TB MOONRISE -- Chapter 4 (Patreon)

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Mothwing grunted as she dug her claws into the earth. The soil was cool as it clumped between her toes, its fragrant smell clouding her senses. Mothwing shook her pale golden paws free of the dirt and leaned down, narrowing her eyes to search for roots.

Quickly, she found what she was seeking – the burdock plant she had dug beneath kept its roots well hidden, but not hidden enough for a medicine cat. Proudly, Mothwing dug around the precious roots and nipped a few clean off, ignoring the taste of dirt in her mouth as she emerged from her hole.

Mothwing cleaned the roots off with a sweep of her paws and placed them with her pile of carefully-gathered flowers and berries atop a broad dock leaf. She’d managed to gather nearly every herb that they were running low on, and all before sunhigh.

Mudfur certainly can’t complain about that! She thought proudly, puffing out her chest. Mudfur had been cranky that she had spent so long listening to warriors earlier. He hadn’t meant to be so annoyed, Mothwing knew – it was hard for him to wake up in a good mood when his joints were clearly beginning to bother him more and more.

He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to make the trek to RiverClan’s far borders to look for herbs. Mothwing craned her neck over the burdock and long grasses to peer over at the Twoleg nest beyond them. There was plenty of open land between RiverClan and the nest, and the tumbledown barn that touched their borders proved to be a useful hunting spot in leaf-bare – but caution was still necessary. Those Twolegs had kits and dogs, and both liked chasing cats.

Mothwing saw a flicker of movement near the nest – a Twoleg was emerging with one of the dogs. Deciding that she had gathered enough, Mothwing arranged her herbs on the dock leaf, gathered it up into a neat package, and headed back the way she came, keeping her body low. Though she was sure she wasn’t spotted, she still jumped when the dog barked even when it was a fair distance behind her.

Feeling safer further into her own territory, Mothwing pushed herself to a trot as she put her paws on the path back to camp. There was no way she’d be able to carry any more herbs on this trip – the dock leaf was stuffed full and her eyes and nose were stinging from the strong smells.

I’ll go out again if Mudfur wants me to, she thought. In fact, going out again anyway sounds nice… It felt too tense in camp after her conversation with Tawnypelt. Now it really seemed like all eyes were on her to receive the answers RiverClan was seeking. It was much easier to worry about how to ease Mudfur’s raspy breathing with thyme and honey than to wonder about what StarClan was thinking. Mudfur, at least, was a problem she could physically solve.

Mothwing picked her way around a thick hawthorn bush. Isn’t that why I became a medicine cat, though? To help the Clan? Mothwing reflected on the moth’s wing sign left outside of Mudfur’s den – she had been helping him in the den for moons, even as a warrior ‘paw. She had enjoyed her warrior training but something about the medicine den had always called her, and Mudfur had waited for a sign that becoming a medicine cat was the right path for Mothwing before he made his decision.

He never made it seem like StarClan was so important to our duties then. Mudfur had refrained from StarClan-related discussions while Mothwing was still being considered – it wasn’t appropriate. But if he had spoken with her about StarClan… would Mothwing feel less helpless now? She couldn’t help but wonder. StarClan was such a mystery to her – one she felt like she ought to understand beyond a normal warrior’s grasp of the concept by now.

What if he dies before he teaches me how to fully comprehend StarClan?

A rustle in the reeds made Mothwing stop. The smell of herbs and roots was too strong for her to scent what was coming – she twisted her ears and sharpened her eyes, her claws sliding out. Had the Twoleg dog somehow followed her? Dogs could be stealthy, right?

When Falcontail slipped through the grasses, Mothwing relaxed. Her littermate moved like a fish in water, his whiskers twitching with amusement. “The way you were blundering about, I thought you were a badger,” he teased, his yellow eyes flashing.

Mothwing set down her herb packet. “Rude!” she gasped, fluffing her tail.

Over his shoulder, Falcontail called, “Its okay, Mackerelpaw – it’s only Mothwing!”

Mothwing sighed. “I hope I didn’t scare her,” she murmured. Just over the reeds Mothwing could see the young apprentice and Blackclaw, her mentor. Mackerelpaw must’ve thought she was an intruder trespassing about on their territory. Mothwing felt a flash of embarrassment.

“You didn’t,” Falcontail chuckled. He flicked his tail at her. “Come on; we’re heading back along the border. Mackerelpaw can take those herbs for you.”

Mothwing nodded gratefully, scooping up her plants and following Falcontail through the reeds and out onto one of RiverClan’s open, well-worn border paths. The shimmer of the river wasn’t far, and neither were the ThunderClan border and the forest beyond.

Blackclaw scoffed, wrinkling his nose, “Only a medicine cat for a few moons and you forget how to move like a warrior!”

Mothwing’s pelt prickled hotly, but her mouth was too full to retort. She focused instead on passing her burden to Mackerelpaw, a small tabby-and-white she-cat that had once been a kittypet. Mothwing still recalled the rainy day that Mackerelpaw, no more than a kitten, had wandered into RiverClan territory and demanded to be trained as a warrior. Leopardstar had been impressed with her courage, and she was working diligently as a Clan apprentice.

“Come now,” Falcontail purred, “you’d find it difficult too if you were carrying around herbs all the time. Let’s keep moving.” Falcontail’s eyes flashed to Mothwing, and he asked, “Join us for the rest of our patrol?”

Mothwing nodded. “Sounds nice,” she purred, grateful. Since she became a medicine cat, spending time with her littermate had been hard.

Blackclaw nodded and led the way with a sweep of his tail. They padded downriver, chatting quietly. Mothwing was grateful that her jaws weren’t full too full of plants to talk to her brother. There was so much to catch up on! Falcontail seemed to be making good friends with Blackclaw and Leafwhisker, but it didn’t seem like any cat was interested in him beyond friendship…

I wonder if I can help with that in any way… Mothwing knew a mate might soften some of Falcontail’s rougher, more Leopardstar-like edges. He was certainly handsome enough – his face was very shapely for a RiverClan cat, and he always kept up on his personal grooming.

Falcontail paused their conversation to mark a flat stone. “I scent ThunderClan,” he pointed out.

“Really? All I can scent are flowers,” Mackerelpaw complained, dropping the herb packet.

Blackclaw raised his tail for silence and twitched his nose. “A patrol is coming. Let’s wait,” he decided.

Mothwing opened her jaws to scent the air, scenting the cool, leaf-touched smells of ThunderClan on the wind blowing over the water. At least three cats, she noted with satisfaction. I haven’t lost my skills yet, Blackclaw!

It was more than three cats, it turned out, as Sandstorm and her patrol emerged from the undergrowth. The ThunderClan deputy was accompanied by Mousefur, Sorreltail, and Mousefur’s apprentice, the leggy, absent-minded Spiderpaw. Mothwing recalled her from an incident where the young apprentice nearly walked herself into the river a quarter-moon ago.

“Greetings,” Sandstorm called over the water. Mousefur moved off to mark a rock on their side of the river, the dusky-brown she-cat’s body language tense. “How are things in RiverClan?”

“Well,” Blackclaw called back cordially. “And you?”

“Well enough,” Sorreltail answered, flicking her dappled tail. “Thanks.”

Mothwing blinked at the ThunderClan cats. They looked thinner than usual – at this time of year, they ought to have more filled-out frames from fat greenleaf prey. She didn’t have to be a medicine cat to know that. Is it the Twolegs? Or something else? Mothwing wondered – but what else could it be? The Twolegs had to be scaring their prey off, like they were with WindClan.

“Is Brackenfur in need of any herbs?” Mothwing asked. The ThunderClan medicine cat had an old leg injury that gave him a bad limp – with Twolegs likely roaming the forest, he’d no doubt have a hard time keeping his distance. And with his apprentice missing, too… “I’ve just picked some.”

Sandstorm’s eyes flashed. No doubt the shrewd she-cat knew why Mothwing had asked. “I’ll ask him, thanks,” she answered. The pale ginger she-cat’s tail twitched. “Any sign of your missing cats?”

Mothwing felt a pang of sympathy. Nightpaw and Shadepaw, two of ThunderClan’s missing, were Sandstorm’s only kits. Mothwing missed Feathertail and Stormfur more than enough – she couldn’t imagine if how Sandstorm was feeling. She felt sad to say, “I’m sorry; we’ve heard nothing.”

Sandstorm sighed, and Sorreltail touched her nose sympathetically to her deputy’s shoulder. Mothwing wished she could offer her own sympathies, but warriors would never understand how a medicine cat’s compassion needed to transcend borders.

“Good day, then,” Sandstorm decided, lifting her tail. She seemed to have pushed away her sorrow, nodding tersely to the RiverClan cats and lifting her tail. Her patrol followed her as she made her way back into the thick undergrowth of their territory.

Blackclaw and Mackerelpaw waited until the ThunderClan cats were gone before they moved on. Mackerelpaw struggled with the herb packet once again, and Mothwing hoped that none of the berries fell out, or Mudfur might have words the young cat.

Falcontail rolled his eyes. “Nosy ThunderClan!” he groaned when the other cats were a few pawsteps away.

“ThunderClan is missing three cats, Falcontail!” Mothwing chided her littermate, keeping her voice low. “And two of them are Sandstorm’s kits! I’d be shocked if she didn’t wonder about them!”

“A strong Clan wouldn’t have lost them at all,” Falcontail snapped back.

Mothwing frowned. “RiverClan lost cats too, Falcontail,” she reminded him. “Does that make us weak?” Didn’t he miss Stormfur or Feathertail at all? She knew Falcontail’s stubbornness often blinded him, but really? “Stormfur and Feathertail were our friends!”

“Your friends, maybe,” Falcontail pointed out, “but you know I’m not out to make friends.”

Mothwing’s fur flashed with frustration at her littermate. After all this, did he still really see Stormfur and Feathertail as nothing but rivals? Is that how he sees all his fellow warriors? It made sense with Stormfur, at least – the two had very clear ambitions to rise up in RiverClan; Falcontail was competitive, and Stormfur’s more lax attitude only seemed to intensify Falcontail’s ambition.

Falcontail started padding after Blackclaw. Mothwing followed, trying to keep her pelt from bristling at her brother’s immaturity. “All the Clans are weak in some way,” Falcontail reasoned. “You know I want to do everything I can to make RiverClan strong. I’ll be deputy someday, and then leader!”

“Well, don’t forget your compassion on the way,” Mothwing told him sharply. “Or your own common sense.”

Falcontail’s eye flashed, like chips of yellow flint. “My compassion is for those loyal to RiverClan. I am a warrior, and a warrior doesn’t walk away from their responsibilities – or their Clan. Not like Stormfur did, or Feathertail. There’s no use in padding after cats that clearly don’t belong here… and probably never did in the first place.”

Mothwing closed her jaws. What could she say to that? Feathertail and Stormfur were half-Clan, and their parents were in ThunderClan… But they were always so loyal… Mothwing thought of patrolling with Stormfur, or hunting with Feathertail. Both were RiverClan to their cores!

And Feathertail and I…

Mothwing felt a prickle of guilt like the points of kitten claws… The path of a medicine cat was her destiny, she knew that… but she couldn’t help but feel, at times, that so many things might be different, might be better, if she had just stayed a warrior.