n truth, Ratwhisker wasn’t sure who he’d expected to come striding from the undergrowth, but in the back of his mind, there was one thing he was sure of—it was that the condemning voice heralding their approach was not one he felt at all delighted in sharing his company with. In fact, if anything, he felt quite the opposite and battled with the underlying urge to flee—an urge he squashed with a great deal of resolve and, in small part, an inkling of curiosity at who it was addressing him. Then he was met with a familiar sight—a coat of black-ticked fur and piercing green eyes that looked as pleased to see him as he was to see them. Hawktail.

Moons older than he, he knew the she-cat only in passing and reputation. But then that was all the exposure one needed; everyone knew the she-cat was possessing of a scathing tongue and an equally cutting personality. It was the sort of disposition that ThisteClan was most notoriously known, and yet still, though she represented it in all of its crassness, it was one he was, even now, poorly accustomed to. Which was why, as she straightened at the sight of him, he fought with the building tension in his head and the nervous heightening of his breath.


Her words caused him to flinch, but he did little in the way of defending himself from the slight to his person. Instead, his whiskers only seemed to droop and his ears wilt at her impertinence. Not that she’s wrong, he thought to himself with a pang of guilt. After all, her words, though curt, rang with truth; he was of no use to his clan dawdling over old graves, wallowing in his own self-pity, and neither his clan nor his stores benefited from such mindless self-indulgence, a fact the two of them knew all too well. But even in acknowledgment of that fact, it did little in allowing him to receive her words with any sort of grace, and he stared at her for a time with sheepish wonder before he regained a bit of his sense.

Fumbling clumsily, he straightened, scrounging up a semblance of courage in the process to speak. But no sooner had the first utterance of a word escaped him than Hawktail began again, and he was forced into dumbfounded silence, only this time he was relieved to be met not with insults, but an offered suggestion.

Of course—the other medicine cats. The tip of his tail gave a small twitch. If there were anyone in the forest that could understand his dilemma—even just a little—it would be them. But then… there was only one issue with meeting them—a serious bone of contention, if you will—that had kept him well away from the border. It came to mind as he finally addressed her.

“There’s a truce, yes, but… well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed Hawktail, but something is going on between those two”—those two meaning RedwoodClan and LichenClan—“…something bad—very bad. And, well, I don’t think it would be safe crossing into enemy territory—not now, at least. It wouldn’t be wise.”

Medicine cat though he was, there was still a small part of him that held a warrior’s suspicion when it came to their feline neighbors. Not due to any malice, but a simple mistrust held by many when met with someone whose way of life and values so vastly differed from their own. And when it came to the medicine cats, though he’d made their acquaintance and familiarized himself with them well enough during the half-moon meetings, he was no friend of theirs, and as such, they had no obligation in helping him. Not to mention what the leaders would think. Who knows what sort of conclusions they’d come to, seeing me coming for help… the thought filled him with foreboding, and his tongue darted out to rasp across his lips—a nervous habit of his.

“Besides, I doubt Thievingstar would want me parading to our enemies that we’re without a knowledgeable medicine cat. It’s bad enough the clan knows—I can’t imagine what the other’s would think, though it can't be much different from what everyone that already knows does,” he found himself adding, allowing himself a small, deprecating laugh.

In truth, though, despite his laughter, the last thing the clan needed now with the weather changing the way it was was for anyone to suspect them of weakness, and he was loath to be the cause of it.

"No, I don't suppose that would be such a good idea after all."

H

is tongue rasping nervously over his lips, he found himself growing steadily more anxious in the warrior’s presence. Had he said something wrong? he wondered, for something in the way Hawktail looked at him suggested that, perhaps, he had. And was that disgust he saw there? Had what he said truly been that abhorrent to elicit such an expression of loathing?

Oh, without a doubt. Do you realize how much of a coward you sounded like back there? Pathetic.

Again, the small voice pricked his conscious, and he withdrew ever so slightly, further put off by the persisting silence. “Hawktail, I—”

But his words were abruptly silenced; a great weight had fallen on him, crushing him, holding him firmly in place. Then there was a blast of warm breath on his face and a barked threat, one that was quick to put an end to his struggling.


Something about that sent a ripple of dread through him. With the colder moons fast approaching, the last thing ThistleClan—or any clan for that matter—needed was fighting. But then he remembered his first meeting with his ancestors and their warning of a great change. Perhaps it was time for that change. But why now? Could it not wait until the clans were better off—when the winters no longer cut and battered at their bodies and forced the prey underground? Was StarClan no merciful to the plights of leaf-bare?

Despite himself, something within him thought otherwise, and as the weight lifted from his shoulders and he was allowed to stand—something he did not feel inclined to do, and as a result remained crouched—unease only furthered his discomfort at the implications.

I’m not ready. I need more time.

But whether he needed more time or not, it was no matter to anyone, something Hawktail was quick to point out as she went on.


Though the question was rhetorical, he could not help but utter a miserable, “No.” Then he added more clearly: “No, and that… that wasn’t what I meant! Surely you understand that, Hawktail. ThistleClan means everything to me—I… I would never sit by and let my clanmates suffer without reason.”

So then why haven’t you seen the other medicine cats? Why do you still sit here waiting for the answers to come to you when you’ve had ever means to hunt them down yourself?

Again came the voice, and again he found it was not wrong.

“It’s just… something is coming—and soon—to the forest—to all of us. And I, well, I don’t know…” His eyes shifted from side to side, questing for the right words. “I just… I’m afraid—and If you knew the thing I do, maybe you would be too. But… regardless, you’re right. I am being selfish; nothing will get solved by me sitting here, speaking to old spirits.” He glanced towards Yarrowfrost’s resting place. “So, I guess… what I should do is speak to Thievingstar. And then, I’ll… well, I’ll figure the rest out from there.”

And soon. I should go now.

Moving to stand, he paused, his round eyes settling on Hawktail. It felt wrong, leaving without saying something, and though only moments ago she’d set in him the sort of mortal fear he thought reserved for only his cruelest enemies, he could not help the budding respect he felt in regards to the ruddy she-cat. Harsh though her words had been, they had helped ground him.

“Thank you, Hawktail. I… you may not believe in such things, but I think it was the will of StarClan, what brought us together, and, well… I’m glad that they sent you.” Turning, he again made to leave, then found himself stalling. “Oh, and if I ever need an escort into enemy territory, I’ll make sure to bring you along.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his muzzle before he turned, and with one last glance over his shoulder, he set out into the undergrowth, his steps for once borne by a conviction he had not known himself capable of.