The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

44. A Painful Truth

     “Remember when Shadesight was stuck in a tree as a kit, and you had to get him out?” Sandfoot purred, reminiscing. “Stonestar tried to climb up and save him, but he was only a kit too.”
      “They’re all you talk about,” Patchback grumbled. “Be careful!” He snarled, lashing his tail. Palepaw drew his paw away quickly.
     “I wouldn’t have pricked you if you weren’t squirming so much,” he challenged. “Hold still, or I’ll leave this ticks on you until you’re just skin and bones.”
     “I already am, seeing as how none of the apprentices do their jobs,” the elder hissed. 
     Sandfoot hummed in agreement. “Apprentices shouldn’t be planning battles. They should be caring for the elders and hunting. Let the warriors take care of things.”
     I’ll be a warrior soon! I’ve done more to help this Clan than half of the cats here! I’ve fought more fights than some of them! Palepaw held his breath as he lifted the bile-soaked moss and dabbed it against the tick. Once it fell, he crushed it with one claw. 
     “Fallenstar would have kept everything in line. She wouldn’t have rewarded kits for playing with rogues,” Sandfoot sighed. He stretched out along the earth. 
     “Fallenstar defended murderers. Remember the last day that Cobweb was here? She fed him. He napped in our camp,” Patchback growled. 
     “He had Palepaw here with him,” Sandfoot argued. “And had just lost his mate.”
     “He killed my daughter,” Patchback sneered.
     Sandfoot nodded. “And rescued Goldstreak. He died for her.”
     Palepaw blocked everything out as best as he could. He didn’t care about his kin. Redwing had raised him, however horrible she was, and Shadowclaw had been like his father. Cobweb didn’t matter in the slightest. What mattered was the upcoming battle.
     Palepaw did not look forward to fighting, but he did feel excited about winning. This would be the official show of strength and, with luck, would end all that had happened in the past moons. Images of the fights he had been in flashed across his mind, as did the scars that he had earned. He remembered the rogues ganging up on Rainfall, threatening to murder her kits. Sandfur’s words explaining Willowtail’s death and the giving up of her kits rang in his ears.
     It ends in two days.
     “You’re prickly,” Sandfoot commented. Palepaw was drawn from his thoughts and found himself bristling. He flattened his fur.
     “I’m thinking of the battle,” he replied, crushing another tick.
     “It’s all anyone thinks about,” Sandfoot grumped. “But it’s important. Why don’t you go help Echopaw? She’s alone in her preparations.”
     I will when I finish. One more tick was upheaved and squashed, and Palepaw buried the tiny insects under the earth. He scowled as he picked up the moss and padded out of the elders’ den. One glance at the sky told him that the rest of the day would be a mess. Gray clouds hung above like massive clumps of fur, ready to shed their weight in rain.
     Palepaw was quick to dispose of the bile-stained moss, rolling it through the dirtplace tunnel, and he back out and stretched. He had spent all day in dens, and although the sun did not shine, he yearned to lay outside and enjoy the fresh air. But Echopaw might need some help.
     And so he trotted towards her den. He could hear her voice, sounding frustrated and even upset, yet heard no other. “It’ll rain, and nothing will dry,” she hissed. “There’s nothing I can do!”
     Palepaw swallowed his unease and slipped inside. “Echopaw,” he greeted. “Do you need help?”
     Echopaw turned to him in surprise. Her fur was as prickly as a thornbush, and she twisted to give it a few licks. “Yes, please,” she answered. “I need to find some dock for the battle. And celandine. Someone might get an injured eye. And cobwebs, and goldenrod.”
     “That’s . . . a lot of herbs,” Palepaw commented. “Maybe some of the warriors will help? Rainfall and Goldstreak would probably love to.” Distress flashed in her eyes, and pity struck him. “I’ll help too.”
     “Thank you,” Echopaw gasped, and Palepaw was shaken when she rubbed her cheek gratefully to his. She was quick to back away. “I’m sorry. I just- I-“
     “You can tell Rainfall and Goldstreak what to look for, and you can talk to me about everything while we walk,” Palepaw offered, keeping his words gentle. Echopaw dipped her head and hurried out of the den.
     Cold draped over Palepaw, like snow from leaf-bare. “Thank you,” a soft voice said, dripping with gratitude. Palepaw shivered fiercely and jerked away, whirling wildly and searching for the source. Nothing was there but a few scattered herbs and churned dirt, ripped up by Echopaw’s anxious claws.
     I’ve heard that voice before. Once, it had been in what he guessed was simply his head. Another time, he had heard it during the battle at the gathering valley. That white and black cat! He bounded out of the den. Echopaw saw him too. I can’t believe I forgot about that. 
     “You should chew some thyme to help you calm down,” Shadowclaw meowed. Echopaw shook her head. 
     “I’m fine. I’m going out with Palepaw to gather herbs.” Alarm flickered across her features. “If that’s okay! He’s- I- I don’t want to interrupt your training-“
     Palepaw padded up to his mentor, who sat by the entrance of camp. “May I go with her?”
     “Of course,” the tom said. “And I’ll ask someone about finding some dock and cobwebs.”
     “And celandine,” Echopaw insisted. “I don’t want anyone losing any eyes.”
     The deputy nodded and slipped away, starting towards the warriors’ den. Echopaw slumped, and Palepaw touched his tail to her shoulder. “Let’s go.” He waited for his friend to get to her paws, and he walked alongside her. “What are we looking for right now?”
     “Goldenrod,” The she-cat mewled.
     Palepaw didn’t say anything else for a while, instead wandering beside his friend. She sulked along, and he would occasionally catch her glancing at him, waiting for a good chance to speak. “Tell me whatever’s on your mind,” he offered. A hard, rock-like tension rose up, only vanishing when Echopaw groaned.
     “I wish Clearwhisker were here. I’m scared to deal with this all alone,” she explained. “Someone is going to get hurt. All I can think of is that vision I had before the meeting with WaterClan. There was sand everywhere, slicked with blood.”
     “And there’s sand at the ambush point,” Palepaw said. 
     Echopaw looked miserable. “Someone’s going to die. But there’s the part of my vision where they were falling.”
     “We’re not on an elevation,” Palepaw assured her. “No one’s going to fall to their deaths.”
     “Then it might not be literal. Someone could still die. I just don’t know how.” Echopaw whimpered as she spoke. “It may not even be about the battle. It could happen at any time!”
     Palepaw stopped in his tracks, causing Echopaw to as well. He looked her in the eyes and studied the fear in them for a moment. “There’s nothing we can do. Cats will always die, whether it’s for their Clan or for another cause. We’ll all die. You’ll die. I’ll die.”
     “That’s not comforting,” Echopaw muttered, looking to the side. Palepaw reached up and pawed her head back to face him.
     “What I mean, is that we can’t change it. There’s nothing we can do but try our best. If someone dies in this battle, they fought as hard as they could, and you would have healed as best as you could.” Palepaw offered a soft purr. “And if someone were to meet their end, where would they be?”
     “StarClan. Hunting fresh prey and enjoying eternal Greenleaf,” answered Echopaw. “I just- The Clan needs everyone. The Clan-“
     “We’ll win this fight. And if we don’t, we’ll be able to try again, and hopefully win then. We’ll keep fighting until we’ve won. And we’ll come out on top.” Palepaw twitched his whiskers. “We have an advantage. We have the element of surprise, and strong warriors. And we have an amazing and caring medicine cat.”
     Echopaw shifted awkwardly. He whiskers drooped slightly, but she eventually brightened. “I’ll do my best.”
     “It’s all any of us can do,” Palepaw mewed. “Where’s the nearest marigold patch?”
     “I’ll lead,” Echopaw said. Palepaw followed behind her, keeping his ears pricked. He listened to the chittering of a squirrel above, and a crow cawed in the distance, its call shrill and scratchy. The forest felt peaceful, as though nothing foul could happen. A breeze brushed against Palepaw’s side, carrying the cool of the coming rains. His ear twitched, tickled by the wind.
     Now could be a good time to ask her about that voice I’d heard. But would she take me seriously? Palepaw slowed and stared at the ground for a moment, studying the leaf-mulch beneath his paws. It blurred. “I have a question.”
     A tiny mrrr came from Echopaw, who looked over her shoulder. “What is it?”
     Where to begin! “I- Uhm- I’ve heard a voice. Twice. Wait- no- three times, but twice, it was just the voice,” Palepaw explained, floundering. He sat down and swished his tail through the grass. “At the last battle, when Beetlestar first attacked and the rogues ambushed us. A white cat with black spots attacked a WaterClan warrior.”
     Something flashed in Echopaw’s eyes. Alarm? “He nodded at you. And he vanished! With everything going on, I forgot, but I heard him again in your den earlier. And I heard him before the battle! It was the day I saved Claypaw from the river.” Palepaw took a deep breath. “And every time I hear him, it’s always so cold. Your den is always cold. And sometimes it follows you. Like he’s following you.” Echopaw did not answer, instead digging her claws into the earth. “Who is he? He- He looked-“
     “Like you,” Echopaw interrupted. “He looks like you. His name is Cobweb. He’s your kin.”
     Palepaw could do nothing but stare. Just before he had offered to help Echopaw, he had listened to Patchback snarl about the cat who had murdered his daughter, who had only been a helpless kit. The cat that Palepaw had only heard occasionally, whom he had blocked from his mind as often as possible. “My father,” he whispered. “A murderer.”
     “He’s . . . a ghost, of a sort,” Echopaw said awkwardly. “And- well-“
     “You just let him follow you around? The ghost of a vicious murderer? A kit-killer?” Palepaw raked his claws through the earth, tearing at the grass. “Why?”
     Echopaw looked hurt. “He’s been helping me to learn herbs and such. He helped me save Ashtail. He even saved my mother during the fire, and-“
     Palepaw stood, fur prickling. “And he killed a kit.”
     “He- He had a reason-“
     “So it’s okay? If one of Rosepetal’s kits annoyed me, is that a good reason to kill them?” Palepaw growled, lashing his tail. “There is never a good reason to kill a kit.”
     Echopaw’s hackles rose. “I didn’t say it was a good reason! He was a medicine cat! He received a prophecy!”
     Palepaw’s voice grew loud. “Then I hope you never receive one yourself! Maybe I should warn Rosepetal!”
     “Tigerkit’s death was horrible!” Echopaw shouted. “Okay? I know that! Cobweb knows that! He regrets it! But he was afraid she would hurt the Clan. But he was wrong. The prophecy included her, but she wasn’t the enemy.” The she-cat took a few steps towards Palepaw. “StarClan themselves told him to wait for me to meet him in the forest! He works for them!”
     “Then is StarClan really so good?” Palepaw sneered. To condone murder! To support a kit-killer! His blood boiled. And this cat is proud of me! He’s been here all this time? “He’s an evil cat, Echopaw, dead or not.”
     Echopaw flinched and backed away. “He’s helped me save my Clanmates. And he knows that what he did was wrong. He’s not an evil cat,” she insisted. “He was just misguided. If you blame anyone, blame StarClan.”
     “Then maybe I will,” Palepaw spat. “Get the marigold yourself.”
     “What about helping your Clanmates?” Echopaw yelped. Palepaw rolled his eyes.
     “I’m not a medicine cat. I’ll help them by fighting in the battle. This is your problem.”

     Palepaw watched the blink of fireflies with a scowl. Although tiredness nipped at his bones from the long patrols Shadowclaw had sent him on, he felt restless. He watched as Redwing paced back and forth by the entrance, obviously anxious over something.
     I understand that. Palepaw pushed himself up. He wanted nothing more than to see Spottedpaw. The thought made his ear twitch as he focused on the new scars that sat above his eye. I was doing nothing wrong. 
     A soft snore made Palepaw’s fur bristle. He glanced towards Scorchpaw, who twitched in his bedding. I did nothing wrong. Bitter with his friend and his leader, tired of sitting in his nest, Palepaw crawled out and crept into the clearing. He said nothing when Redwing glanced at him, and he padded through the dirtplace tunnel. She won’t expect anything. When he reached the other end, he shook his pelt and darted alongside the camp’s wall.
     The cool air felt refreshing as Palepaw raced through the forest, bounding over stones and limbs. He felt, for the first time in a while, free. The hope that he might see Spottedpaw at the river, waiting for him, drove him forward. They had planned to meet again, and he had never showed.
     Would she be angry? Hurt? He swung his head from side to side, launching himself over a dip in the ground and slowing. She’d understand.
     Palepaw burst through a set of brush and peered out at the river, scanning its banks. Eagerly, he ran to the log that spanned the water and leaped onto it. He sniffed at its center, and crept towards WaterClan’s side. They’ve definitely patrolled recently. And they’re making sure to mark the bridge. There’s no sign of Spottedpaw though.
     Ears lying back, he crouched in the middle of the log and watched the current as it brushed against rocks. We have one more day to prepare for the battle. I’ll be fighting her Clanmates. He swallowed the distress that rose in his chest and blocked his throat. But I won’t fight her. I can focus more on the rogues if I have to.
     Something cold struck Palepaw just between his shoulders. A drop of water had hit him and soaked into his fur. More followed as dark clouds blotted out the moon.