[TB] DAWN -- Chapter 23 (Patreon)

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Crossing the Thunderpath was painless under the cover of dark. They made their way over in groups, Clan by Clan, with only one or two monsters passing between. With everyone safely on the other side they found a sheltered patch of land to settle down for the night, which shared the stream with the woodland they had hunted in just earlier in the day.

“Paws are already sore!” Shadepaw had lamented that night, passing Stoneheart's way with a thick bundle of dock leaves tucked under her chin. “Mothwing has me spreading poultice on everyone’s pads...”

Stoneheart had offered to help, but the ThunderClan she-cat had insisted she could do it on her own. He had wondered if she was insulted by the idea of being Mothwing’s temporary apprentice, but as the two she-cats converged to make their poultices in the dusk light, Stoneheart had seen that they were purring over some joke he didn’t catch.

It was decided by the deputies that they were to take the time to rest, and push hard come morning. When Stoneheart woke with the sun, he found that nearly everyone else was already up, stretching and getting ready for the next leg of their journey.

“What’s it like here?” asked Longtail from a fox-length away. The pale tabby was prodding Mousefur, his injured eyes wide. “It smells like the moorland.”

“It basically is the moorland,” Mousefur explained, sounding cranky as she got to her paws. “A little rockier, though, so try not to break a claw like that furball Tornear over there did yesterday.”

“Hey!” The WindClan tom bristled a tail-length away.

Mousefur’s whiskers twitched. “If a blind cat can watch his step better than you, I’ll catch you a shrew!”

“I’ll hold you to that!” Tornear threw back.

Longtail didn’t seem offended by the betting – in fact, he seemed to take it as a challenge. After being stuck in the elder’s den for moons due to his injuries, he needed a push to reintegrate himself into Clan life, to adapt his senses to warriorhood again. Stoneheart wondered how Longtail would manage going forward.

Already, it seemed like groups of likeminded cats were converging together. Stoneheart was surprised it happened so quickly, but ThunderClan and WindClan had lived together for nearly a half-moon at Sunningrocks before ShadowClan had come, it made sense that they had a sort of rapport. RiverClan cats seemed to be the most hesitant about forming any bonds so far, but Stoneheart could see RiverClan’s trio of apprentices chatting away with their comrades in other Clans. It wouldn’t be long before their Clanmates loosened up.

There was a brisk breakfast for those who had managed to hunt the night before, but other than that the cats had little time to do much more than wake before they were pushed to their paws and moving, with a promise of a great hunt when they next stopped.

They kept to their usual formation as they trekked onward – kits and queens in the center, then apprentices and their mentors, then single warriors. The fastest cats were sent ahead to scout. Stoneheart wasn’t asked to stalk the perimeter today, so he instead walked amidst the other warriors with Rowanclaw, enjoying the sun on his back and the feeling of the dry earth beneath his paws.

It was nice and quiet, even as they entered the fields. They walked along the wide dirt track that separated each square paddock, surrounded by Twoleg fences. The hard vines were no bother, really, though curious apprentices were pulled away by their mentors before they pricked their noses or pads on their thorns. The animals contained within were even less of a bother, when they could be seen – the sheep were huddled together in a mass of gray clouds, chewing cud without a care.

“What are those?” breathed Willowkit.

“Mum?” asked Rushkit, turning to the queens. “Ferncloud?”

Ferncloud and Finchsong glanced at one another, confused, until Bramblefur explained to the kits: “Those are sheep, kittens; they live in big fields and eat grass all day.”

“Are they gonna hurt us?” Larchkit wondered, his bi-colored eyes wide. “They’re so big!”

“I don’t think so, dear,” Ferncloud soothed, licking down her son’s fur.

“They don’t think about much,” Bramblefur offered. The WindClan queen looked down at the trio of kits with a kind expression. “Mostly what type of grass tastes best, I’d expect.”

“Ew!” Willowkit stuck out his tongue.

“Ew, indeed,” Finchsong purred.

“C’mon, let’s play – sheep are boring!” Rushkit decided.

As the three kits shot off into the crowd ahead, Stoneheart saw a flash of worry in Ferncloud’s eye. The pale gray she-cat called, “Stay within sight, all of you!”

“They’ll be fine,” soothed Bramblefur. The tabby queen waved her tail. “They’ve got four Clans of cats looking out for them...”

Stoneheart felt sympathy stab his heart at the worry in Ferncloud’s eye. The poor queen had already lost two of her kits. The idea of this journey, the thought of possibly losing her only remaining son along it, was probably at the forefront of her mind. He watched the three kittens dodge and weave between warrior’s paws.

I’d be scared too, if they were mine, he thought. He glanced at Rowanclaw, who was talking with Duskwhisker a few pawsteps ahead. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough what it’s like to worry about kits!

Stoneheart pulled away from the queens. He had wanted to chat with Finchsong about how she was finding the journey so far, but she seemed to be getting on very well with the other Clan’s mothers. He didn’t want to interrupt with something that could definitely wait until later.

Sunhigh came and went, and the Clans decided to take a break where two large dirt tracks intersected, creating a wide-open space of blank dirt. The bleating of sheep rose on occasion from behind, above the gentle hum of conversation as the massive group settled down to rest beneath scrubby bushes growing against the fence line. Hunting parties were quickly sent out into the fields, the cats disappearing into the tall grasses but for the tips of their tails.

“There are more Twoleg farms ahead,” Crowpaw explained as he licked dust from his paws. “But between us and them is a big field with nothing in it but a few old barns.” He’d been part of the latest scouting party, and had brought back a rabbit for he and the StarClan-chosen cats to share. Shadepaw was with Mothwing and Brackenfur, and Nightpaw was eating with his father – Stoneheart thought to include them, but Mistyfoot had said to let them be.

Stoneheart stared at his lump of rabbit, feeling uncertain – but when he looked up, he saw WindClan cats tucking into rabbits all over. If they felt it was safe...

“How long do we have until the mountains?” Mistyfoot wondered.

“I saw their base at the end of the patrol,” Crowpaw explained. “I think we’ve got one, maybe two more days at this pace.”

Feathertail snapped a bone between her teeth. “My fur tells me it might drizzle tonight. Is there shelter?”

Crowpaw frowned. “Not really,” he admitted. “A tree here or there, but it’s really just open field everywhere, if it’s not a Thunderpath.”

“We’ll make do,” Stoneheart assured.

He leaned into his meal, but found he couldn’t eat much. It felt too soon after the poisoning of WindClan to be eating rabbit, and his stomach just couldn’t manage much. He ended up giving his leftovers to Rowanclaw, who gobbled them up without much care.

Stoneheart laid on his side and stretched, letting the sun warm his pelt. So far, the journey was going well – the Clans were getting along, and no one had gotten hurt, aside from some sore pads and a thorn picked up by Heronleap of RiverClan. Stoneheart could see the gray-white tips of the mountains on the horizon as he began to feel sleep taking hold – by StarClan, they were doing it...

“Stoneheart? Rowanclaw? Have you seen my kits?”

Stoneheart’s eyes snapped open. Any feelings of tiredness were gone in an instant as he leaped to his paws. Finchsong was a tail-length away, her green eyes wide with worry.

“We haven’t,” Rowanclaw answered, licking his lips. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s not!” Finchsong hissed. “Willowkit and Rushkit took off with Larchkit to play after their meal. I told them to be back for a quick nap with the other kits, but they haven’t shown up! I can’t scent them anywhere!”

“We’ll find them,” Mistyfoot insisted. “Stoneheart, tell the leaders. Feathertail, get RiverClan search parties. I’ll take ThunderClan and Crowpaw, you get WindClan.”

“I’ll get ShadowClan together,” Rowanclaw offered. He touched his nose to Finchsong and insisted, “We’ll find the kits, don’t worry!”

“Stay here,” Stoneheart told her, “In case they do come back.”

Finchsong nodded, and Stoneheart took off. Things were going so well! He thought, frustrated. He approached the Clan leaders, who were huddled together over a meal of a few field mice. StarClan, let those kits be okay!

“Stoneheart? What’s going on?” Russetstar asked upon seeing Stoneheart’s expression. The dark ginger she-cat was on her paws already, eyes darting side to side for any threat.

“Finchsong and Ferncloud’s kits are missing,” Stoneheart explained. “Finchsong thinks they might be together, but they’re nowhere to be found. We’ve already split up and begun rallying the Clans.”

“Good,” Leopardstar insisted. She raised her pale muzzle and turned it towards the queens, who were buzzing in the middle of the group. Within, Dawnflower and Tallpoppy had their kits tucked in tightly together. “Let’s start looking. Kits can get into all sorts of trouble, but they can’t have gotten far...”

Leopardstar headed for RiverClan, while Russetstar made for ShadowClan’s search parties. Tallstar struggled to his paws, but failed – Tinystar put a paw on his side and soothed, “Mudclaw and Onewhisker have it. Rest, old friend.”

Tallstar only sighed. Tinystar turned to Stoneheart and mewed quietly, “Pushing for speed has tired him greatly – let's go look together, hm? Mistyfoot has ThunderClan handled, and two cats can get moving far more quickly than a large group.”

Stoneheart was shocked by the offer, and couldn’t say no. Tinystar opened his jaws to scent the air and then closed them, looking befuddled. “Too many Clans together,” he said, chuckling ruefully. “It’s getting hard to tell who’s who...”

Scenting the air for himself, Stoneheart was able to pick up Willowkit’s scent, though it wasn’t easy. The air was clouded with too many smells, as Tinystar had complained. If he didn’t know Finchsong’s kits so well...

“I’ve got it,” Stoneheart said.

“Good, let’s go.”

Together, he and Tinystar followed the scent as it wove through their temporary camp. The kits had stuck together, and had played around nearly every bit of stone or dirt, but eventually the scent trail broke off, away from the main group. It trailed under a fence and into the nearest field.

“Why go in there?” Tinystar wondered, slipping beneath the thorny vine-fence easily. “Were they looking for mice?”

Stoneheart struggled to keep his shoulder fur, but managed to wriggle beneath after the ThunderClan leader. “They were talking about the sheep earlier,” he explained. “Maybe they went to go and see them?”

Tinystar’s eyes widened with alarm. “I hope not!” he hissed. “Where there are sheep, there are-”

A chorus of barking broke out, not too far into the field. It was followed by frantic bleating, and a cloud of dust that sprang up from near the center of the field.

“Dogs!”

Tinystar shot off, a black streak in the grass. Stoneheart followed, putting on as much speed as he could muster. Every instinct screamed to run away from the combination of dog barking and sheep screaming ahead, but he couldn’t, not if the kits were in that cloud of dust.

Stoneheart found himself surprised by how fast Tinystar was – for a cat with such short legs, the ThunderClan leader ran as if StarClan were nipping at his heels. Stoneheart spread his legs further and further apart to keep up.

As they approached the cloud of dust, Stoneheart thought it sounded like a thunderstorm – the sheep were moving about inside, swirling in circles, their hooves thundering against the dirt. The dogs were like lightning, barking sharp and clear, their white patches flashing in the gloom. How many there were, Stoneheart didn’t know, but what he did know was that the kits’ scents were mingled in the immense odors kicked up by the sheep.

“Willowkit!” he yowled, plunging into the dust. “Rushkit!”

“Larchkit!” Tinystar howled from behind.

It was difficult to hear anything over the noise of barking and the thunder of sheep hooves, and even harder to see. Stoneheart and Tinystar found themselves separated as a trio of thickly-wooled sheep burst from the crowd and nearly trampled them. Stoneheart dodged another, and had lost ThunderClan’s leader completely.

He can take care of himself, Stoneheart thought. The kits can’t, and I need to worry about me!

“Kits!” Stoneheart called, his throat already thick with dust. “Where are you?!”

“In here!” wailed a voice.

Stoneheart felt a rush of hope. That was Rushkit! He dove into the crowd of sheep, dodging every hoof or massive body by what felt like a whiskerlength. StarClan is on my side! He thought as he moved through the stream of obstacles.

The kits were huddled in the center of the dust-up, their bodies pressed together and their eyes wide with shock. The sheep seemed to be swirling around them, thank StarClan. Stoneheart pushed out of the crowd and wound his body around the three kits protectively, grateful that they all seemed to be alive.

“Stoneheart, we-” Rushkit’s voice broke off into a fit of coughing.

“Don’t,” Stoneheart insisted. “Try not to breathe in too much!”

How do we get out, though? He wondered frantically. They were surrounded by what seemed like an impassable wall of sheep, now, and it was pressing closer and closer... and beyond that, from the sound of things, were the dogs. How was he supposed to get three kits out of this? If we stay in here, we’ll be trampled to death, but if we go out there...

He didn’t dare think of the kits being torn apart by dogs – that was just too much. But he had no idea what to do, and every idea he had went up in the dust storm surrounding them. StarClan, help us!

Suddenly, the sound of the dogs changed. What was once the occasional bark to shock a sheep turned into frantic cries of excitement. Confused, the sheep began to break apart, fleeing in every direction to get away. The dust began to clear rapidly, and through stinging eyes Stoneheart saw why:

Tinystar was a small black streak, darting through the field, the white tip of his tail like bait for the two large, lean-bodied black-and-white dogs that were chasing him, now.

“Go!” yowled Tinystar, over the dirge of barking. “Now!”

Stoneheart didn’t have time to argue. He pushed the kittens to their paws. Willowkit and Rushkit stumbled along fine, but Larchkit refused to budge, coughing up gouts of dust and, upon closer inspection, Stoneheart saw his eyes were crusted and streaming brown sludge. He took Larchkit’s scruff in his jaws and forged ahead.

It seemed to take ages to get to the fence, what with Willowkit and Rushkit stumbling from shaking legs and Larchkit’s whimpering and wiggling threatening to tip Stoneheart over himself – thankfully, though, Cedarheart and Snowstep met him partway. Snowstep took his son, blinking at Stoneheart gratefully before fleeing under the fence. Cedarheart and Stoneheart herded the other two kits towards the fenceline, but when the family was safely through Stoneheart turned around.

Tinystar was still in the field.

Stoneheart ignored the rattle of dust in his lungs and the soreness of his limbs and rushed back as fast as he could. The earth pounded beneath his paws as he ran. The excited barking and Tinystar being chased... it reminded him of that day, many moons ago, when the ThunderClan leader had done just this exact thing to save his entire Clan from a pack of bloodthirsty dogs.

Lured by my mother, he thought grimly. He lined himself up with the path the dogs and Tinystar were taking, steeling himself. Bluestar had taken the opportunity to attack Tinystar, in hopes that the dogs would kill him and then kill all of ThunderClan.

But he was not his mother, and as he slammed into the dog at the back, he felt pride in that. Stoneheart dug his claws in deep as the dog yipped in shock, tripping over its long legs and stumbling down into the dirt.

They writhed together there for a while, Stoneheart conscious of how the dog’s superior weight could crush him easily. Still, he clung on and, for good measure, he bit into the dog’s thin shoulder. It howled, and then snarled so deeply that Stoneheart felt the dog’s entire body ripple as blood touched his tongue.

The dog twisted such that Stoneheart had to let go, and suddenly he was faced with slavering jaws that could swallow him whole. The dog stared at him with hatred and pain, its long black-and-white fur caked with dust and a small trickle of blood.

Still, dogs attacked with jaws, not claws, and Stoneheart was able to easily predict where the long snout would go when the dog began to try and strike back. Heart pounding in his ears, Stoneheart prayed to StarClan, to whoever could hear him, that he didn’t trip or flounder – if he did, he would never see Rowanclaw, nor the lake, again.

Their horrifying dance did not last long – there was a loud, sharp noise, one that bit deep into Stoneheart’s ears and made the dog wince and whimper. Then another. Then a third.

It was the third noise that made the dog back off. It trotted away from Stoneheart, head down, and rejoined its companion beside what looked to be a Twoleg and their monster. Stoneheart felt the Twoleg’s eyes on him, though they were so far away, and immediately fled.

He didn’t get far.

Stoneheart’s forepaws caught on something on the ground and he tripped, falling chin-first to the earth. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, and stars danced before his eyes. He smelled dust and blood and dog, and he dreaded finding out what he had tripped over – yet he pushed himself to his paws and looked.

Tinystar’s body lay in the grass, still as frozen water. Blood caked his belly and paws, and his ice-blue eyes were open and lifeless.

Horror gripped Stoneheart. He’s dead!

Oh, StarClan, no!

He couldn’t panic – a Twoleg noise barked into the quiet, and Stoneheart knew they couldn’t be caught here. He grabbed Tinystar’s scruff in his jaws and forced himself to drag the ThunderClan leader’s body towards the nearest side of the fence. No matter what part of the track they were on, they needed to be out of this StarClan-forsaken paddock.

Stoneheart barely felt the fence thorns as they dragged across his pelt. He was too full of adrenaline and fear as he tugged Tinystar beneath the vines and into the thick grasses that grew beyond. He could go no further, though – his legs simply wouldn’t take him. This would have to do for shelter.

He flopped down beside Tinystar, exhausted. The black tom was still unmoving, his eyes staring into nothingness.

Is he going to come back? He wondered. Briefly, he thought of Bluestar, who had died so violently that she had lost every life gifted to her by StarClan. Bile rose in the back of his throat. His mother had deserved that fate, not Tinystar!

Then, a dim light woke in the ice-blue depths. Tinystar took a deep breath, and as he stirred Stoneheart thought he saw a little star disappear from the leader’s eye. Tinystar shuddered to life, trembling as he forced himself to his paws.

“The kits?” he asked, his voice a croak.

“Safe,” Stoneheart panted. Relief flooded his pelt – Tinystar was alive!

“You?”

“I never want to see a sheep again,” Stoneheart breathed, his voice shaky. “But I’ll live.”

Tinystar’s whiskers twitched. “We should head back,” he decided. “Get up.”

Stoneheart had no choice but to obey. Limbs trembling, he got to his paws as Tinystar slipped out of the bushes. Stoneheart followed, unsure of how he was putting one paw in front of the other when he was sure they just wanted to fall off.

He was glad that Tinystar didn’t ask what direction they should head in – he scented the air and took off towards the Clans, his pace allowing for Stoneheart’s exhaustion. They didn’t have to walk long, thankfully, before the shapes of cats appeared at the edges of Stoneheart’s vision.

“Stoneheart!”

“Father!”

He barely registered that Rowanclaw was the ginger streak heading his way until his mate’s scent clouded around him. It was the fear woven in that woke Stoneheart’s limbs, making him jolt and ask, dumbly, “Are you okay?”

“Oh, you’re a great big mouse-brain!” Rowanclaw wailed.

Beside him, Tinystar was huddled between Nightpaw and Shadepaw. Stoneheart felt Shadepaw stiffen when her flank brushed past his.

“Father... all this blood!” she gasped. “You...”

“I lost a life,” Tinystar rasped. “It’s okay. The kits are safe, right?”

“T-They are,” Nightpaw stammered, sounding suddenly hesitant. “But, Father...”

“But nothing,” Tinystar insisted, his voice stronger. “They’re safe. That’s all that matters. I’d spend all my lives if it meant we made it to the lake... if no one else was left behind.”

Stoneheart leaned against Rowanclaw as the rest of the Clans clustered around them. There was a clamoring, dozens of worried voices melding into ceaseless noise, and he felt Mistyfoot shore up his other side. He dimly heard orders being passed around, and he got the impression that they wanted to move away from the sheep fields as soon as possible... but beyond that, Stoneheart couldn’t manage to pay attention.

Both Russetstar and Tinystar had given their lives for their Clanmates – for him, too. Stoneheart did not envy what it took to make a decision like that. He saw Finchsong and Ferncloud and their kits, together and well, and knew that if he had to make the same choice as those leaders to protect Rowanclaw or their kits or their Clanmates... he always would.