ROWANSTAR

The sun rose over another sleepless night in camp. He waited for first light from the roots of the Ash, eyes always jumping back to the bramble tunnel. News. News was always flying to him on four paws and carried on desperate breaths, never good, never pleasing to his ear. The sight of a running warrior dropped his heart into his gut these days.

He ducked his head back into his den, shielded by reaching ferns and draping moss. A handful of his warriors lined the inside of the den wall, half-shaded in the shelter of the Hollow Ash. Most of them bore recent scars; Owlswoop had a poultice of broom and cobwebs pressed into his shoulder; his son Sorreltail seemed to squint at him from the swollen cut above his eye.

Not just warriors, but Close-eye and Murkpool, an elder's wisdom needed more than ever. If they had any to give, that would untangle the briar Rowanstar found himself caught in.

It felt like Rowanstar had aged ten seasons in that nest instead of three.

The attacks on their borders had been relentless since Rosestar's death. No matter how they tried to show their strength every Gathering, the other Clans knew their weakness. Too much LeafClan blood had been spilled, too many good warriors dead or exiled, and all at their own claws.

They were small, wilting while other Clans bloomed with newleaf.

He had wanted to turn that hatred outward. Let MeadowClan taste their malice, and let LeafClan warriors tear apart their enemies, not their clanmates. An enemy to unite around.

To fight and take those green fields, full of flowers. Then his Clan would see sunup.

This was not what he had envisioned. HillClan and MireClan spilled over their borders more and more every moon's turn, stealing their prey, ambushing their patrols, and putting down scent markers. Claiming ancient hunting grounds that had not belonged to them for over a lifetime, not since Stormstar's day.

"Tell me all, Owlswoop," Rowanstar said, voice heavy as stone.

"We found fresh HillClan scent markers at the edge of the forest. Fresh. Challenging the border. Paleface wanted to catch them before they made it back to HillClan territory, and we chased their scent up to the border hills."

Owlswoop gave a visible wince. Either physical pain, or maybe the sting of the memory.

"The HillClan cats were waiting for us upwind, in hiding. An entire war party led by Duskstar himself. We were outnumbered and caught flat-pawed, and Paleface—"

Boulderstep broke into an involuntary growl.

"Paleface was taken," Owlswoop choked. "Captured, but alive, as far as I know."

"Captured?" Rowanstar snapped. Paleface had long been a friend to Rosestar, even rumors that Rosestar had meant to make him deputy. Elderheart had told him as much before he passed the last leaf-bare. How he wished he had Elderheart's advice now. "But why?"

"They're codeless foxhearts, that's why," Boulderstep hissed, looking as if he was still in battle. His fur wouldn't sit flat. "To torture him, maybe. I heard Duskstar himself say that Paleface would never return home."

Rowanstar hissed out a sigh through clenched teeth. "The mouse-brain ran into a trap," he said under his breath. An experienced and able warrior was too precious to lose. A death-blow in this false newleaf. "We cannot fall for these provocations. The other Clans are baiting us to fight on their terms. They're bleeding us with these skirmishes, drawing us into these battles where they know they have the advantage."

He saw Owlswoop kink up his tail. "It's part of the warrior code to challenge trespassers. Paleface fought bravely to drive out intruders. But he was unlucky."

Unlucky. That much was for sure. He didn't question Paleface's bravery, but his sense. That, or his intentions. There was little he trusted in those strange, mismatched eyes, and he had failed them all with this humiliation. Captured by HillClan... Let them keep him.

Rowanstar steeled his gaze. "We do not yield our territory to any enemy. Those hills are ours. They took us by surprise this time, but we'll make them regret their mistake."

He had meant it to be heartening, but the bold words elicited no reaction or change in any cat's face.

Close-eye shook her head. "We were never challenged like this in Stormstar's day. Without the border hills, our hunting grounds are smaller than they've been in generations." Murmurs and dark looks spread between the warriors, making Rowanstar lash his tail and rake his claws through the hard-packed earth of the den floor.

HillClan raiders had taken it all back piece by piece, pushing them right back to the edge of the forest. Out in the open grass, they were prey for HillClan and MireClan warriors, rabbits for hawks.

"There was another thing," Owlswoop said. "They were chanting something at the top of the hill, something about 'the dawn that was promised' and the 'falling leaves.'"

Typical HillClan strangeness. What would they know about the dawn? Lionpelt had promised dawn for LeafClan, but only after he gave his own life.

Was that what it had to take, to restore LeafClan to greatness? To right his wrong?

"Should we hold a vigil for our clanmate tonight?" Murkpool asked gently. "Even without a body, we should honor his spirit—"

"No."

Perhaps it had come out too flat, too blunt. The warriors and elders in his den were all staring at him now, silent.

"We'll not give him up for dead," Rowanstar added more gently. Not yet. That seemed to smooth each cat's pelt, but Rowanstar couldn't ignore the red hot splinter in his heart, keeping his anger pricked. He couldn't ruminate on grief and loss and defeat—he needed a victory. The hollow looks on every LeafClan cat's face felt like it had spread through camp like greencough.

Victory was the medicine, or his Clan would be killed at heart.

'The darkest night is still to come.' Lionpelt had told him that too. How much darker could night get?

As if to answer his question, they all turned their heads as the sentry raised a warning yowl. The fear-scent in the air grew palpable as Rowanstar streamed out of the Hollow Ash with his warriors behind him.

More news flew in on four paws, carried by heavy breaths. Young Bluepaw, his eyes wild, as if he had a legion of badgers storming in after him.

"An attack!" he screamed. "Another attack!"

"HillClan attacked again?" Rowanstar demanded.

"No! MireClan!" Bluepaw managed between breaths, almost stumbling over his own paws as the Clan emerged from their dens, gathering around them. "MireClan warriors, a w-whole raiding party... B-Burdockstar, Toadfoot, and others... They crossed over to attack Beethorn's dawn patrol! She sent me back to warn the camp!"

Meows of dismay rippled through camp.

Rowanstar hovered right over the apprentice, tail whipping. "Tell us everything you saw. Did—"

But Bluepaw was already collapsing into the dirt, fainted. Shrikewing rushed to the apprentice's side as Rowanstar stared ahead through the bramble tunnel, waiting for more death and defeat.

Curse the day he'd ever said the name Rowanstar in his own head. Most likely back when he was just a kit. It was something he'd always dreamed of, always grasped at, always craning his head toward the top of the Hollow Ash. He'd wanted to be LeafClan's savior. Their new Stormstar.

Now he felt like their poison.

✶⊶⊷⊷❍⊶⊶⊷✶

It was almost sunhigh when movement rustled from outside the bramble tunnel again. This time, the Clan was ready, Rowanstar and his warriors forming a living wall. But it was his deputy who charged through, her golden tabby pelt covered in fresh cuts, eyes blazing.

He'd pushed his decision almost to moonhigh, the night that Elderheart truly retired. But he kept the old deputy's words firmly in his mind when he looked out over the Clan from the Hollow Ash, to choose who might lead them next.

'Be careful around Nightbird, Sparrowflight, and Paleface.'

Beethorn had been everything LeafClan needed her to be. It wasn't long after naming her deputy that she'd grown heavy with kits, and Rowanstar had almost thought he'd made a mistake. But it was hardly a half-moon after her kits were born, a massive litter of eight, that she was back in the warrior's den.

Every one of Beethorn's kits had lived, but Mousespots' latest litter hadn't been so blessed. It was the second she had lost now, and Nettlefang was the only surviving kit from her very first. Maybe by StarClan's providence, Mousespots played the queen and mother, and Beethorn returned to her deputy duties faster than he'd ever seen a queen leave the nursery.

Her devotion was unquestionable. How many other queens would leave their kits, still barely able to open their eyes?

Rowanstar looked her up and down, feeling his hackles rise.

"Where is the rest of your patrol?" he asked, almost regretting the words as they left his mouth.

Beethorn's eyes beamed. "Chasing MireClan all the way back to the vile swamp they sprang out of. LeafClan has won!"

It felt like a boulder lifted off his shoulders.

"This is wonderful, Beethorn!" Rowanstar said, laughter spilling from his throat. There was already a chant rising above the excited chatter and cheers. "Climb the Ash! Address the Clan, tell us about your triumph!"

"Beethorn! Beethorn! Beethorn!"

She held up her tail, cats pouring out from every corner of camp to gather around the Ash as she bounded up on the leader's perch. Beethorn looked every inch a leader in that moment, paws steady as the bough swayed beneath her.

Elderheart had been wise in his advice. He only wished the old deputy was with them now to see it. It seemed almost as soon as he made his new nest in the elder's den, he'd started to wither away. Gone before the end of leaf-fall, and his mate not long after.

"The credit does not belong to me," she said, gazing out over the Clan. "Burdockstar herself led the attack. The arrogant snake-eater made no attempt to hide; we spotted them on the horizon and they made a charge straight at the border. Sleetfang, Newtsplash, Lichenface, Yarrowslip, Mudspeckle, and their deputy Toadfoot were among them. My command was that we should fall back.

"Nettlefang thought differently. He charged against the MireClan warriors alone, and none of us would leave him to die. We had no choice but to fight."

Rowanstar felt his hackles raise. Reckless. Nettlefang was a young warrior, still Sparrowflight's apprentice the leaf-fall before. Apprenticed only a moon before his own kits, but he'd earned his warrior name first out of all his denmates, already winning a reputation as a vicious fighter.

And a hothead. The Clan already knew how nettlesome he was when he was still in the nursery.

"I thought he might have been running to his death, but Nettlefang's bravery shamed me. He fought like LionClan," Beethorn said to meows of approval. "Fiercer than LionClan. He fought like Blackfang, faced down Burdockstar herself, and stripped one of her nine lives! The rest of the patrol went scattering back toward Clawtower and left her behind, our prisoner!"

The murmurs and excited chatter exploded into cheers. There was Mousespots among them, Beethorn's kits weaving between the queen's legs with little cheers of their own. Dovefeather, the young warrior's mate, stood to her paws with glowing pride in her eyes.

"LeafClan still has a future yet," Owlswoop purred beside him. "It's wonderful, isn't it?"

"Yes..." Rowanstar said, but his initial wave of elation crashed down with a feeling of nausea, a bitterness in his throat. The sweetness of victory curdled on his tongue, converting to sorrow, and a hateful thorn of envy that pinched at his insides.

To think that Nightbird and Mousespots were the parents of such a worthy warrior. And reflected in their only living kit's glory, he could see every quality his Sunfire lacked. Even now, where was he? At Twolegplace, napping in the sun, chasing around rogues and kittypets?

The apprentice he'd given him, Mistpaw, was supposed to have fought bravely in Paleface's doomed patrol. But where was her mentor? Nowhere to be found.

Beethorn jumped from the Ash to mingle with her clanmates, warriors, elders, and apprentices swarming from all sides with a barrage of questions. Shrikewing jostled through them all, communicating with grunts, bundles of leaves and herbs held between his teeth.

"Nettlefang! Nettlefang! Nettlefang!"

The cheers washed over him and beat him down like crashing waves. Who would ever compare his Sunfire to Blackfang? If only it could somehow be proved that their kits had swapped nests in the nursery, and Nettlefang was his, and Sunfire was Nightbird's.

"But what do you think about this hare-brain's pride?" Rowanstar muttered to Owlswoop. "He endangered the entire patrol with his glory-seeking rashness, and disobeyed the Clan deputy."

"Perhaps," Owlswoop mewed measuredly. "But Nightbird and Sparrowflight are both on that patrol, with him even now. It's their training. Or lack of training."

"They will answer for it," Rowanstar said in flinty tones, returning to his den. Sparrowflight was the hare-brain's mentor, and he trusted Sparrowflight half as far as he could throw her. He was hardly able to look her in the eye after what happened to Rosestar. "Bring them to me when they arrive."