Chapter Text
About two days’ journey from a settlement the twolegs called Teufort, a small forest held strong in the heart of the surrounding badlands. This forest, which bordered a small lake, was something of a hotspot for wildlife, with accessible water, abundant plants, and little to no twoleg activity. The best established inhabitants were many feral cats, which divided themselves into three social groups. To the East of the lake was Sandclan, which had the fewest trees, but were experts in fishing from the lake, and more than brave enough to go hunting in the badlands further East. Northwest of the lake, in the densest part of the forest, lived Treeclan, who made great use of the bounty of the forest, and protected it fiercely from interlopers. On the lake’s Southwest shore lived Cliffclan, nestled among jagged rocks and trees, they made their homes in hollows of rocks.
As the last light left the sky over a rocky cliffside camp, the medicine cat of Cliffclan busied himself reorganizing his herbs. For the past three moons, Yewwing found himself dreading his half-moon journey, though he knew he could not skip it entirely. He felt a sense of malaise about the future, one which Starclan’s visions and prophecies seemed only to intensify.
“You’re still here?” cut a voice through his musings. Yewwing turned to face the speaker, Mouseburrow, Cliffclan’s deputy. The tabby looked at him quizzically.
“Aheh, well,” Yewwing sputtered. “My organization took more time than I anticipated, who knew how messy I could be!” he chuckled, hoping Mouseburrow wouldn’t think too deeply about the excuse, she knew how meticulous the medicine cat was about his den.
“Hmm,” mewed the deputy, “Well, you should make your way out soon, the Mooncave is a ways away, as Goldenstar tells me.”
“Ah, yes, I’m almost finished!” A lie. His herbs were scattered across his floor, taken out of their places to be put in a new spot.
Mouseburrow looked at the scene at his feet. “I could help you put those away if you want, since it looks a little, umm,” she paused, looking back up at Yewwing, “Like an angry badger ran through here? Uh, no offense.”
Yewwing bristled. “None taken, my young friend! I am switching from organizing by plant type to organizing by medicinal application, so the raspberry leaves go with the poppy seeds, rather than with the other leaves, it’s just easier to find things quickly this way!” An experienced medicine cat could tell different leaves apart at a glance, and Yewwing was nothing if not experienced.
The deputy considered his words for a moment. “That seems like it might take the whole night,” she eventually said.
“I could definitely finish this in less than a night,” retorted Yewwing, but he knew this battle was lost. Completely finishing this project would make him late to the medicine cats’ gathering, and he could not afford to lose face any more than he did with his abrasive personality. “But I suppose you make a point,” he conceded.
Yewwing and Mouseburrow left the medicine cat’s den together, as Mouseburrow escorted him out of camp. Whether it was an act of friendliness, or a way of ensuring he really went to the Mooncave that night, Yewwing didn’t know. He could never be quite sure with Mouseburrow.
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Beyond the edge of Cliffclan’s territories, another two cats patrolled the woodlands of Treeclan, in search of prey which had been sparse the past several days.
“-And Thrushpaw called me a wimp, so really I had to take a bite of the thing, obviously it was gross, but-”
“I don’t really care who said what about who,” Jaggedsong, the deputy of Treeclan, cut in, “just don’t eat carrion that’s been rotting that long, it reflects badly on me as a mentor with you always finding trouble someplace-or-other. And quit talking, you’re scaring what little prey there is away.”
Quickpaw pouted, grumbling quietly to himself (as quietly as Quickpaw was able). He scented the air as the wind shifted, growing tired of their fruitless hunt.
Suddenly, Quickpaw snapped to attention, his ears perked towards the Southeastern wind. “That’s Cliffclan,” he muttered.
“Cliffclan?” wondered Jaggedsong. “Now wait a minute, isn’t tonight-”
Before he could finish, Quickpaw shot off toward the scent. Jaggedsong yelled, following his apprentice. True to his name, Quickpaw was the fastest cat in Treeclan, which made him a pain to keep track of most times.
Quickpaw paid no attention to his mentor’s calls. The Cliffclan presence was a serious offense, one the apprentice would make sure they answered for. Dashing through trees, Quickpaw spotted the source of the scent; a white and gray tomcat, walking briskly on a worn path. Quickpaw pounced without hesitation, knocking the Cliffclan cat to the ground.
The cat cried out in surprise as he was tackled to the ground, and Quickpaw promptly pinned him down. “What the heck are you doing on our turf, Cliffclan? Not enough prey in your rock holes?”
“What? No, I was-”
Quickpaw cut him off. “What are you, some kinda spy? Here to see if we’re to weak to fight back a Cliffclan invasion, is that it?”
“Of course not, I’m just-”
“Well it’s not gonna work, you wanna know why? ‘Cuz I’m a force of-”
“QUICKPAW!”
Both cats turned towards the new voice, a very irate Jaggedsong, panting from catching up.
Quickpaw beamed. “Hey, Jaggedsong! Look, I caught the intruder-”
“Get offa him, now. ” snapped Jaggedsong.
“Huh? I just caught him, and now you’re askin’ me to-”
“Now, Quickpaw.” Jaggedsong’s torn ear twitched as he spoke.
Quickpaw pouted, but did as his mentor asked. The Cliffclan cat huffed as he got up, shaking the dirt off his fur as he did.
“Are you alright, Yewwing?” asked Jaggedsong.
“I’m covered in grime and thoroughly annoyed,” the Cliffclan medicine cat said, “But not physically hurt, no.”
“Good, good to hear,” the deputy replied, before turning to his apprentice. “What in Starclan’s name were you thinking?!”
“B-but, he’s Cliffclan!” protested Quickpaw.
“He’s a medicine cat. Didn’t you know it’s the half-moon?” Jaggedsong growled.
“Huh? No, I didn’t, why’s a medicine cat in our territory anyway?”
Jaggedsong sighed. “He’s on his way to the Mooncave, which is past our territory. Medicine cats go there every half-moon to receive messages from Starclan.” He turned back to Yewwing. “I’m terribly sorry for the trouble my apprentice caused you, please trust that he will be dealt with.”
“Hmph,” Yewwing grumbled. “Well, I certainly hope he will. It’s disgraceful that this even happened in the first place.”
“Of course,” meowed Jaggedsong. “If there is anything Quickpaw can do to make it up to you, please do let me know.” Quickpaw made a noise of protest at his services being offered without his input.
Yewwing perked up at the offer. “Oh? Well that certainly is a nice idea… maybe… no that would be…” he trailed off for a moment, before collecting himself. “Well, I would have to ask my leader about it, come see me during the next Gathering to discuss it then?”
“You’ve got a deal,” Jaggedsong grinned.
“Do I get a say in this?” whined Quickpaw.
Yewwing ignored him. “Well, I really must be back on my way, I was running late to begin with, you see.”
“Of course,” said Jaggedsong. “We’ll see each other soon, I’ll handle Quickpaw’s discipline until then.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Yewwing replied, then turned back on the trail leading to the Mooncave.
Yewwing’s journey took him through the forest, and up North from Sandclan’s territory, over a small stream and into the mouth of a cave. He traversed the tunnels with practiced ease, making his way into a large, open area. Here, glittering crystals lined the cave walls, illuminated by a beam of light shining through a hole in the ceiling. In the center of the room was a large cluster of crystals, where three other cats stood, waiting for Yewwing to arrive.
“You’re late,” said the eldest, a blue she-cat named Rainwhisker.
“Apologies,” replied Yewwing. “I was held up by my duties… and an overzealous Treeclan apprentice.”
Rainwhisker glared. “You blame my clan for your tardiness?”
“I blame no one, I was simply delayed. I made it before midnight, didn’t I?”
“That is the least we could ask you,” said Reedstream of Sandclan.
Yewwing huffed. “Don’t forget, I have the farthest to travel on these nights. I’m not able to leave until sundown, my clan needs me, too.”
“Enough chitchat,” said Sunfeather, Sandclan’s other, and older, medicine cat. “We’ve taken too long, we mustn’t keep Starclan waiting any longer.”
The four cats gathered around the central formation, and each touched their nose to its crystals. In minutes, each cat fell into a deep sleep.
In his slumber, Yewwing saw claws and teeth, too large to be a cat’s. He saw blood splashed on rocks and trees, staining cats’ fur, soaking into grass. He saw fire. The blaze was hot and red, and as tall as the trees. Birds flew from their forest homes, and the smoke blotted out the sun.
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The leader of Cliffclan watched the sun rise over the rocky horizon. It was a ritual she kept, marking the passage of time and another day to conquer
“Goldenstar?” called the voice of her deputy. Mouseburrow climbed up to the leader’s clifftop perch. “Yewwing is back from the Mooncave, he wants to see you.”
“Have him come to me.” Mouseburrow nodded, and took her leave.
The sun had just passed over the horizon line when the leader was spoken to again.
“Goldenstar,” Yewwing called, “I need to tell you what I saw tonight.”
Goldenstar scoffed. “Is it more vague portents of doom?”
“They’re getting less vague every moon, I predict this disaster will befall us soon, that there will be fire, and vicious animals-”
“And I’m sure you’d love that, Yewwing,” she spat.
The medicine cat startled. “I am not so morbid that I’d wish calamity on my own clan!” On others, perhaps, but not his own, he knew better.
Goldenstar looked back to the sun. “We are as prepared as we can be. Whatever comes in the future, Cliffclan will hold strong.”
The sky faded into blue as the last light of morning melted away.