Darkest Night

Three sunrises had passed since they’d left the ThunderClan camp. In that time they’d made progress on building their own new camp. Leafstar had picked out the small clearing where the pine trees opened to let a narrow stream cut through. Cedar and juniper grew here, creating a curious oasis among the straight lines of pine. Violetpaw knew the spot well. Needletail had shown it to her many moons ago. Low branches, hung with dusty lichen, formed a natural dome for the grove. Soft green moss grew over the smooth rocks, which edged the stream. Ferns made natural walls, though Leafstar planned to reinforce them with bramble twines. The SkyClan leader had already chosen a low-growing juniper for the apprentices’ den and a bramble for the warriors’ den, though it would take some work to make them habitable. Another bramble thicket, growing where the stream flowed into the camp, would be the nursery. Macgyver and Sparrowpelt were working on it now, weaving in straggling tendrils to strengthen the walls. Tinycloud had already made a nest inside.

Leafstar’s den was a hollow in the old cedar at the far end of camp. Its entrance was at the top of a tangle of roots. The space below, where the roots formed a natural cave, would make a good medicine den when the Clan had decided who its medicine cat would be.

Violetpaw bit into her mouse, stung by Twigpaw’s words. Violetpaw has always been sensitive. Her sister hadn’t meant them meanly but it felt like a criticism. Violetpaw prickled with resentment. You were raised among cats who wanted you around. She glanced at Twigpaw, who was happily eating. Maybe if you’d been the one chosen for ShadowClan, you’d be sensitive too.

Twigpaw looked up from her meal. “What was your dream about?”

Violetpaw avoided her gaze. “Nothing really.”

“Let her be,” Hawkwing mewed softly.

“It had to be something if it woke you and Hawkwing up.” Twigpaw took another bite of mouse and stared inquisitively at Violetpaw. “I want to know.”

“It was about Needletail.” Violetpaw stared at her mouse.

“Needletail was Violetpaw’s friend,” Twigpaw explained to Hawkwing. “Darktail killed her.”

Violetpaw shuddered.

Hawkwing rested his tail over hers. “We’ve all lost someone.” He gazed sympathetically into her eyes. “Please don’t feel alone in your grief.” He nodded toward Macgyver, raising his voice so the black-and-white tom could hear. “We’ve all suffered these past moons.”

Macgyver turned from his work to meet the deputy’s gaze. “That’s true enough.” He glanced at Blossomheart. The look seemed to flit around the camp, passing from one cat to another, making them pause and grow solemn as though awaking sad memories.

Leafstar straightened beside the fresh-kill pile. “We are not the Clan we used to be,” she admitted. “But once we are settled, I will send a patrol back to the gorge to look for lost Clanmates who may still be alive.” She spoke encouragingly. “We must not give up hope on all those who are lost.”

“There must be more of us still alive,” Blossomheart agreed.

Tinycloud padded toward the stream. “Once my kits are born, the Clan will seem more like its old self.”

Hawkwing purred. “It will be good to have kits running around.”

“Do you ever wonder what we looked like when we were kits?” Twigpaw looked at him brightly.

“Every day.” Hawkwing’s eyes glazed wistfully.

“Do you miss our mother?” Twigpaw asked.

Violetpaw glared at her. Were all ThunderClan cats so insensitive? Twigpaw seemed unaware of her stare. She blinked at her father, waiting for an answer.

“Yes.” Hawkwing’s mew was husky. Violetpaw winced, feeling his grief. “Pebbleshine was kind and warm. I loved her very much.”

“Will you tell us about her?” Twigpaw asked.

“He will, when he’s ready,” Violetpaw mewed quickly.

Hawkwing glanced gratefully at Violetpaw. “It’s okay, Violetpaw. I’m always happy to talk about your mother.”

Violetpaw dropped her gaze. Did he really mean it? She was curious about the cat who had kitted them, then died before they’d opened their eyes. She wished she remembered, but Pebbleshine had no real shape in her thoughts. I don’t even remember her scent.

Twigpaw jumped to her paws. “Tell us about her while we’re hunting.” She glanced eagerly toward the fern tunnel that formed the camp entrance. “I have so many questions!”

Hawkwing purred fondly. “Let me finish my vole first.” He glanced at Violetpaw. She was halfway through her mouse. “We’d better hurry up or Twigpaw will leave without us.”

Twigpaw blinked at him, puzzled. “I’d never leave without you,” she mewed earnestly.

“Of course not,” Hawkwing soothed. “I was just teasing.”

Violetpaw gulped down the rest of her mouse. I hope hunting makes Twigpaw forget her questions. When Hawkwing had finished his vole, they headed out of camp.