oakheart fighting Ravenpaw.”

Tigerclaw let out a snort. “We both know how that would have ended. Luckily for my lackluster apprentice, Redtail stepped in. He held his own for quite some time, but Oakheart kicked sand in his eyes and slit his throat.”

Sandpaw felt her mouth go dry as the image played through her head. Her father would never have stooped so low.

She stared at the laughing Riverclan apprentices. Whatever Tigerclaw had wanted to accomplish, he hadn’t done it. Now, she just wanted to hurt the stupid furballs even more.

“I was then able to snap Oakheart’s neck while his guard was down,” Tigerclaw continued. “He died slowly, begging for someone to help him. Pathetically.”

The tabby tom stepped in front of her, gently nudging her away from the Riverclan apprentices with his tail. “You don’t have anything to prove to them,” Tigerclaw added sternly. “They won’t have anything to add to the story, and besides, they’re just as weak as their deputy was.”

Sandpaw nodded grudgingly. “Okay,” she growled. She paused, then added, “Thank you, Tigerclaw, for avenging Redtail.”

Tigerclaw nodded slowly. “I just did what any true warrior would do,” he murmured.

## Chapter 5

*“‘I’m afraid I have some very grave news. Today I traveled with a patrol into Windclan territory. The air was filled with the scent of Shadowclan. Almost every tree had been sprayed by Shadowclan warriors. And we met no Windclan cats even though we journeyed deep into their heartland.’”*

*-Into the Wild (page 97)*

Sandpaw absentmindedly marked a slab of rock rising above her head, glaring spitefully across the river.

*Sunningrocks is ours, fishfaces,* she snarled silently. *And don’t you forget it.*

A light breeze sent a swirl of fine sand spinning across the rocks, some of it catching in the fur on Sandpaw’s paws.

*He held his own for quite some time, but Oakheart kicked sand in his eyes and slit his throat.*

Sandpaw choked back a growl, glancing at Bluestar as she resisted the urge to jump straight down to the river and get the wretched stuff off her paws. She couldn’t look like a fool- couldn’t look weak in front of her clan leader.

To Sandpaw’s surprise, Bluestar was staring back at her with an oddly conflicted expression. Both of them looked away quickly.

“Let’s head on and mark the Windclan border,” Bluestar decided, padding resolutely towards the twoleg path that marked the thin strip of border Thunderclan shared with the rabbit chasers, her gaze anywhere but on Sandpaw. Tigerclaw broke off from marking a reddish colored rock, his gaze sparking with interest as he looked after Bluestar.

Whitestorm fell into step beside Sandpaw as they walked.

“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Sandpaw answered quickly, although she knew he could tell otherwise. Her mentor looked at her for a moment more, concern lighting his gaze. Sandpaw looked away.

“If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Whitestorm whispered at last.

Sandpaw nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Whitestorm, come take a look at this,” Bluestar called. Whitestorm hurried to her side at the Windclan border. He frowned. Sandpaw bounded after, intrigued despite herself. She flinched back. Where she had been expecting the heathery, airy scent of Windclan and the open moor, the harsh tang of Shadowclan reached her nose.

“Shadowclan,” Tigerclaw growled, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Come on,” Bluestar flicked her tail towards the moor. “Tallstar will want to know that Shadowclan has been trespassing on his territory.”

Sandpaw stiffened as the patrol crossed the border, walking deeper into Windclan territory. Something was off. A cloud of tense apprehension hung in the air, mingling with the reek of Shadowclan. It was the same moor, but it seemed as if it had transformed overnight. Sandpaw’s fur prickled along her spine.

The group headed deeper still into Windclan territory, and still nothing changed. There was no trace of Windclan anywhere, and Shadowclan scent still coated everything.

Finally the patrol stopped outside the Windclan camp.

“We’ve come this far,” Tigerclaw grunted. “We may as well head in.”

Bluestar nodded in agreement, leading the way through the tangle of gorse bushes that sheltered the camp. The Shadowclan scent grew stronger as Sandpaw pushed her way through the thorns, intensifying almost unbearably. After what felt like an eternity, the last of the prickles tugged free of her pelt, and at last the patrol was in the camp.

It was deserted. Splashes of dried blood stained the ground, and wisps of torn fur whipped across the ground in the breeze. Tufts of pelt hung caught in the gorse bushes at the edge of camp as if many cats had pushed through it in a panicked rush. And the reek of Shadowclan blanketed all of it.

“They're gone,” Bluestar announced simply.

Sandpaw’s mind was reeling.

*Gone? But Windclan has been here like- like forever.*

But then again, so had Redtail.

Tigerclaw nodded.

“It looks like Shadowclan drove them out.”

“We should leave,” Bluestar decided. “If this is what it seems like, Shadowclan will claw our pelts off if they find us.”

Tigerclaw gave a snort that sounded half amused and half irritated, but followed Bluestar out of camp with the rest of the patrol. Sandpaw felt incredibly exposed on the open moor with Shadowclan scent wreathing all around the patrol, but soon enough they were back on Thunderclan territory. Whitestorm fell into step beside Sandpaw.

“This will be fine,” He mewed, although Sandpaw thought he sounded like he was trying to reassure himself as much as her. “The clans squabble all of the time. Windclan will-,” he broke off, stiffening.

“What’s wrong?” Sandpaw wondered.

Whitestorm shook his head.

“The scent of Shadowclan is just stuck in my nose. For I second I thought I smelled-,”

“It’s not just in your nose, Whitestorm,” Bluestar meowed. Tigerclaw nodded in agreement. “There is a Shadowclan cat nearby.”

Sandpaw scented the air and realized Bluestar was correct. Strong Shadowclan scent wafted from a nearby clump of ferns. Growling, Tigerclaw padded forwards and parted the fronds. He took a step back.

“Well,” He mewed. “This is… surprising. Bluestar, you ought to see this.”

The clan leader walked forward and stuck her head into the ferns. When it came back out, her expression looked alarmed.

Sandpaw started towards the clump of ferns, but Whitestorm brushed past her, looking quickly inside. He blocked her path.

“Sandpaw, you don’t need to see this,” he told her.

Sandpaw bristled.

“I think I can handle this, whatever it is,” she muttered, reigning in a snappier comment.

“Let her look,” Tigerclaw drawled. “She’s mature. Plus, she’s probably already guessed what it is.”

Whitestorm gave a reluctant nod to the senior warrior and stepped aside.

*Tigerclaw’s probably right*, Sandpaw mused grimly. *How many things can there be that Whitestorm wouldn’t want me to see?*

But she still failed to stifle her gasp of shock when she found a corpse staring back at her.