TB MOONRISE -- Chapter 19 (Patreon)

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Feathertail shook her muzzle as a tiny white flake tickled her whiskers. She looked up and, frowning, realized that the sky had turned a pale gray. Frozen-water is here, she thought. The Tribe cats had said that the cold and snow often came far sooner in the mountains than it did in the land below.

She looked back at the others. None of them seemed enthused about the idea of snow – they had been walking non-stop since leaving the Tribe’s territory, with heads down and moods sullen and hardly a word spoken beyond necessity.

Feathertail turned her attention to their surroundings. The land was sloping downward, the rocks and crags growing farther and farther apart as the level earth below got closer and closer. They weren’t too far away from the edge of Tribe territory – at a sprint they could make it back before evening – but their patrols weren’t likely to follow them here. Feathertail guessed that, if they kept walking, they’d make it to the forest within a few days. But that means leaving Stormfur behind.

Her eye caught on an outcropping of rock that rose over the slanting ground, forming a deep cave with the stone around it. She pointed there with her tail. “Shelter,” she said.

Mistyfoot came to her side, narrowing her eyes at the cave. “It will have to do,” she decided. “Thank you, Feathertail.” The ThunderClan she-cat headed for the rocks, her tail raised for the others to follow.

Feathertail nodded. She opened her jaws to scent the area, but found nothing threatening within the vicinity. With a quick glance at the sky for hawks or eagles, she followed the others into the cave.

It was cool but dry inside, and spacious enough for each cat to stretch and rest their weary paws. Feathertail was grateful for the break, sitting down to lap at her sore pads. Outside, the snow was beginning to fall more quickly – they’d found shelter just in time, and Feathertail reasoned they could do worse than this cave for waiting out a snowstorm.

“I’m starving,” Crowpaw complained.

“Same here,” sighed Nightpaw. He lifted up one of his paws for Shadepaw to examine. “My paws are falling off!”

“Not quite yet,” Shadepaw pointed out, her voice quiet. She gave his paw a lick. “But your pads are all gritty.”

Nightpaw sighed and settled down to clean his paws. Stoneheart raised his head, frowning as he looked over the others. His eyes rested on Mistyfoot, who was grooming her tail. “This seems like a good spot to make our plans,” he meowed.

“We’ll plan better with full bellies,” Mistyfoot responded.

“I’ll go,” Feathertail offered.

She blinked, surprised at the looks the others were giving her. Had she been too hasty to offer? Was she imagining the spark of uncertainty in their gazes? Feathertail swallowed. She had to be making it up – Crowpaw’s comments earlier were just getting under her fur.

“Go on,” Mistyfoot meowed. “But be quick, and stay out of the Tribe’s sight.”

“Of course!” Feathertail got to her paws and slipped out of the cave.

She looked over the snow-covered rocks and wondered where the prey might be hiding. Keeping her body low, Feathertail made her way over to one of the boulders sticking out over the earth, clawing her way up to survey the land. There were plenty of bushes and scraggly trees for prey to hide, and the rocks would also provide good shelter for mice or birds. The snow wasn’t falling too hard, not yet, and Feathertail could feel in her fur that only the cold would follow them through the night.

As Feathertail scanned the land, she found herself grateful for the solitude. Without the others staring at her, it seemed like her mind could fully take in what had happened. Guilt pierced her belly, sharp as hunger – I never should have made Stormfur come, she thought. If I had just acted like a warrior instead of a spoiled kit, this never would have happened to him.

She spotted a bird hopping between bushes, looking for any spare berries. Feathertail slid off of the rocks, halting her movements long enough to blend in with the grayness around her. Is it really his destiny to help the Tribe, though? She wondered as she crept closer. Would some force have brought him along, anyway?

As she pounced, she thought of Midnight. It seemed like seasons ago that the she-badger had directed the Clan cats to the mountains in the first place. If she hadn’t said anything, we would have followed Purdy through Twolegplace again. They might have even been back to the Clans by now. Midnight had said destiny was in motion…

Did she know about Sharptooth, and the Tribe? Feathertail lifted her head, the bird caught in her jaws. The smell of fresh-kill flooded her senses. Did she know that they wanted Stormfur?

The possibility unsettled Feathertail. Midnight was a strange enough creature on her own, but she –and the others, likely – had assumed the badger was on their side. Was she really, if she had nudged them into this situation? Is this another test, like the journey itself?

Feathertail’s head was reeling. I might not ever see Midnight again, she thought, so I might never get those answers… She looked up the slope, towards the Tribe’s territory. And I might never see Stormfur again, either, if we don’t act soon…

Refocusing her efforts, Feathertail set down her bird and crouched again, readying herself to leap upon a mouse that was just within range. Her haunches wiggled…

She thought of springing, but the thought never went through her back legs – a weight landed on her back, knocking Feathertail off of her paws and sending her sprawling down the slope.

Blood roared in her ears as Feathertail scrambled to her paws, shock pulsing through her muscles. Eyes wide, she bared her teeth in a snarl, claws unsheathed. What was that? She thought. Sharptooth? The Tribe?

The scent of cat washed over her, and Feathertail caught movement a tail-length away. A gray tabby she-cat was circling her, tail lashing to and fro and eyes flashing with hostility. It wasn’t any Tribe cat that Feathertail recognized, but the strange cat’s build was unmistakable, and beneath the scent of rock and water she did detect the faint musk of the Tribe.

What do I do? She thought, hazarding a glance at the cave. Can they see me?

Feathertail caught more movement in her periphery. Three more cats, all of Tribe origin, were now flanking her – at least two were cave-guards, from their strong shoulders and broad heads. Feathertail swallowed.

They don’t smell like they’ve seen Tribe territory in a moon, she thought. Tribe cats were reluctant to leave their borders, despite being the only cats who hunted in the mountains. What are they doing out here?

One of them, a small brown tom, rammed into her from the side. “Move!” he hissed.

Feathertail hissed back, but complied, finding that the strangers were herding her into the cave where her friends were resting. Bristling with worry for their safety, Feathertail cried, “Look out!”

Eyes flashed in the dark. Stoneheart and Mistyfoot emerged immediately, bristling, with claws unsheathed. The strange cats stopped pushing Feathertail, standing up straight in shock.

“More?!” snapped the gray tabby she-cat. She flashed a look at Feathertail, and then at a big dark tabby tom whose one eye was nearly sealed shut by an old scar. Feathertail could only imagine what had made such a mark. “An ambush from Stoneteller?”

Ambush? Stoneteller?

“They smell of Tribe,” growled the small brown tom at Feathertail’s other side. He lashed his stumpy tail.

Feathertail had a moment to look at her captors more closely. These cats were covered in scars, thinner and hungrier looking than their brethren in Tribe territory. She wondered again what they were doing out here when home and safety lay not far away.

The dark tabby tom narrowed his eyes. “But they do not look Tribe,” he meowed. He raised his tail and, with looks of wary confusion, the other three cats took a step back. “Who are you?”

Mistyfoot did not lower her guard, but she lifted her head. “We are not Tribe,” she insisted. “We were their guests, before we were sent away.”

Feathertail guessed that Mistyfoot wasn’t trying to offend these cats, in case they were itching to bring them back to the Tribe. It seemed as if they didn’t know about the Clan cats or that they had been kicked out, at the very least. Feathertail’s heart pounded harder. Hopefully that was a good thing.

The dark tabby tom’s ears pinned, and his eyes narrowed in thought.

“We need to get inside, Talon,” muttered one of them, a massive dark gray tom. Feathertail thought he might be Boulder’s brother, for how similar they looked. “The cold will claim us, if not Sharptooth.”

Sharptooth… Feathertail shivered. Mistyfoot and Stoneheart exchanged a glance. Maybe they could learn what this Sharptooth was from these cats, if they played their situation right.

Talon, the tabby tom, nodded. “Indeed.” He turned his sharp gaze upon the Clan cats. “We will discuss this further inside the cave.”

Feathertail was pushed forward, into Mistyfoot and Stoneheart. Three of the four Tribe cats formed a line, pressing in towards the entrance of the cave, while another broke off, only to return with a mouthful of fresh-kill hidden in the snow beneath a bush.

The cave was crowded with so many cats. Crowpaw and Nightpaw were bristling as they all came inside, with even Shadepaw’s claws unsheathed – but when they saw that hostilities seemed over, only Crowpaw looked cross at the crowd. They gathered haphazardly around the center of the cave, where the gray tabby she-cat thrust her catch – two rabbits, Feathertail’s bird, and a mouse.

Feathertail felt foolish. She should have scented the faint odor of Tribe in the stone around her. Worrying about Stormfur must have clouded my senses, she thought, shifting on her paws as she pressed herself against the rock to make room. Talon sat beside her and looked over the fresh-kill pile. If this isn’t their permanent spot, they must come here often.

Talon took one of the rabbits and took a bite, passing it to Stoneheart. The ShadowClan tom hesitated, but then took a bite himself. Feathertail sighed. At least they’re willing to show peace, she thought. She took a bite of the rabbit as it was passed to her, and then pushed it on to Mistyfoot.

“So,” Talon meowed, licking his whiskers, “who are you?”

Mistyfoot was busy chewing, so Stoneheart launched into the long explanation of the message from StarClan, the journey to the lake, and their experience in the mountains. Briefly he touched upon the Clans, but most of his speech was focused on their time with the Tribe, and what happened to Stormfur.

Talon’s eyes were wide by the end, and the other Tribe cats looked just as stunned.

“So, you have been exiled as well,” Talon murmured. His expression softened, which was odd to look at with such a grisly scar on his brow. “I am sorry.” All around him, the other Tribe cats relaxed, as if they had found lost kindred.

Feathertail looked up at him. “What happened to you?” she wondered. “Why were you exiled?”

Talon’s eyes darkened. “I am Talon of Swooping Eagle,” he introduced. Feathertail couldn’t help but wince – that name explained quite clearly where the tabby tom had gotten that horrible scar. “These are my companions – Jagged Rock Where Heron Sits, Rock Beneath Still Water, and Bird That Sings At Dusk.” He pointed to the large gray tom, the small brown tom, and the gray tabby she-cat respectively. “We were once part of the Tribe as well.”

“We sought an end to Sharptooth,” Jag meowed, curling his tail over his paws. “Stoneteller sent us to kill the creature before last freed-water…” The big tom frowned, looking down at the tattered fresh-kill before him.

“It was a disaster,” finished Bird. Her eyes turned sorrowful. “We lost two of our group, and it cost Rock his tail. When we returned to the Cave of Rushing Water, Stoneteller exiled us for our failure.”

Rock shifted self-consciously, hiding his stumpy tail from view. “We were declared dead,” he rasped, “and told never to return to Tribe lands. We’ve roamed together ever since.”

Feathertail’s heart ached. “How could Stoneteller do that to you?” she breathed. Stealing Stormfur was one thing – they were strangers - but she hadn’t imagined that the frail old cat could be so cruel to his own Tribemates. Clearly the others thought the same, from their shocked expressions. No Clan leader would react in such a way, that’s for sure!

Bird’s eyes sharpened. “Stoneteller has watched Tribemate after Tribemate die from Sharptooth’s wrath,” she meowed. “It is no shock to us that he has become harsh as a blizzard for it.”

Feathertail swallowed, glancing at the others. He’s desperate, then, she thought. Brook’s eyes, round and pleading for understanding, swam in her vision again. The whole Tribe is.

“What is Sharptooth?” Nightpaw asked, his eyes glowing in the dark. “No one’s told us yet.”

Jag shifted on his paws, his muzzle twitching. Talon seemed apprehensive, glancing at the others. It was Rock who spoke, his lip curled. “It is a Tribe legend, old as the stones of the mountains themselves – long ago, when the Tribe was yet young, before prey-hunter or cave-guard, a Tribe sharpclaw took a patrol into the mountains, seeking food to see the Tribe through a cruel frozen-water.”

Bird took up the story next, her eyes flashing: “That sharpclaw returned, covered in blood, alone. He had killed the rest of his patrol, and their remains were never found – and even when the snows cleared in freed-water the bones were gone. Some say he gave them to the darkness in the mountains, for strength.”

“Reagrdless, in all our tales darkness changed that sharpclaw,” Talon meowed, his voice low. Feathertail’s spine prickled, as if this story were something she shouldn’t be hearing. “He killed others to gain more power, and eventually he was exiled, swearing revenge on the Tribe for all time.”

“This is true?” Stoneteller wondered. Feathertail envied his composure. Trust a ShadowClan cat to be unafraid of stories like this!

Bird nodded her head. “It is – this Sharptooth, all Sharptooths, are descendants of that sharpclaw, driven to kill us by their bloodline.”

“They are not always a constant threat,” added Jag. “The Tribe of Endless Hunting keeps them at bay – but sometimes a Sharptooth grows strong enough to break through their protection, when darkness ebbs stronger in the world. This one has stalked the Tribe for four mountain seasons, moving closer and closer and picking us off more brazenly as it makes its way to the Cave of Rushing Water.”

Feathertail shivered, pressing close to Mistyfoot. She recalled her hunting expeditions with the Tribe cats and understood now that they had not just been on the lookout for eagles or hawks, but this Sharptooth as well. She thought of the strange, foul scent that had cut short one of the hunting trips, and of how desperate the Tribe cats been to flee to the safety of the Cave.

And then Spray died, she thought. She looked to the others – the same thoughts seemed to be occurring in her friends, a horror spreading from cat to cat. Sharptooth is practically outside the Cave of Rushing Water…

“A prey-hunter was killed close to the Cave,” Mistyfoot reported. “Spray.”

Bird’s eyes grew round, and she buried her muzzle into Jag’s pelt. Rock nudged her sympathetically. Feathertail’s heart ached – these cats had been exiled for moons, how many of their friends had died in that time?

Talon sighed, meowing, “Sharptooth is going to attack the Tribe in the Cave of Rushing Water. We are running out of time.”

Feathertail swallowed. The screams of the Tribe cats echoed in her mind. She could practically smell the blood, see the dead piling up… she could see Brook among them, lifeless and broken. Feathertail couldn’t suppress a whimper at the thought. It was too much to bear.

If it gets in, they’ll all die. Her stomach clenched. There’s nowhere to run in that cave. And Stormfur would die with them.

“I don’t understand!” Crowpaw declared, his eyes wide. “H-How can the Tribe think anyone can handle such a thing, let alone just Stormfur?”

“I do not know,” Jag admitted with a shrug. “Stoneteller is many things, but he is no murderer. Keeping your Clanmate is only guaranteeing their death.”

“Snow wouldn’t allow it, surely,” Bird added. “Even if Stoneteller was lost in grief, she has always seen sense!”

Shadepaw spoke up: “There is more to this than what you all know.”

All eyes turned to Shadepaw. Feathertail blinked at the medicine cat apprentice, recalling that she had seen something in the Cavern of Reflection.

Shadepaw swallowed, gathering herself. “While we were in the Cavern, I heard a prophecy from the Tribe of Endless Hunting - From whence the sun dies comes a storm that will cleanse the Tribe, they said.”

Talon narrowed his eyes, as best as his scar would allow. “And how did you spy upon our ancestors, little one?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“I am a medicine cat apprentice in the Clans,” Shadepaw explained, raising her chin. “Comparable to a Stonteller’s apprentice. I see the signs from our ancestors, StarClan – but in my defense, I had not intended to spy on your ancestors. I saw what I saw, heard what I heard, and if the Tribe of Endless Hunting did not want me to do either…”

“They would have prevented it,” Rock guessed. He huffed, as if the Tribe of Endless Hunting’s ways were far beyond him.

Shadepaw nodded. She went on: “I saw a massive creature in the water; shaped like a cat but different in little ways. Big shoulders, round ears, massive teeth… There was a storm behind it. Lightning flashed, and the creature was dead, and then your ancestors spoke those words: From whence the sun dies comes a storm that will cleanse the Tribe.”

The cats in the cave went quiet. Feathertail could hear her own heart beating in her ears, and Mistyfoot voiced the realization surely going through every Clan cat’s mind: “We came from the sun-drown place, from where the sun ‘dies.’”

“It really meant Stormfur,” Feathertail murmured, her heart threatening to snap in two. She felt like the world was shaking beneath her, and she dug her claws into the stone to hold herself down.

“That can’t be true!” sputtered Crowpaw, his neck fur bristling even as his eyes were wide in anguish. “Stormfur is a Clan cat – he can’t be part of a Tribe prophecy!” He thrust his narrow muzzle into Shadepaw’s face. “You had to have seen something else!”

Shadepaw pressed her muzzle into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t.”

Crowpaw’s entire body shivered, and he collapsed into Shadepaw.

“The Tribe ancestors sought an outsider to help them,” Stoneheart meowed, his voice low. “Same as StarClan sought an outsider to help our Clans, seasons ago.” His pale blue eyes, normally so level, were shot through with grief and worry.

“Tinystar never had to face a Sharptooth,” Mistyfoot murmured. “And he certainly wasn’t alone.”

Feathertail could hardly keep her vision straight. She buried her head in her paws, images of Stormfur facing Sharptooth playing rapid-fire in her mind. None of them resulted in her littermate standing triumphant over the monster’s body, and she made herself sick thinking of every different way Stormfur would die.

I brought him here to die. Feathertail felt utterly wretched. Oh StarClan, please don’t do this to me! It felt futile to call to her ancestors here, where only the Tribe spirits walked.

“I am sorry,” Talon murmured, looking down at her sympathetically. “The will of our ancestors is, at times, painful.”

“He’s my littermate,” Feathertail snapped back, raising her muzzle in defiance. She was trembling from ears to tail. “He’s my brother! He’s all I have! Your ancestors can’t take him from me, from us!”

Mistyfoot laid her tail along Feathertail’s shoulders, and she sank back down onto her belly. How can she be so calm about this? Feathertail felt anger well up at how collected Mistyfoot seemed – didn’t she love Stormfur at all? But then she felt her friend’s tail tremble, saw her legs shake. She’s trying so hard not to lose it like I am…

“Why are we all assuming Stormfur needs to die?” Feathertail looked up. Nightpaw had stepped forward, his ice-blue eyes flashing like lightning. He swung his muzzle around, staring each cat in the eye. “If Stormfur can’t handle Sharptooth on his own, then I say we help him!”

The Tribe exiles’ eyes flashed in surprise. “You would do that, little one?” Talon mewed, taken aback, “Even if it meant losing your own lives?”

“Stormfur’s fate is not entwined with yours any longer.” Bird pointed out. “Haven’t you your own task to complete?”

Mistyfoot’s eyes were resolute. “We do,” she agreed, “but we got to this point by sticking together – we will leave the same way. Stormfur is one of us, and we are not going to leave him behind.”

The strength, the conviction, the love in Mistyfoot’s words filled Feathertail’s heart. She got to her paws, glancing at the others. Stoneheart was nodding in agreement. Crowpaw had lifted his head, his eyes hard with determination. Shadepaw was flexing her claws, her eyes flickering in thought. Nightpaw raised his tail, nodding at Mistyfoot with admiration in his gaze. They were united, one in their goal to bring back Stormfur.

Like a Clan would be.

“We need a plan,” Nightpaw declared, looking proud of himself.

“Outright battle will get us all killed,” decided Jag.

“Us?” Talon blinked at Jag, whiskers twitching in amusement. “You mean to join them?”

“To save the Tribe? Of course,” Jag insisted. “What sort of life is this out here, away from home and family?”

Talon was quiet, for a moment. Bird and Rock glanced at him, as if his next words would decide their place in this, as well. Feathertail watched him carefully. Having their help would be nothing but a benefit – the more cats to fight Sharptooth the better, and these cats had experience in such an endeavor, even if it had ended in failure.

Finally, Talon decided, “It is no life at all.” He turned his eyes to the Clan cats, resting his gaze on Mistyfoot. “We are with you.”

“We are glad to have you,” Mistyfoot decided.

“Yes!” Nightpaw purred. He bounced on his paws. “Now, about that plan…”

Every cat shut their jaws. Looks of confusion and uncertainty passed over everyone’s face. Feathertail frowned. The unity was great and all, but if they couldn’t come up with a plan it would mean nothing. She wracked her brain – what could they possibly do to harm a Sharptooth? Everything she knew about the creature made it seem invulnerable. She hadn’t the faintest clue.

Shadepaw looked up. “I think I have an idea,” she meowed, her amber eyes bright. “StarClan and the Tribe of Endless Hunting willing, it works…”