TB MOONRISE -- Chapter 10 (Patreon)

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Feathertail woke what felt like momentslater, from a lonely, dreamless sleep. Every muscle still ached, and her head was pounding with the force of the waterfall – which served as a shocking reminder of where she and her friends were. The past day had felt like a horrible dream in itself.

All around her, the others were still sleeping. Stoneheart had a fresh-looking poultice of some herbs that Feathertail couldn’t identify on his shoulder. She hoped it helped. Nightpaw and Crowpaw were curled up tightly together, and the same could be said for Mistyfoot and Stormfur, creating claws of worry in Feathertail’s belly. Shadepaw wasn’t here, it seemed – Feathertail guessed that she was with Snow or Stoneteller, too eager by half to rest if there were something she could learn from them.

They’re all okay, she thought, groggy. Her eyes rested on Stormfur, who was belly-up in his nest, one leg kicking in a dream. Despite the way Mistyfoot’s muzzle rested on his stomach, Feathertail was grateful that they were all still here, that she wasn’t alone. Thank StarClan…

Before Feathertail could curl back up in her nest of feathers and try to chase away her aches, a gentle scent washed over her. Feathertail could at least recognize the smell of Brook, the Tribe she-cat that had escorted them into the cave, as she crouched before the softpaw den.

“How are you feeling?”

Brook’s low mew was soothing to Feathertail’s pained mind. “Better,” she admitted. “I’m still aching everywhere, though.”

“It could be from sleeping on the stone,” Brook offered, apologetic. “I am sure it might take some time for you cats to get used to.”

Feathertail shook her head. “I hardly felt it,” she admitted. She pawed at her nest. “The feathers are so soft…”

Brook’s tail curled, and she looked pleased by that. “Hawk down is very, very soft,” she pointed out. “Great for kit bedding, and easy to get once the chicks learn to fly.” The Tribe she-cat blinked at her. “Would you still like to hunt with me?”

Feathertail’s ear twitched. “Of course,” she meowed. “It might help with the stiffness.”

She got to her paws. Brook’s tail curled, her whiskers twitching. “Come with me, then,” she purred. “We have a hunting party ready to leave.”

Feathertail followed Brook across the cave, heading towards the entrance and the shimmering water that hid them. There was already a group of cats waiting, like Brook had said – Feathertail was surprised at the amount of cats. Surely a large hunting party would only be a detriment in this terrain?

“You’re coming?” Sun pushed her way through the patrol to look at Feathertail with bright eyes. “Wow!”

Two of the older Tribe cats glanced at one another, concern flashing in their gaze. Feathertail felt a little bit offended – were they worried she couldn’t keep up? Flexing her claws, Feathertail felt determined. She was achy, but not without skill!

Clan cats can adapt, she thought, recalling the ginger tom who had criticized them earlier. He was not among the cats on this patrol, thankfully. I’ll show you!

“Feathertail, these are Gray Sky Before Dawn, and Swift Wind Through the Gorge,” Brook introduced, nodding to a pale gray tabby tom and a slender silver tabby she-cat in turn. “You have met Crag already…” Feathertail noted that the big gray tom in the back was one of the cats that had escorted them into the cave with Brook. Brook flicked her tail to the somehow even larger gray tom beside him. “And that is Boulder Falling Down Cliffside.”

Feathertail’s head spun, thankful that these Tribe cats shortened their names.

“Are we ready?” Crag asked, looking over the patrol.

“We are,” Brook agreed.

Crag nodded, and led the way out of the cave. Swift and Gray followed after, and Feathertail padded after Brook, who took up a position behind them. Boulder brought up the rear, and Feathertail couldn’t help but be conscious of just how large the big gray cat was compared to Swift or Brook.

Feathertail blinked at Crag as they came into the light. Both Crag and Boulder are so much bigger than the others, she thought, seeing them in the light. That’s really strange.

They padded single-file down the Path of Rushing Water and headed for the pool just outside their camp. It was already shrinking under the sunlight, but it still had a long way to go before it was back to its normal size after the storm. Still, she took that moment to take a drink, her mouth feeling dry from sleep.

When she pulled up her muzzle, she spotted each of the Tribe cats rolling in the muddy shore. Shocked, Feathertail asked, “What’re you doing?!”

Swift got to her paws, flicking excess mud off of her whiskers. “What a feather-brain,” she chuckled. She looked over at Brook, who was smearing mud along her side. “Can she really keep up?”

“The mud masks our scents!” Sun purred, drawing a paw over her ear. “And it keeps prey from scenting us. It’s the first thing any to-be learns!”

Feathertail blinked down at the mud. “Is that true?” she wondered, glancing at Brook.

“It is,” Brook explained. “It is essential for hunting in the mountains.”

Feathertail felt the eyes of the Tribe cats on her, her pelt prickling. Were they daring her to roll in the mud? I can’t be useless to these cats, she thought. We promised to help them hunt and care for us. Still, the thought of intentionally dirtying her silver tabby coat, which she was so proud of…

Shaking her head, Feathertail flopped herself into the mud. As she did her best to slick up her fur, she reminded herself that she didn’t have to tell any cat back home what she was doing. Only kits get so muddy in RiverClan! She fretted.

She couldn’t take the seeping cold much longer than a few moments, and she pushed herself to her paws. The Tribe cats looked surprised and amused, as if they hadn’t expected her to do it in the first place. Feathertail didn’t dare look at herself in the water, knowing her pelt must look a mess of muddy spikes. I can feel it in my ear! Ugh!

Brook purred, using a paw to smear some mud down her side. “You missed a spot,” she said softly. “Don’t worry, you get used to it.”

Feathertail wasn’t sure she wanted to, but had to admit that the mud was doing a great job of keeping the evening sun’s heat off of her body. I can’t see any RiverClan cat doing this, but it has its merits!

“Pretty good,” Gray commented, “for an outsider.”

Boulder tilted his head. “You’ve got the build of a prey-hunter beneath all that fluff,” he noted. “You’ll do well, with Brook to look after you.”

Feathertail recalled Sun mentioning something about prey-hunters earlier. “What is that? A prey-hunter and… cave-guard, was it? Is that what you call your warriors?”

Brook glanced apologetically at Crag, who looked exasperated. The small she-cat responded, “A prey-hunter is a sharpclaw that has trained to hunt prey and feed the Tribe; a cave-guard is one that has trained to-be a protector of the prey-hunters.”

“We watch for predators, and hawks,” Crag explained, raising his chin. “In the mountains, one must focus too much on the hunt to see everything around them.”

Feathertail frowned. “Where we come from, there are only warriors – they do both of those things at once.”

Sun’s ears pricked. “How d’you manage that? Isn’t it too hard?”

Feathertail shrugged. “That’s how things are,” she meowed. She wasn’t sure how to explain it other than that. “We hunt together, like you do, but we all look after one another at the same time as we hunt.”

“Must get confusing,” snorted Boulder.

Gray leaned over to him. “I bet if one were picked off by a hawk, they’d think differently!”

Feathertail frowned. “We’re trained to handle threats, on our own or together,” she defended, her tail bristling under the mud. “In a Clan, every cat knows how to protect one another, and we’ll die to do so.” She twitched her whiskers. “But… my Clan, RiverClan, doesn’t have much experience with hawks. Herons, though… they can be just as deadly.”

“What’s a heron?” Sun wondered, tilting her head.

“Enough,” Crag grunted. “We need to move if we’re to feed the Tribe at all tonight.”

“Where are we headed?” Swift asked.

Crag glanced up at the sky, then down at the flooded pool. “Claw Tree,” he decided. “It has been some time since prey-hunters have tried there.”

The Tribe cats organized themselves into a group once more, and Feathertail joined them, trying to fit in where another prey-hunter might, as that was where Boulder said she might fit best. Crag took the lead, while Boulder took up the rear again as they headed between a pair of rocks that sheltered a hidden path.

They began to pad at an incline, and Feathertail’s paws were aching already. Push through, she told herself. Show them how good a Clan cat is!

“So, you Clan cats are warriors, then?” Brook asked, glancing back at Feathertail. “How does that work?”

Feathertail nodded. “Kits have to wait six moons before they become apprentices, and they’re trained by a warrior until they earn their full name. Then they become a warrior!”

Brook nodded along, her whiskers twitching. “We wait six moons as well,” she mused. “And I suppose a softpaw is the same as your apprentice – and a sharpclaw would be the equivalent of a warrior.”

“I’m going to-be a cave-guard when I’m a sharpclaw!” Sun chimed in.

“That sounds great, Sun! Which one is your mentor, if you don’t mind me asking?” Feathertail wondered, glancing between Crag and Boulder.

Sun chuckled. “Softpaws don’t have just onementor – we learn from allcave-guards and all prey-hunters! How do you learn anything from just one cat?”

Feathertail flicked her tail, thinking fondly of Tawnypelt, her former mentor. “Well, since a warrior’s duties are both combat and hunting, our leaders choose the best cats to mentor each new apprentice; cats that can help them be more confident if they’re timid, or help hone their hunting skills if they’re not as good at it. It’s more personal, and the bond between mentor and apprentice is often very strong, like another parent.”

Sun’s eyes widened. “Wow!”

“Who was your mentor?” Swift asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“My mentor was Tawnypelt, our Clan’s deputy,” Feathertail explained. She thought of her apprentice ceremony, and how excited she had been. Tawnypelt hadn’t been deputy then, but Feathertail had never expected to get such a great RiverClan warrior for her mentor, considering her heritage. “She and I had a lot in common, and she taught me so much…”

“And a deputy is…?

“A deputy is warrior chosen to be our leader’s second,” Feathertail meowed. “Like Snow is for your Stoneteller – the leader of every Clan has a deputy who organizes patrols and takes over when a leader is unable to lead, or worse, dies.”

“That must have been a great honor,” Boulder rumbled.

The path they were on opened up, and Feathertail saw a great sheet of stones and boulders climbing up the sides of a huge, steep cliff. “It was,” she said. “Tawnypelt was the best mentor I ever could have had.” Not many cats could relate to being half-Clan, and Tawnypelt had been very understanding, especially when she learned of her parentage.

“So there’s more than one Clan?” Sun asked. “That’s what it sounds like, at least.”

Feathertail blinked. “Yes, there are four in the forest where we live – Stormfur and I come from RiverClan; Stoneheart is from ShadowClan; Mistyfoot, Nightpaw, and Shadepaw are from ThunderClan, and Crowpaw is from WindClan. We live separately, but we come together in times of great need, like now.”

“What’s happening now?” Brook wondered, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Our warrior ancestors, StarClan, called us to go on a long journey,” Feathertail told her. “We traveled far from our homes in the forest to find a new home for our Clans – creatures we call Twolegs are destroying the forest.”

“Can your ancestors not stop them?” Gray asked innocently.

Feathertail shook her head. “Twolegs – I don’t know if they come here, or what you call them – but they’re far bigger than us, and stronger in ways we can’t understand.” Sorrow pierced her heart as she spoke of the destruction of the forest. What was happening there now? “StarClan just isn’t powerful enough to stop them.”

“Maybe the Twolegs aren’t listening to your StarClan?” Sun wondered. “I’m sure the Tribe of Endless Hunting – that’s our ancestors – could make them listen!”

“Hush,” Crag growled, glaring back at Sun. “Keep your eyes to the sky, to-be.”

“Yes, Crag,” Sun sighed, lifting her chin back up.

“So what is your Clan like?” Brook asked.

Feathertail waved her tail. “RiverClan lives by the water,” she said happily. “We fish from the rivers for our food, and we can swim, which is something no other Clan will dare to do.”

“Swim?” Gray’s eyes went wide. “How?”

“And what do fish taste like?” Swift asked, looking hungry in the evening light.

Feathertail’s whiskers twitched. “Maybe I could show you sometime; there’s plenty of water just outside your own cave. I’m sure it can support fish.”

“I want to try!” Sun chirped, eyes bright and definitely not focused on the sky anymore.

“Sun!” snapped Crag. “Stay focused!”

“Sorry!”

“We are here at Claw Tree,” Crag added, glowering back at the patrol. “Silence would be best.”

Feathertail’s ears pinned, embarrassment prickling her pelt beneath the layer of mud. Had they really been talking so much? At least it had quickened their trip.

The land around them, still rocky and barren, had opened up into a large valley. Here, there was hardly a thing to hide a cat from being spotted by prey – just a few scattered boulders and some tufts of grass not even long enough to shelter a kit. It was ringed on the far side by a tall cliff. A huge, old tree grew right on its edge, the roots coming out from one side like a massive claw – Claw Tree, Feathertail assumed. The strong evening shadows only made that naming more apt.

Every cat shut their jaws as they approached, and Brook padded out front, surveying the area with sharp eyes. If she could see prey, Feathertail didn’t know. Brook’s tail shot up, the tip twitching from side to side.

It seemed to be some sort of order – Swift and Gray descended upon the valley, fanning out on both sides. They kept their bodies low and their movements slow and steady. Feathertail realized that their movements had purpose – they could easily stop and stay as still as stone if they spotted something, and the mud easily made them hard to spot against the plain backdrop.

Brook laid her tail along Feathertail’s back. “Come,” she whispered.

Feathertail nodded and followed Brook down, trying to copy her slow, halting movements as they crept down towards a pile of boulders in the center of the valley. Feathertail glanced behind, finding that Sun, Crag, and Boulder had all taken up strategic positions, their eyes seemingly everywhere at once. Looking for predators… Feathertail felt a chill at the thought.

Movement caught Feathertail’s eye, but she couldn’t move her head fast enough to spot Gray making the first kill. The gray tom lifted his rabbit proudly. It had to have run right into him!Feathertail thought, stunned.

“Silence and stillness is key,” Brook whispered, pulling Feathertail’s attention back to the hunt. The two she-cats huddled next to the boulder.

Like fishing, Feathertail thought. She resisted the urge to talk. Except without water. This was such a different experience from hunting in the forest, where patrols had enough background noise to cover their chatter if they wanted – here, the silence amplified every little noise. It was almost overwhelming.

What’s that…? Feathertail’s ears twitched, picking up a sound. She turned her muzzle and spotted a bird hopping among the stones, pecking at the ground in search for scattered seeds. The loudness of the bird was startling. Even in RiverClan territory, there’s so much to listen to!

Brook nodded to the bird. Go for it, her gaze seemed to say.

Feathertail felt a flash of nervousness, like she was an apprentice again. I am, kind of, she thought. But I have my own experience to lean on, too.

She crept out from the shadow of the boulder, making sure to slow her movements. Slow and steady, Brook had advised. Her technique wasn’t perfect, but the bird didn’t notice Feathertail until she was right on top of it – the kill was clean, aside from the sharp cry the bird managed before its death.

Still, Feathertail felt triumphant as she held aloft her kill and saw the look of satisfaction in Brook’s eyes.

There was a sharp rustle of movement, and a yowl of joy from Sun. Feathertail turned her head to find that the small she-cat had made a kill of her own – a squirrel. Feathertail blinked in shock.

“Your bird scared it,” Brook murmured as Feathertail returned to her. Feathertail nodded in understanding.

“Lucky!” grunted Swift nearby.

“Patience,” Brook advised Swift. “There is plenty of--”

The brown she-cat stiffened, suddenly. Feathertail’s ear twitched, and she dropped her bird as she noticed the wind had changed direction. Her lip curled as the change in wind brought with it a foul odor, something smelling strongly of carrion and… is that cat?

“We must leave,” Crag hissed, bristling. “Now!”

Brook nudged Feathertail, panic alight in her gaze. Worried, Feathertail picke dup her bird and followed the prey-hunters as they converged upon the cave-guards.

There was no chatter on their way back to the Cave of Rushing Water – only that horrible scent in Feathertail’s nose, and the sense that whatever it belonged to was something very, very dangerous to the cats here.

———————————————————

It was night by the time that the hunting party slipped into the dark shelter of their cave. Crag immediately headed for the back of the cave, where Snow’s white pelt was hardly visible in the dark. Swift took Feathertail’s bird, trotting to the Tribe’s fresh-kill pile with Gray and Sun to deposit their catches.

“Is that all from today?” Feathertail wondered, noting how small the pile was.

Brook seemed distracted. “It was a good day for hunting.”

Feathertail blinked. There was hardly enough there for a whole piece for each cat! Perhaps traveling and eating so well with the others has spoiled me, she thought. The lean pile at least explained the builds of the Tribe cats, with their smaller frames and sleeker bodies.

“It’s time for the evening meal,” Brook murmured. “Watch.”

Feathertail followed her gaze, spotting Stoneteller emerging from the cave at the very back. The skinny tom loped into the center of the cavern and yowled, his voice catching the attention of every cat gathered – aside from Crag and Snow, whose heads were still bowed in silent conversation.

Over the sound of the waterfall, Stoneteller announced, “It is time now for us to share our prey, so that we might sleep with full bellies and wake to fill them once more – but first, I should like to thank the Tribe of Endless Hunting for this bounty, and for our guests to share it with.”

A murmur rippled through the Tribe cats. Feathertail’s ears twitched - she couldn’t hear everything said, but she had a sense that there weren’t too many naysayers tonight.

“Thank you, ancestors, for bringing us our guests,” Stoneteller called, raising his graying muzzle. “And we thank you as well for the storm, which has revitalized the land on which we hunt.”

Feathertail saw many eyes change focus from Stoneteller to Stormfur, who was listening from just outside of the softpaw den. Even Brook was looking at him, and Feathertail felt a flash of discomfort. Had Stormfur noticed? Why are they staring at him when they’re talking about the weather? I doubt that squall really helped much up here…

“Come,” Stoneteller finished. “Come, and rejoice in the bounty of our land.”

That seemed to be the end of the ceremony. Though she was hungry, Feathertail didn’t want to take prey just yet – she didn’t know how this worked, and she wanted suddenly to be beside her brother, feeling a prickle of anxiety as she trotted across the cave. First that strange scent, now those looks! What next?

“Hey!” Stormfur purred. He brushed his muzzle against her’s. “How was hunting? Smells like you were successful.”

“It went fine,” Feathertail reported stiffly. “How are all of you?”

“Fine,” Mistyfoot admitted. “The Tribe cats have been kind, but…”

“But?”

Mistyfoot glanced at Stormfur, who shrugged. She went on, “He doesn’t think it’s an issue, but when Stormfur wanted to go out to stretch his legs, the Tribe cats practically forced him back into the softpaw’s den.”

“What?” Feathertail glanced back at the Tribe cats. They were huddled near the fresh-kill pile, but their ears were incredibly keen. It didn’t seem like any cat was listening in, though. “Why?”

Crowpaw snorted. “Who knows why? If you ask me, these cats are jumpier than hares!”

“Yeah,” Nightpaw agreed, yawning. “They’re weird.”

“Hey, hey,” Stormfur huffed, “don’t be rude. We’re guests here. These cats are doing us a great favor by helping us and healing Stoneheart.”

Feathertail glanced into the den and saw that Stoneheart was awake, and another fresh poultice had been applied to his shoulder. Shadepaw was with him, sorting through a pile of strange-looking leaves. She seemed very absorbed in what she was studying. Stoneheart, though, looked more alert and alive.

“We’re just here until I heal,” he meowed. “We can’t waste any more time worrying about these cats, not when we’ve got to get home.”

“They know our mission,” Mistyfoot sighed. “I told Snow earlier; but I just hope they don’t try anything strange…”

“Excuse me,” came a soft mew. “Feathertail?”

Feathertail’s ears pricked, and she turned around to find Brook standing just behind her. The small prey-hunter had the bird that Feathertail had caught between her paws. “Would you like to share?” she asked politely.

“Sure,” Feathertail agreed. They have strange ways, but there’s no reason to be rude, she thought as Brook looked pleased. How can I say no?

“Can we share with you, too?” a small voice asked. Three kittens had crossed the cave, their fur fluffed up bravely and prey in their jaws.

“Those are Night of No Stars’ kits,” Brook whispered to the Clan cats. “Hawk, Swoop, and Ice.”

“Hello,” purred Stormfur, looking down at the kittens. “And yes, you can share with us.”

The kits looked at one another happily, and dragged their prey over to the Clan cats. Feathertail looked over the kits, recognizing the broad shoulders and massive paws of Boulder in them. He must be their father.

One of the kittens, Hawk, took a big bite of rabbit before pushing it to Nightpaw.

“Uh… what do I do?” Nightpaw asked awkwardly.

“You bite next, duh,” Hawk snorted, twitching his whiskers. “Then you give it back to me!”

Ice, the only she-cat, stuck up her gray-and-white fur. “Don’t Clan cats share?”

“We do,” Shadepaw explained, looking up from her herbs. “But not like this – we usually get one piece each, and we make sure the elders, queens, kits, and injured are fed before anyone else.”

“We split prey only when times are lean,” Crowpaw added. “Though my Clan, WindClan, do take one bite before swapping prey with another Clanmate. We don’t pass it back and forth.”

“That’s what we do,” Brook purred, her eyes lighting up. “But only in freed-water season, when the prey is plentiful. You Clan cats must eat very well!”

“We do, in newleaf and greenleaf,” Mistyfoot explained. “But we never overhunt our lands – we take only what is necessary for our Clan’s survival.”

“We are much the same, then!” Brook purred, looking happy. She took a bite from the bird and passed it to Feathertail. “I hope we can learn more of what makes us so similar…”

“Me, too,” Feathertail agreed. She took a bite of the bird and passed it back. Though she wasn’t too fond of land prey, she found the bird to have a different flavor than the ones caught in the forest. This one was leaner, chewier, and the flavors were sharper.

As Brook ate, Feathertail glanced over at the other Tribe cats, who were swapping prey back and forth. She noted that the fresh-kill pile was empty after the evening meal, and realized she could see the ribs on more than one Tribe cat as her eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness in the cave.

But the hunting can’t be that bad up here, even in frozen-water, she thought, otherwise why would they live in the mountains at all?

Her pelt prickled with anxiety. She spotted more than one cat looking up from their meal to stare at the Clan cats – at Stormfur, specifically. Feathertail looked away quickly, trying to refocus on her chattering friends and Brook, but finding it impossible.

What’s really going on here?