NETTLEFANG

That was the third time a MireClan cat had tried to claw his eyes out since he'd received his warrior name. He'd always heard the stories, but he'd never seen it for himself. Nettlefang pulled his claws out from Burdockstar's neck, panting and aching from the struggle, watching the blood trickle down the scrubby grass.

Then there she was, tail twitching, oxygen drawing back into her lungs with a sharp gasp, the blood no longer flowing. But by that time, the rest of the LeafClan patrol was on top of her.

Burdockstar wasn't going anywhere. The MireClan cats crashed against their ranks in desperate fury, but in the end, they turned and fled. Even with the stinging in his wounds, the soreness in his limbs, Beethorn's orders drowning in the roar of battle, he couldn't help himself.

He gave chase.

It seemed like StarClan's healing only went so far, and dying took a lot out of anybody. Burdockstar was in a half-conscious stupor as they dragged her back toward the edge of the forest. She was no easy haul, either. Head and shoulders bigger than any cat in the LeafClan patrol, or any cat in LeafClan.

But they got there, step by step, and he could've grabbed an entire Clan by their tails and hauled them over the hills. His blood was still up from the battle.

Honeypad, Asterstripe, Nightbird, Sparrowflight, and Tansypaw fell in behind him. Halfway back to camp, Burdockstar managed to find her paws, but her blue eyes remained unfocused, her growls incomprehensible. The warriors flanked her from all sides, herding her with stumbling pawsteps through newleaf glades.

They fell in single file through the bramble tunnel, cheers washing over him as he emerged into the green hollow.

"Nettlefang! Nettlefang! Nettlefang!"

Beethorn was there to greet the returning warriors with brushes of her cheek, her cuts patched with Shrikewing's poultices. All the cats gawked at the stranger in their camp; the fierce swampland warrior who had terrorized so many of their patrols and menaced them every Gathering, now theirs.

A gray tabby blur knocked into him with almost as much force as an enemy warrior, nearly shoving him off his paws. Dovefeather pressed her nose into the crook of his neck with a growling purr, eyes closed.

"I'm so glad you're okay, you mouse-brained, gallant, brave idiot," she mewed.

"There was never any doubt," Nettlefang purred fiercely. "Who do you think I am?"

"If I lost my kin and my mate in one day, I'd have brought you kicking and squealing back from StarClan," Dovefeather said in a strained tone more serious than her words. But Nettlefang could see the pain and sleeplessness in her copper eyes.

Paleface, her brother, taken by HillClan cats. They couldn't even celebrate the day's triumph without remembering the day's loss.

This was just one little victory in a long, losing war. So it'd been ever since Rowanstar became leader.

"Rowanstar wants to see you in the Ash immediately, Nettlefang," Beethorn mewed, Owlswoop and Sorreltail flanking her. "And you, Nightbird, and you, Sparrowflight. We'll take care of Burdockstar."

I'm sure he does. Despite himself, he felt a swell of pride as he glanced over his defeated enemy. The mighty Burdockstar, one of the greatest warriors of the forest, had tried him and lost. That just confirmed what he already knew about himself.

He was destined for greatness. To be another Blackfang, maybe the Blackstar that LeafClan deserved and never received, like in Old Close-eye's nursery tales.

The deputy gestured with her tail, and Owlswoop and Sorreltail prodded Burdockstar toward the medicine den. Her steps were still uneven, but even now, with life-blood staining her neck and chest, she seemed to be regaining her vitality.

Her words were slurred, but now they were words.

"LeafClan mice... This camp will make a nice MireClan hunting ground..."

"Who's hunting who, Burdockstar?" Sorreltail said evenly, prodding her forward.

"I want two warriors on her at all times!" Beethorn called after them. Then, with a final sweep of her tail, gestured Nettlefang, Nightbird, and Sparrowflight into the roots of the Ash.

He passed into the partial shade of the den, where Rowanstar sat hunch-shouldered, glowering like a fox. The lightness in his step evaporated, meeting his leader's gaze evenly, but it felt like looking into shards of ice.

By StarClan, it was almost like he'd done something wrong.

"Rowanstar," Nightbird said with a humble dip of his head, with Sparrowflight silently mirroring the motion. Nettlefang kept his head up, eyes flicking from his father, to his one-time mentor, to the deputy, to Rowanstar again.

The ruddy furred tom's voice was as sharp and jagged as Tumblestone, when he finally opened his mouth to speak. "I've been too gentle, too lax, and you've taken my quiet patience for weakness. Is that why you disrespect me and defy your deputy, who speaks with my voice?"

Nightbird's hackles were up. "Rowanstar—"

Sparrowflight bristled beside him, stepping forward with fangs bared. "Hold on. We haven't done anything to deserve your scornful lectures, except defeat your enemies. Something you haven't managed, not since we made you our leader."

"Sparrowflight, get out of my sight!" Rowanstar exploded, standing to his paws now with a lash of his tail. Nettlefang grit his teeth as his gaze jumped between the leader and his former mentor, unsheathing and sheathing his claws. "This is not the first time you have disobeyed me, and I see more danger in your eyes. Leave my den. We will speak another day."

The small brown tabby lashed her tail again, opening her mouth as if to say something, and then biting back the words. She gave a small hiss under her breath as she turned and slinked out of the den, her white tail tip twitching with obvious agitation.

Uneasy silence returned to the den, the tension almost suffocating. Nettlefang felt the pitter-patter of his heart, almost the same feeling when he was about to tear into an enemy's throat.

"Nightbird, you were about to speak," Rowanstar said at last.

Nettlefang's father flattened his fur, speaking smooth as kitten-down now. "Yes, Rowanstar. It was never our intention to disrespect you, or disobey Beethorn. But in the heat of the moment, Nettlefang's warrior instincts took over, and we only rushed to defend our clanmate." Nightbird even managed a light laugh. "Surely, my son can't be blamed for his bravery, or for driving back intruders?"

"All the warriors are sick of running from skirmishes like rabbits, Rowanstar," Nettlefang blurted, tone defiant. "It shames us. It shames LeafClan. I can't apologize for defending our pride—I'd do it again."

Beethorn cleared her throat to speak now, leaning close to Rowanstar, whose hackles remained raised. "At such a place, and such a time... Being young, you or I might have done the same. It may have been reckless, but I can't fault him after the happy result."

"But he still argues with his leader, even now," Rowanstar growled. "Your hare-brained pride could have endangered every warrior on that patrol and brought disaster on the entire Clan, just like foolish Paleface. His actions betrayed the lives and safety of every cat in his patrol, and look how we suffer."

"'Foolish Paleface?'" Nettlefang repeated, claws out now. "Paleface gave everything to defend his Clan's territory. We ought to be getting our warriors together right now to rescue him, and you call him foolish?"

"There will be no rescue," Rowanstar snapped. "We don't have the strength to attack HillClan in their own camp, and he is not worth the blood that would have to be spilled. It'd only cost more LeafClan lives. Let him starve on the barren hills."

"But he's one of ours!" Nettlefang raged. "Only a mouse-heart would abandon their clanmate to die!"

"Speak no more of Paleface!" Rowanstar snarled. "Never pull another stunt like the one today, or you may share his fate. Nightbird, escort your son from my sight."

Nightbird nudged his shoulder and turned to leave the Ash. Nettlefang whirled, new fire pumping through his limbs. "If all StarClan falls down and stands in my way, I will bring him home!" he shouted over his shoulder, emerging back into the full light of the clearing.

The chants and cheers had died away, LeafClan cats of all ages and ranks mutely staring. He wondered how much they could hear in the privacy of that tree. Nothing? Everything?

Sparrowflight was waiting by the roots of the tree, and wordlessly fell in alongside her littermate and former apprentice as they stamped out the bramble tunnel.

"Don't get into a fox's fit, Nettlefang," Nightbird warned with a low hiss as they climbed over fern-ridged hills. "Stay and pause awhile. Your wounds still haven't been treated."

Wounds? He could hardly think about his wounds; there was a fireball in his gut, a thorn in his heart. "Speak of Paleface?! Tell me not to speak of Paleface? Thistles and thorns, I'll climb up on the Greenstone and shout his name for the entire flea-bitten forest."

"Sister, our leader has made Nettlefang mad," Nightbird murmured.

"You think?" Sparrowflight mewed. "What did he say after I was gone?"

"He railed on me for fighting back, can you believe it? And when I urged him to rescue our clanmate, my mate's brother, he quivered like a fawnling!" Nettlefang spat. "Told me to not even speak of Paleface!"

Sparrowflight flicked her tail. "Well, I can't blame him. Was Paleface not Rosestar's choice for deputy?"

"He was," Nightbird said in low tones. "I heard it myself, out of Rosestar's own mouth. He meant to hold the ceremony after the raid on MireClan, but..." The dark warrior let himself trail off. They all knew what happened next. Rosestar came back to camp in captivity, powerless.

"Imprisoned and murdered," Sparrowflight said flatly. "And for our part in helping Rowanstar's rise, the entire forest makes our names taste like mouse-bile when they speak it."

The fur stood up along Nettlefang's spine. "But is it really true? Was Paleface meant to become the deputy?"

Nightbird confirmed it with a steady nod.

"No, then I can't blame him for wishing Paleface to starve in the barren hills," Nettlefang started, pacing back and forth, ripping up clumps of grass beneath his claws. "But is it right that you bring back this forgetful exile, help him earn his rank, and then live in slander and contempt? Should it be remembered that you put down Rosestar, our true leader, and planted this thornbush in his place?

"And not just that, but then fooled, discarded, and shook off now that he has no use for you!" Nettlefang was ranting now, hacking the heads off flowers with errant swipes. "With all the debts that Rowanstar owes to you, he'll pay you back with death and betrayal, just like how he got the name Rowanstar to begin with. I swear, I will—"

"Quiet, hare-brain, say no more," Sparrowflight hissed. "Lower your voice in case you're overheard. What I have to say next is... dangerous."

"Then shout it! I'm past caring about danger. Rowanstar is the one in danger!"

"Who filled his head with delusions of grandeur?" Nightbird murmured to Sparrowflight. "He won't listen to you like this. Let him cool."

"I won't cool! I'll go back to camp myself and shred him to mouse-meat myself, and then go to HillClan with his blood still in my pelt!"

Sparrowflight growled in consternation. "I said, quiet. Nettlefang, I'm telling you to shut your mouth and lend your ears."

Nettlefang finally stopped his pacing, raking his claws through the earth, ears flat to his head. "Yes, all right. Apologies."

Sparrowflight swiveled her head, green eyes peering around for prying eyes and tasting the air, before she finally spoke again. "The MireClan cat you captured—"

Yes, yes, Burdockstar. A leader, an infamous raider, one of their most dire enemies, and they'd brought her back to camp with one life less, sent her warriors scattering back over the marsh. What sort of thanks did they get? To be raged and spat at, lectured, scorned like misbehaving kits? "Our so-called leader would rather let her hunt our prey."

"You start away and still don't listen," Sparrowflight growled. "I'm telling you how we'll free Paleface."

"He said he wouldn't rescue Paleface," Nettlefang fumed, his fury picking up momentum, words coming out in a flurry. "Forbade me to speak of Paleface, but I'll creep into his den while he sleeps, and in his ear, holler 'PALEFACE!'" His voice rang out over the trees, the forbidden name shouted out at the top of his lungs, startled birds taking flight. "I'll teach the starlings to meow his name and let them scream it from the treetops every sunup to keep a thorn in Rowanstar's—"

"Will you shut up for one moment?" Sparrowflight pleaded. "I trained you, but I didn't teach you everything I know. Listen."

The outburst of words wouldn't stop. They connected from heart to vocal cords with no interlocutor. "I'm not an apprentice anymore. The only training I care about is how to balk and gall this fox-breathed weed, and his kitten-hearted son, Sunfire. I'd make that dormouse choke on one of his Twolegplace rats if I didn't think Rowanstar hated his guts too, and might be glad if I did it."

Sparrowflight just turned her tail with a heavy sigh, walking away through the foliage. "Farewell! I'll tell you when you're better tempered."

Nettlefang might have said more, still in the heat of his wrath, until Nightbird's paw clubbed him heavily over the side of the head. A cold, hard shock, followed by his father's low growl in his face. "Wasp-stung, impatient hare-brain! Calm down and unclog your ears."

"Yes, you're right," Nettlefang hissed, but a growl still rumbled in his throat. "But how can I calm down when I remember scenting his hide at Tumblestone, and all the honeyed words he told us at Berry Hill? All this about our happy future, and how he'd never forget our help. This is how he talks to us now?"

Nightbird just gave him an icy gaze, and Nettlefang sighed, forcing his fur flat.

"Sparrowflight, wait," he called out after her. "Come back, tell me what you have to say. I'm done."

She peered back at him through the foliage, twitching her whiskers. "No, if you aren't done, just keep going at it. We'll just wait at your leisure."

"I am done," Nettlefang said emphatically.

Finally, after a quiet moment, and testing the air again, Sparrowflight approached.

"Then, once more," she started. "Burdockstar is being kept in the medicine cat's den. Our medicine cat's den, who bears his littermate's death hard. Shrikewing is no friend of Rowanstar either, not at heart."

Briarstalk, Shrikewing's sister, who paid the price for being Rosestar's friend. Nettlefang's pricked his ears.

"Strike a deal with Burdockstar, and free her. In exchange, give her and her warriors a chance to get their claws into Rowanstar. We're not the only ones who want him gone—his leadership is a mistake, cursed. But Paleface was Rosestar's true choice for deputy.

"Bring him back, with the medicine cat on our side and MireClan cats for our muscle; and the Clan will support him, and StarClan will support us."

His passionate rage converted to anticipation, the taste of victory, the taste of blood. "Rowanstar is right, you are a dangerous, disobedient little fox," Nettlefang purred. "It's the perfect plot."

"Don't get hasty, Nettlefang," Nightbird warned. "We must tread carefully."

Nettlefang couldn't stop shuffling his paws. He could've ran back to camp that very second. "But it is! Rowanstar is ripe for a fall!"

"Yes. We have to act," Sparrowflight said. "You see now that it doesn't matter how loyal or upright we are around him—Rowanstar will always think he's in our debt, think of us as unsatisfied, mistrust us. Then he'll find any excuse to erase the balance. And see how he's already made us strangers to his looks of love."

"You speak the truth," Nettlefang said. "We'll set LeafClan back right."

Nightbird wore a dark expression, seemingly lost in thought.

"Farewell, the both of you," Sparrowflight mewed. "Speak our purpose to Shrikewing and Burdockstar, when the opportunity arises. I think you'll find their ears willing to hear."

"Where will you be?" Nightbird challenged.

"To meet with Paleface and Duskstar," Sparrowflight answered nonchalantly. "If they don't rip out my pelt for a nest in the nursery, we'll all meet each other again with two Clans at our backs."

HillClan and MireClan as allies? The medicine cat, their unhappy clanmates, all gathered to Paleface's cause? Yes. Yes, this was part of that destiny he'd awaited. Oh, why couldn't they wind the hours, the sunrises and sunsets, until the day? He could already see it, hear it, the battle he'd be remembered for long after he was dead, like Blackfang and Lionpelt.

"Farewell, Sparrowflight," Nightbird mewed. "StarClan light your path."

"Farewell, Sparrowflight!" Nettlefang echoed, as the brown tabby disappeared into the brush. He glanced up to the canopy now, breathing in the floral notes of newleaf, the fragrance of new growth. A new era, for the new generation.

This was just the start of his journey to greatness.