oathkeeper ⚜ // warrior cats

Chapter Four

     Dawnfeather is a commanding figure. As soon as I am ushered into a little camp in the shelter of a maple thicket, she strides toward us, creamy fur glowing in the light that dapples the earth. The stripes on her legs and face are a warm, dizzying contrast to the rest of her fur, which puffs out around her like a pale cloud.

     Her eyes, though, hold none of the warmth her pelt suggests, and neither does her voice. "Lie to me and I will throw you to the foxes." She curls her lip and then demands, "Tell me your name and your reason for walking on my lands."

     "My name is Fernstripe, and I wasn't aware whose lands I was on." Innocence is a safer path than indignance. Usually. Here, though, it seems to heighten everyone's suspicions. All around me, hidden in the shadows of bracken dens, eyes gleam like cold stars, displeased with my response. They want details. Better yet, they want proof.

     Of course, I cannot tell them that I am from their distant future, nor can I provide them with any guarantee of the truth. Which means I must lie, and lie well. Before they can slit my throat for failing to meet their expectations, I expand on my story. "I came from far away, looking for the Clans. My mother raised me on tales of cats that ruled forests, until she was taken from me on the..." It hurts to use my own death this way, but it is still fresh, as are all things the monster took from me. The tale I offer them is false, but the quaver in my voice is real and raw. "Taken from me on the Thunderpath. She's dead.

     "She named me after my grandfather." This is a truth.

     "I thought finding the Clans would be the best way to honor her." This is a lie.

     Maybe they believe me now. The watching eyes all around retreat, returning to whatever it was they were doing before. Only the ring of cats who captured me remain, and Dawnfeather, with her ice-chip eyes.

     "There are no Clans," she growls. "Your mother was wrong."

     Indignance. Now is the time for it, I realize. Before Dawnfeather can continue, I snap, "My mother swore on it. She promised me they were here!"

     The laughter that bubbles up around me steals my breath. Cats whisper to one another and snicker between strokes of their tongue along ruffled fur. Do they sense the lie? Do they think they sense a lie? Worse, do they still believe I'm their enemy? Even Dawnfeather laughs, a mirthless, empty sound that might have been honey-sweet once. She rumbles with a humorless purr from deep in her chest, eyes half-closed with delight.

     "There was a Clan. SunClan. And then Duskfrost thought she deserved to become leader even though I was already the deputy when Ripplestar died. She was jealous," Dawnfeather scoffs, "and she took half of the Clan with her, trying to get what she wanted. At least she'll get what she deserves, though." Her declaration is met with a chorus of tightly-checked cheers; underneath, the rallying cry is tired, as if everyone in the thicket has heard this promise before, as if everyone else has made such a promise, too.

     It could be the oath, though. If giving Duskfrost what she deserves will protect the course of history, I may need to stay close to Dawnfeather, as close as I can be. The trouble with that, though, is that I suspect she doesn't want me here, a feeling that only grows when the sable-point tom tells her that I had a companion, a cat with fur like smoke. Immediately Dawnfeather's gaze locks onto me again with renewed hardness.

     "I told you I would throw you to the foxes if you lied," she says. Her claws unsheathe and bite into the earth. "So, tell me. Where is your friend?"

     I could lie, and say Cinderfoot was never there. I could tell the truth, and say he disappeared. Either way, I've left out a crucial detail; I was not alone in my journey, and everyone on Dawnfeather's lands must clearly be accounted for.