Chapter Text
When Crowfeather woke up that crisp, green-leaf morning, birds were chirping their cheerful songs. A strong breeze brought the tantalizing scent of prey to his mouth with only the briefest sniff, and though clouds formed a thick barrier between him and the sun, the lack of frost on the ground promised a warmer day than the last.
He had volunteered for his morning patrol before most of his clanmates had stirred from their dens, eager to watch the last vestiges of leaf-bare melt away before his eyes.
Crowfeather hadn’t dreamed for even a second that the end of the patrol would find him kicking ferociously through the frigid lake . Otherwise, he would’ve tucked his nose under his tail and slammed his eyes shut that morning like any sensible cat.
But there he was, cursing viciously at the morning that had so insidiously tempted him from his rest.
His skin burned, the water felt too thick, churning with ice and sapping his paws of feeling. He hated swimming, that the wind howling overhead wasted no time biting into his wet fur when he wasn’t submerged only made the entire ordeal a punishment in every imaginable way.
If it weren’t for the mouse-brained kit fighting and losing with the relatively soft waves right in front of his freezing nose he wouldn’t have even touched the soggy bank for fear of wetting his paws.
But there was a kit, a scrap of Thunderclan fluff that had skipped off a Windclan cliff without a care in the world, determined to die in the most incriminating way possible it seemed.
Firestar was as softhearted as they came, but Crowfeather doubted even he would accept ‘your kit wandered into our territory and drowned himself’ at face value.
So here he was, cursing his luck at the hidden stars as he lunged through the freezing lake.
It took hours to reach his destination, it seemed, fighting with the tide and his stiff protesting body to get anywhere. No cat belonged in water, Riverclan be damned, it yanked at his fur and slapped at his face and pummeled him for daring to leave dry land.
He was stubborn, though, and with his lungs and limbs straining, he snapped up a sodden wad of scruff and did his best to avoid choking on it while he kept them both afloat.
The kit certainly wasn’t any help, kicking haphazardly and twisting until Crowfeather’s jaw ached with the effort of steering him toward the shore.
Frustration and fear scorched from both ends, did this wretch want to die?
“Keep still!” He garbled, digging his teeth into soft kitten down in an effort to hold his grip.
This seemed to alarm the kit even further, choked gasps and whimpers rising above the howling wind. What was wrong with him?
“Stop wriggling!” This time he gave the kit a swift shake, no doubt painfully reorienting him for the banks up ahead.
This seemed to do the trick though, for he stilled, stunned, and panting. A moment of silence passed before the kit moved again, this time with some meager scrape of intelligence.
Cautiously, sluggishly, those tiny paws began peddling in the right direction, finding a rhythm pressed up against Crowfeather’s powerful kicks.
Whitetail, Heatherpaw, and his son waited for them in the sand. The trio wide-eyed and anxious, but not terribly eager to dive in after him. He couldn’t blame them, Starclan but it was freezing .
Once his nerveless paws found purchase, Whitetail did discover the compassion to meet him halfway and help drag the Thunderclan lump through sand and back onto the blessedly dry moorland. The kit certainly wouldn’t have made it himself, already collapsed into an exhausted heap and vibrating with the powerful shivers wracking his frame.
Crowfeather couldn’t follow suit and let himself huddle in for the warmth his aching body begged for, because the kit was still wheezing and choking and his struggles were getting weaker by the second.
He didn’t make that swim just to let the kit fade away in front of two apprentices, so with a groan, he lurched forward and started pumping the tiny thing’s chest.
Crowfeather’s paws didn’t engulf the entirety of the kit’s body as he feared they might, and he found he didn’t need to be terribly gentle to avoid bruising or breaking ribs. Perhaps not a kit then, but an apprentice fresh from his mother’s side.
Crowfeather wasn’t as comforted by the thought as he liked, Breezepaw was the same age and he had no desire to imagine his own son coughing up lakewater with his eyes squeezed shut in misery.
Finally, the Thunderclan cat was breathing clearly and a respectable puddle lay beneath him. Crowfeather backed off and allowed him room to regain his breath, which was when Heatherpaw decided to recover.
She crept close, hovering over the kit only a little smaller than she was. Probably an apprentice, then. A foolish, foolish apprentice.
“Will he be okay?” She asked, eyes still round and ears pinned back with fright.
The Thunderclan apprentice flinched from her voice, finally peering up at his Windclan rescuers. His eyes...scanned the area, but didn’t land on any one of the cats surrounding him.
“Who’s there?” He gasped, “Are you warriors?”
Crowfeather frowned, dread bubbling up in his chest.
“What do you mean?” Heatherpaw’s alarm heightened as she looked beseechingly up at her mentor for answers. She wasn’t a dull cat, though, and Crowfeather saw comprehension dawn on her face only a moment after.
“He can’t see!” She cried, distress following so swiftly he may as well have been blinded right in front of her.
Still, Crowfeather couldn’t deny the sight of the tiny apprentice searching helplessly for answers in the space between them had him shuffling with unease. No cat should be so defenseless, especially outside his home borders, void of clanmates and friendly patrols.
Crowfeather snarled, “What in the name of Starclan is he doing out here by himself?”
He shouldn’t need to be so wholly concerned with a young apprentice from another clan. Where was his leader, his mother, his mentor ? Crowfeather’s tail lashed, it shouldn’t be Windclan warriors bristling with worry here.
He firmly pushed those thoughts from his mind and began roughly grooming the soaked kit, his own pelt could wait under he was sure the other wouldn’t drop dead of greencough within the next three days.
Whitetail joined in, sheltering the apprentice from the winds with her plush coat and together they laved over the shivering lump in silence. Was it awkward or commiserative? Crowfeather couldn’t tell what his clanmate was thinking, but given her nurturing nature, he could imagine she felt similarly to him.
“Will he be okay, Whitetail?” Heatherpaw asked quietly.
The Thunderclan apprentice had shut his eyes again and had gone limp under their administrations, looking more like a drowned rabbit than a living intruder. It was a disquieting sight, but his chest rose and fell and warmth blossomed under Crowfeather’s tongue.
He was slowly improving, if Heatherpaw would watch closely she could tell as well. They wouldn’t need to fetch their medicine cat, they just had to keep him warm for a little while longer.
Whitetail agreed, “He’ll be fine, Heatherpaw.”
She even stopped grooming the half-way dry kit, crouching close to give him a gentle nudge.
“Can you hear me?”
Crowfeather’s stomach sank at the thought of the cat being deaf as well, but was quickly set at ease when he gave a tiny nod.
Slowly, painfully, the Thunderclan apprentice dragged himself up into a sitting position. He swayed on weak legs and his fur was spiky and damp, but he didn’t drop back down.
The Windclan patrol hadn’t realized they’d leaned even further into the apprentice’s space during his struggle until he saw fit to shake the water from his ears right in front of their faces. Crowfeather sprang away and his clanmates did the same, his pelt was only just starting to dry too.
“Typical that a Thunderclan cat should thank us by trying to drown us!” His son yelped, completely untouched.
Crowfeather leveled him with an unimpressed look, “Stop making a fuss, Breezepaw! It’s only a few droplets of water.” This is what he gets for allowing Nightcloud to shield their son from even the lightest sprinkle in the nursery. Did Breezepaw even know what it was like to be wet?
He turned to the Thunderclan apprentice, whose eyes were open now and staring in his direction, ears pricked. He seemed alert enough, it was time to find out how this happened.
Crowfeather walked back into the cat’s space, allowing him to hear his steps and feel his breath on his fur, here he was.
His actions were rewarded when the cat managed something very close to eye-contact, fully aware of the warrior staring him down. Good, it would be easier to tell if he was being lied to now.
“What were you doing so far from camp? Is there anyone with you?” He demanded.
Firestar wouldn’t leave a kit to die for his blindness, but a conniving piece of foxdung mentor just might. Should he be expecting a vengeful Thunderclan patrol bursting onto the moors at the behest of a liar? Or just a regular patrol seeking out a stupid apprentice who wandered from their stupid mentor this close to the cliffs?
He needed to know if he should be calling for reinforcements, digging his claws into a cat’s useless pelt, or tossing this kit right back into the lake.
“Be gentle, Crowfeather,” Whitetail scolded, “He’s had a bad shock.” She placed herself between the two of them and gave the apprentice an affection lick, smitten it seemed.
The apprentice wasted no time snaring his ally and with a shudder, he buried his face into her fur and huddled against her like a frightened kitten with his mother. The worst part was that Crowfeather believed the response to be genuine, Whitetail induced that sort of reaction in young cats.
Whitetail visibly softened, eyes twinkling, and she cuddled with the intruder.
“I’m Whitetail,” She began in her gentlest voice, “This is Crowfeather, and these are our apprentices, Heatherpaw and Breezepaw. We won’t hurt you.”
Breezepaw scoffed, “I think he might have guessed that by the way we just saved his life!”
Whitetail shot a glare over the Thunderclan apprentice’s head, which had his son ducking away from her ire.
“I wish you’d teach your son some manners, Crowfeather!”
Crowfeather hunched away as well, that was about as scathing as Whitetail was capable of. He may have to apologize with a mouse or two later once this patrol was finally over with.
The tiny apprentice with big blue eyes drew her attention again, she worried at his fur until it wasn’t quite so spiky. Nightcloud had tried something similar but it hadn’t helped much with Breezepaw either, he had been born a ruffled mess and seemed determined to live and die one too.
Now that he was looking, the apprentice wasn’t as darkly colored as he’d thought. In the water, he’d looked more like a murky ball of moss than most anything else but now that his pelt was almost dry, Crowfeather found it to be silver in color. The only darkness remained in tabby stripes that twined around his tail and draped over his shoulders and hindquarters and appeared almost nowhere else.
He’d seen that pattern before, right down to the single set of stripes outlining his eyes in delicate swirls...but where?
“It's all right. I'll stay here and take good care of the Clan, I promise. One day we'll meet again, walking among the stars.”
Crowfeather swallowed, a cold that had nothing to do with the lake curling in his ribs.
Ah, right. He shouldn’t be surprised, Leafpool wasn’t the only tabby in Thunderclan. Her sister had a litter recently as well, there were bound to be more.
He only wished he’d thought of that before he had told her he could spend the rest of his life counting her stripes and thanking Starclan for each one.
“What were you doing out here alone? Did you know you were heading for WindClan territory? Are you in trouble?” Whitetail asked each question in a light, concerned tone, completely ignorant to the maelstrom that just became Crowfeather’s innards.
He gritted his teeth and ignored the grief and pain bearing down on his back, he was used to doing it anyway, it just caught him off guard this time. He didn’t have time to wallow, he wanted to hear exactly what this apprentice had to say.
“I will be,” was all that escaped him, though.
So he hadn’t been sent there, he’d just gone out on his own like a mouse-brained idiot and nearly died for it. Was there honestly no one watching him? Not even a fellow apprentice?
“I should hope so!” He growled, “What was your clan thinking, allowing you to wander off like that?” He must have been gone for a while at that point, to have traveled across Thunderclan territory and into Windclan. But no one had looked for their freshly apprenticed blind clanmate, not a single cat was even nearby by the smell of it.
Heatherpaw crept up beside Whitetail to give the intruder a cautious sniff, bravery restored now that he was up and alert it seemed.
“Can you see anything at all?” She asked. He would’ve scolded her for the stupid question, but he could understand the apprehension when the apprentice was successfully watching her back with unseeing eyes. He had good aim, perhaps a skill from being born blind rather than inflicted with it later?
Breezepaw was less restrained, “If he can, he must be stupid, walking off the edge of a cliff!”
The apprentice switched his attention, glaring Breezepaw down with hackles raised.
“I didn’t walk off the edge!”
Rather than unnerved, his son was emboldened, pushing past Heatherpaw to snort rudely right into the apprentice’s face.
“It looked like it from where we were standing,” He sneered.
Why, oh why, had his son inherited the worst of both his parents’ tempers?
“Be quiet, Breezepaw!” Crowfeather snapped, something he said a little too often since his son left the nursery.
That time, however, something strange happened.
Both apprentices jumped and spun around to glower in his direction, sulky in the way scolded apprentices always were. It was then that it struck him, dumbfounding as a kick to the head.
Stripes and blindness aside, these two apprentices from completely different clans...held an uncanny resemblance.
Ruffled fur, angular ears, long tails, nimble frames, typically Windclan traits. The eery likeness didn’t stop there, though. That he could justify as scrawniness and coincidence. The defiant glares and prideful chests were identical as well, they were almost the same height and weight even though Breezepaw was small for his age. Was this apprentice small for his age too?
Was he only a moon or two older than Breezepaw? Had his life begun two moons after Crowfeather and Leafpool gazed up at the stars together and dreamed up a life of freedom and bliss?
Was Crowfeather still breathing? Was that his heart beating so loudly in his ears?
Was this a nightmare? Was everyone staring at him? He no longer felt cold, now adrenaline was thrumming through his body and his heart was pumping fire through his veins.
“I-” He gasped, faltering for a moment when the apprentice blinked up at him with eyes that were Ashfoot’s blue, his blue. By Starclan, how had he not recognized that blue?
“I suppose I better take him to Thunderclan,” He managed. If Crowfeather spoke too loudly or sounded too hoarse, no one commented on it.
“Are you well enough to travel?”
The Thunderclan apprentice nodded- Crowfeather didn’t know his name .
He stood up on steadier legs and left his shelter under Whitetail’s fluff, head held high.
“Thank you for rescuing me, but I can find my own way home,” The tiny blind scrap of kitten fur said right into the open air without a hint of deceit.
“There’s no way I’m letting you wander off by yourself again,” Crowfeather said roughly, a thousand tiny terrors flashing behind his eyes before he shook them free and turned to the rest of the patrol.
“Whitetail, you take Heatherpaw and Breezepaw back to camp.”
He gently placed his tail across the Thunderclan apprentice’s shoulders, feeling him stiffen beneath the contact but obediently follow him as they started putting distance between themselves and the lake.
Ever cheerful, Whitetail bound up the bank and called out to the apprentice, “See your medicine cat as soon as you get home!”
Oh, Crowfeather would make sure of it .
Once they were at the thinnest stretch of the moor, trees rising in sparse collections around them like giant weeds, Crowfeather dared to break the silence.
The apprentice had been completely quiet the entire time, not shivering or complaining at the pace, though Crowfeather kept it slow just in case. He trudged on glumly, ears flicking here and there but otherwise disinterested in the wildlife around him. If Crowfeather led them into Riverclan instead, he doubted the kit would even notice.
Still, uncertainty charged the very air around them, anxiety and doubt dogged his heels, hope that felt so very much like fear held a vice around his heart. He had to speak, he had to say something .
“What’s your name?” He asked.
The apprentice looked up, sightless eyes roving over Crowfeather before drifting a little too far to the left.
“Jaypaw,” He said.
Jaypaw, Jaypaw, Jaypaw . It was close to crow, would Leafpool be sentimental enough to name their kit after him? After everything they said to one another? Was this some wild, scandalous fantasy he was cooking up within the confines of his addled head?
Could Leafpool have had a litter? She was a medicine cat, there would’ve been talk, right?
“An apprentice,” Crowfeather said, too stilted, scrambling desperately for ways to interrogate without spooking the cat.
“Your parents must be proud, who are they?”
Confusion was plain on the kit’s face, but he was game enough to answer.
“My parents are Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw, why?”
Squirrelflight, right. Firestar had announced his grandchildren’s’ birth at a only a few short moons ago, very near Breezepaw’s own birth. He hated how nebulous this all was. Could all these tiny resemblances be nothing more than happenstance and the shadow of Leafpool cast across her nephew?
“I know your parents, I’m sure you heard about The Great Journey to bring the clans here. I was with them, then. How old are you?”
Interest overtook confusion, good. Crowfeather might have him snagged on the promise of a story. He steered them further into the trees, bushes and bracken slowly filling up the narrowing spaces in between.
“Oh, I think I have heard of you. Mother loves telling the story, especially the part where Father was almost washed away at sun-drown-place. I’m seven moons old, so it won’t be too long until I’ll be having adventures just like that.”
“You don’t want adventures like that one, good cats died and our homes were destroyed,” Crowfeather growled. No apprentice should dream of doing what he did, of watching Feathertail’s light go out right in front his useless sobbing self, of coming home to a moor that smelt like death and monsters. Clanmates didn’t remember him, clanmates hated him, he and his traveling group were suddenly so out of step with the tragedy that unfolded in their absence.
Happier adventures were promised at the lake.
Jawpaw flinched, temper ticking in his tail, “I guess not, but I will be a great warrior someday.”
Crowfeather glanced back, hesitant. Blind eyes stared uncomprehendingly ahead, the apprentice had no idea they were almost across the border.
His father Deadfoot had been an excellent warrior, a proud deputy that served his clan well and watched over them now from Starclan. He had lived his entire life burdened by a twisted foot that crippled him since birth, he fought and hunted and led patrols just like any other deputy. Crowfeather held a deep respect for the power of determination and spirit in his father’s honor.
But could complete blindness be overcome? He wasn’t sure.
Deadfoot had the advantage of being born a Windclan cat, living in the wide plateaus that made up their territory gave him plenty of opportunities to overcome his personal obstacles. Ashfoot still told them fondly to Crowfeather after harder days to unwind.
He’d been the most silent stalker in the clan, able to creep up bare inches from his prey before springing to accommodate his weak pounce. He could scent a dog from miles off and took pride in filling nests with hawk feathers when they thought him easy pickings. He’d even crafted a signature fighting style specifically for aerial attacks that Ashfoot was far too gleeful teaching Crowfeather through a myriad of bruises and scrapes.
If Deadfoot had been born in Thunderclan, where the trees cloistered in close and littered the ground in clutter, where the wind was only the rustle of leaves far above, Crowfeather doubted he could’ve ever made deputy.
Crowfeather slowed down even further as they left Windclan territory entirely and Jaypaw’s steps became unsurer . No longer were there flat, rolling hills and high stalks that rattled noisily long before they passed. Now a rough and uneven forest floor sprawled out before them and this Thunderclan cat struggled to find his way in it without stumbling into brambles or roots.
He was doing alright, if Crowfeather stopped steering him around trees he didn’t think Jaypaw would kill himself in a thicket, but the concentration and care with which he walked grew noticeable.
If...If what was happening was actually happening , Crowfeather wondered if Jaypaw would do better in Windclan.
Crowfeather flinched, physically rearing his head away from that daring train of thought. He didn’t wonder any more than that, he couldn’t. Whenever he tried bees buzzed in his ears and his breath grew short, he couldn’t let himself dwell on anything that was going on if he was going to be useful for the rest of the day.
Seven moons, that was what Jaypaw had said. Crowfeather and Leafpool had made the best and worst decision of his life running away together nine moons ago. He was born within the timeframe their night together allowed, the one Breezepaw just barely escaped by a moon.
It could be yet another cruel coincidence upon a growing pile of quirks of fate, but Crowfeather’s doubts ebbed from him like the tide.
The silence started choking him again, so he switched topics, “What were you doing out of Thunderclan territory, anyway?”
Jaypaw’s tail lashed wrathfully, resentment instantly lighting through his body like he couldn’t help but bristle. Amusingly, the apprentice answered anyway.
“I didn’t mean to leave Thunderclan,” he spat, “I just wanted to reach the lake since Brightheart wouldn’t show me all the borders.”
Crowfeather knew Brightheart, any cat that joined in the Gathering knew her, she was hard to miss as mangled as she was. He had no idea what she was like as a warrior, but he was nonetheless torn between disgust that she’d lose a young blind apprentice and sympathy that she’d become mentor to such a hotheaded mousebrain.
“And you didn’t think to simply join a patrol?” He asked snidely.
The apprentice’s tail lashed again, this time sweeping several leaves up with its long reach.
“She went on patrol without me, I wasn’t going to sit around camp being useless!”
With a great deal of difficulty, Crowfeather swallowed the impulse to point out exactly how helpful his reckless wandering was to his clan. Jaypaw was clearly waiting for it, eyes slit and a hint of teeth behind his silver muzzle.
“Was it difficult?” He asked instead.
Jaypaw blinked, “What?”
“Was it difficult to walk through Windclan?”
The question threw him for a loop, Crowfeather had to more firmly steer him through the ever denser forest while his paws grew clumsier. Once Jaypaw processed it, however, that prickly temper surged anew.
“Because I’m blind? You think I have trouble just walking in a straight line?” He said through a snarl.
Crowfeather wondered if his father had been so angry in his youth, if it was only an unfortunate shared characteristic among cats who had something to prove from the minute they were born. Or perhaps it was some even more unfortunate clash between Crowfeather’s temperament and an eternally wounded pride.
“My father,” Crowfeather said, “He died when I was young, but he was born with a twisted foot. I wondered if navigating Windclan was difficult for him.”
Jaypaw, to his credit, was better than Breezepaw at recognizing when to avoid tearing certain topics to shreds, even if he was still clearly stewing in unforgiving thoughts within the confines of his mind.
When he spoke, he did so carefully.
“The mud and rabbit holes, I tripped a few times.”
Crowfeather couldn’t help it, he laughed flat in the kit’s face.
Blinding pain was an instantaneous follow up, burning through the tip of his tail and sending his heart into double time. Crowfeather’s chuckles broke into a yelp as he spun around, eyes wide.
Jaypaw’s needle fangs were buried deep in his long tail, his head twisted with the force of his thrashing, eyes narrowed slits of fury. Bloodlust was thick in the air and the kit’s entire body rumbled in his growl.
“Get off, get off !” Crowfeather shrieked, yanking his tail away as hard as he could, until he was sure it was going to tear .
Jaypaw lost his grip and went tumbling into the dust. He landed near-silently in a lump of silver fluff and broken twigs, limbs askew and ears rotating madly.
Crowfeather didn’t hesitate, surging over the Thunderclan apprentice and slamming him back into the earth in a pin. His claws weren’t sheathed, prickling over the kit’s skin where he had them pressed into his shoulders and belly.
He leaned in, dropping his muzzle until he was breathing hot air against Jaypaw’s throat, those ears abruptly pricked into stillness and his whole body froze.
They didn’t speak for a moment, harsh pants filling up the empty space between them. Even the birds and mice went silent, watching the tense scene unfold.
“...sorry.”
Shock rippled through Jaypaw’s body in a shiver, deep blue eyes straining to meet his own. They only missed by scant centimeters.
“What was that?” He hissed.
Crowfeather sheathed his claws, bravely ignoring the sharp tang of copper in the air and the burning pain still pulsing through the end of his poor tail.
“I wasn’t laughing at you- well, I was- “
He pressed down harder when Jaypaw tried to snap at him, a growl rumbling underneath his paws.
“ Listen ! I was laughing at you, but not because you’re blind. Every Windclan apprentice makes that same complaint, it’s practically a rite of passage for new apprentices to trip flat on their face in a rabbit hole and come whining back to camp about it. It takes a while for warriors to learn how to walk around them, especially while hunting.”
Jaypaw’s growl didn’t subside, but he was listening. Eyes unblinking and muscles slowly relaxing into the forest floor.
“I bet they didn’t trip as much as me, or end up in the mud. Don’t lie to save your pelt, mousebrain.” He grumbled venomously.
Crowfeather huffed, “I’m not lying. And my pelt isn’t at risk right now, apprentice . The medicine den gets one sprained leg a year when we’re lucky, and Heatherpaw slipped straight down a hill just two weeks ago. She ended up dunking into the lake to get all that mud off.”
He glanced down at his paws, the rumble was easing.
“Why are you even telling me this? It’s stupid to tell the enemy weaknesses, I’ll use it against you.
Crowfeather eased up off Jaypaw, settling into a loose stance a few feet away as the apprentice levered himself upright. His coat was a wreck, all short scruffs and ruffles like there was no set direction to his fur.
“Somehow I think Windclan will manage,” He said dryly, “The worst you could do would be telling Heatherpaw I told you about that, she was very embarrassed.”
Jaypaw didn’t make another aggressive move, stretching in a long arch and then standing peaceably where he was. There was a nasty look on his face, still.
“As soon as I go to my first Gathering I’ll find Heatherpaw and tell her, then,” He said, like a challenge.
Crowfeather swiped at his ears with sheathed claws, causing the kit to bounce back with a squeak.
“Well now I know who to thank if my apprentice comes hunting for my head during the next full moon,” He growled.
The apprentice held still for a moment, blind eyes wide and uncertain. He searched for something in whatever he sensed of Crowfeather, he could feel himself being weighed thoughtfully, considered where he stood.
Jaypaw came to a conclusion then, though Crowfeather couldn’t say what, for his ears flattened and he came bounding back to spray loose pebbles and dirt across Crowfeather’s flank, stinging in his eyes.
“I’d like to see you try, in a month’s time I’ll be twice the warrior you are!”
Crowfeather hid a snort under a low yowl and batted at the kit, shoving him back on his haunches, “Dream on, brat.”
Jaypaw didn’t falter a second time, darting to nip at Crowfeather’s legs but missing by half a foot. He leaned in to swipe along his side and guide him nearer, and the next nip brushed his back legs.
Crowfeather circled wide, diving in to knock into his backside and backing off as the apprentice spun around to bat at the air. He circled back out again and repeated the maneuver much to Jaypaw’s indignation.
“Stop with the cheap tricks!” He demanded, giving the air in front of his nose an angry snap of teeth. Crowfeather’s poor tail twinged.
“How are they cheap? It shouldn’t make a difference which angle I’m coming from if you’re not relying on sight.”
“I can’t tell where you are if you move away like that,” He swiped after Crowfeather as he circled out again, creeping around the kit.
“You find me by listening, right? So listen for a cat coming up behind you too.”
He jabbed again, catching on Jaypaw’s tail and sending him scampering away, pure frustration on his face.
“That’s too hard!” He snarled, “Just stay still so I can claw your stupid face off.”
He was good at skidding back into Crowfeather’s space and using the natural forest debris to his advantage. His poor nursery mates had probably been the test subjects for that particular attack, it stank of kitten mischief.
While Crowfeather was busy coughing up dead grass Jaypaw got in a solid blow to his side, throwing his balance off.
“Maybe,” Crowfeather allowed, he didn’t know how difficult it was to listen for pawsteps in a spar. He circled out and circled back in.
“But it would put the fear of Starclan into your opponents if you caught them in the act,” He dove in to swipe and this time, Jaypaw spun ahead of time.
The clack of his teeth slamming shut right against the soft hair in Crowfeather’s ears had him rolling away almost before he could catch himself, skittering in the dust.
“Ah,” He sighed gustily, watching the apprentice narrow back in on him with pricked ears and frustration bristling down his back.
“That was a good shot.”
Jaypaw twitched, “I didn’t even touch you.”
“You were close enough that I had to back off, good but not great.”
He crouched low, muscles bunching threateningly, “What’s great, then?”
Crowfeather circled out, then circled in, conscious of the pricked sooty grey ears following his movements. Once he’d found an angle he hadn’t used yet, where those ears swiveled to find him again, he pounced.
Jaypaw was knocked clean off his paws, sprawling with a shriek and wild flurry of claws that caught nothing but bracken.
“That’s great .”
He waited for the apprentice to scramble to his feet, anger and a scrappy sort of competitiveness beating in his eyes.
“That’s what you call great?” Jaypaw blustered, ears already trained back on him and body loose and low. He recovered quickly.
“You could get the same effect just tripping into a cat, try it again and I’ll-“
Jaypaw’s words trailed off abruptly as the sharp fresh scent of a Thunderclan patrol barreled in, reeking of displeasure and narrowing distance. Crowfeather’s fur stiffened automatically, pulse quickening in his ears.
Seconds later, Thunderclan invaded through the trees, stout well-muscled bodies pounding into the tiny clearing Crowfeather and Jaypaw had made for themselves.
Squirrelflight’s distinctive ginger pelt commanded his immediate attention as she bounded up to Jaypaw with a cry of relief, sweeping him up in her considerable fluff.
“Crowfeather?” He was distracted by a voice he hadn’t heard in many moons.
Stormfur padded toward him, confusion plain on his gentle Riverclan features. He looked well, pebble-grey fur silky and clean and just enough like his sister that it still hurt a tiny bit to stare directly at him.
“Where did you find him?” Squirrelflight asked, fretting and nosing over the kit still, “were you attacked?”
“Attacked?”
“You smell like blood,” Stormfur explained, giving him a polite sniff, “Just a bit, but it’s there.”
Oh. Embarrassment wormed a home into his heart, heat flooded under his pelt as he recalled exactly how Jaypaw’s little sparring match had begun.
“That was me,” The runt burst out far too proudly, “He didn’t see me coming at all.”
And why would he, when he was in the presence of a tiny blind kit from a different clan? It would never have happened in a hundred years had Jaypaw possessed half the intelligence Crowfeather expected of any normal cat.
It was then that the patrol noticed the saliva and blood encrusting the tip of his tail and that their precious hellion hadn’t a scratch on him, the moment was commemorated by a joint intake of air. Less a shocked gasp and more a sympathetic wince, he didn’t appreciate the difference.
“Jaypaw!” Squirrelflight hissed, high and angry, “What possessed you to do that to a fully grown Windclan warrior, especially the one escorting you to camp!”
The kit shrunk under her fury, properly cowed for the first time since he’d been fished from the lake. Crowfeather thought he deserved a good thrashing as well, but his traitorous mouth opened up anyway.
“Nothing to worry about, I already made sure to repay him.” The kit was filthy now, fur an assortment of cowlicks and tangles threaded with the undergrowth around them. It would take ages to groom out and he would be sure to wake up sore and exhausted after such a long day. He hoped Jaypaw would think of him during the punishing morning cleanup on the horizon.
Stormfur frowned, “You didn’t...attack him, did you?” He spoke doubtfully enough that Crowfeather made a gracious attempt not to be too insulted by the accusation.
“If I had I wouldn’t have done it in the heart of Thunderclan and left him with that sharp tongue intact,” He snapped.
“I had him spilling Windclan battle tactics,” Jaypaw said, “I hope this cat wasn’t important during the Great Journey, he can’t keep quiet to save his life.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” He sneered right back, and the two engaged in a short staring contest that shouldn’t have been as effective as it was given one participant couldn’t see.
Squirrelflight gave the kit a none-too-gentle cuff, breaking off the contest and silencing any complaints with a truly heartfelt hiss.
When she rounded on him, Crowfeather attempted to look less apprehensive than he felt.
“Not that we don’t appreciate you finding him, but could you tell me how you ended up with Jaypaw?” She said wryly. Squirrelflight was far too short to make him feel so small, but there was no fighting the effect.
“He wandered into Windclan territory,” He mumbled, “I had to fish him out of the lake.”
But saying that rekindled his earlier anger, Jaypaw had almost died and it had taken his clan the good part of an hour to reach him. Whether or not Jaypaw had potential as a fully fledged warrior, leaving an underweight blind kit alone and unsupervised was asking for tragedy.
“Do your kits always go out by themselves?”
She flinched minutely, he stared back.
“I’m not a kit; I’m an apprentice!” Jaypaw cried, blind to the barest hints of hostility tinging the atmosphere. Squirrelflight swished her bushy tail across his nose to silence him, eyes never leaving Crowfeather.
“Crowfeather,” She said coolly, “I believe Windclan once had cats who went wandering farther than they should.”
Ah . That hurt, the familiar lance of agony met its mark and pierced his heart dead on. His lungs emptied of air and the sweet scent of Leafpool, hated and loved, swept down his pelt like a scar he’d never grow out of.
Squirrelflight watched with something like satisfaction, sharp enough to see the quiet pain shroud over him where even some clanmates missed it.
She forgot, though. Anger was just as familiar a shroud, quick to follow even the worst of his pain, and that temper just might run true through every cat in his line.
His attention fixed back on Jaypaw. He took in his deep Ashfoot-blue eyes, whipcord tail, lean body, and pointed features.
Slowly, purposefully, he returned to Squirrelflight. To her short, plump frame, small ears, and thick fur. To her bright, ginger coloring and leaf-green eyes. To she who looked like Jaypaw’s opposite in almost every way.
You two look nothing alike.
He let that thought sit there on his face and watched.
At first there was blankness, confusion, but he was patient. He watched and waited, staring her down.
Then, like the first rays of dawn breaking across the moor, realization crested over her head. Something very close to terror wracked through Squirrelflight’s entire body from nose to tail. It stayed put, fear-scent acrid and unmoving.
Crowfeather watched and preened, because he was right .
Vindication burned like a sun in his chest, too blinding to bother with indecision or panic, all he felt was the overwhelming pleasure of being right. Of knowing it was another who was wrong, he so rarely got to feel that in his own camp.
“You should get Jaypaw back to camp. He almost drowned, and the water was freezing,” Crowfeather suggested.
“Y-yes, I should,” She said, a little distantly.
With a glance to Stormfur, who was watching his clanmate, and a glance to Jaypaw, who appeared utterly oblivious and was only staring in Crowfeather’s direction, he started for the camp.
To Squirrelflight’s credit, she didn’t say anything about him following them after his escort was complete. Even she knew, it seemed, that he wasn’t going home until he’d seen Leafpool.
He wasn't going home until his kit was going with him.