Book Two of the How the Mighty Fall Trilogy
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The Clans are in shambles. Everything Stonetail once knew lies at her feet, no more than a great mountain of dust. Her blood is not pure. Her father is not kind. Her home is not safe. Yet s...
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Few cats offer to help the departing scouts with their preparation. Robinfoot, however, is more sympathetic than most. "I'm sorry about Oaknose," he whispers as he prods at Stonetail's shoulder. Before seeing them off, he insisted on making sure her prior injury would not be a hindrance. Now, it seems he approves, because he allows her to stand again and presses his nose to her forehead briefly.
"Don't worry about him," Stonetail reassures the tabby, returning his gesture. Robinfoot's worry will be his undoing, and though she is perhaps still resentful of him for never coming forward when he first suspected danger, she cannot fully pass judgment. He means well, and Oaknose does not. She knows which of the two she prefers, especially since her medicine cat has dipped into his dwindling herb stores to provide her, Clay, and Streamheart with traveling herbs. He gave the herbs to them in secret, and even now, Stonetail finds it hard to rinse the bitter taste from her mouth no matter how many times she swabs it with her tongue. Still, she'll be grateful later, and with a last bob of her head, she leaves Robinfoot standing by himself and joins Streamheart and Clay at the meadow's edge.
With BreezeClan headed straight through the meadow, setting sun at their backs, WillowClan opted to travel deeper into the thin wood, leaving a stretch of short grass between ShadeClan's patrol and another patch of underdeveloped forest. ShadeClan's patrol is the last to leave, with the other two long departed.
"Ready?" Stonetail asks as she pads up. Streamheart nods, and Clay forces a purr.
"Always ready," he says, the light touch in his voice not meeting his eyes. He takes the lead without anyone asking him, and behind him, Stonetail and Streamheart exchange a short glance, brows furrowed. It isn't like Clay to step up so willingly for the good of others, and he's certainly never shown himself to be the confident leader. That has always been more Coal's expertise, albeit in a quiet, cautious way.
No wonder Clay's behavior has changed. It fills a void the exact shape and shade as his brother, though not very well. Sometimes, Clay widens the hole more than he fills it, and Stonetail's gut twists and deflates as she wishes that the hole wasn't there at all.
But they don't talk about Coal now. He's on his own, entirely by choice, and they have other responsibilities that come first, namely three Clans surviving by the skin of their teeth in foreign lands. Even thinking about him is too much sometimes, too distracting.
Not that Clay does much else.
As the sun sets, he marches onward, saying little as he leads Stonetail and Streamheart through the low grass and into the new wood. His endurance stems from some reserve deeper than anything the she-cats have, and though they preserve valiantly, their strength is not endless. By the time the first sliver of moonlight begins to shiver across the ground, Stonetail calls a halt, her limbs heavy. Traveling herbs only do so much.
"Clay, we need to stop," she says. Her throat is dry, even with the cool night air to soothe it. "We've been going all day."
"I need to rest," Streamheart adds. Instead of waiting for Clay's assent, though, she plods to the nearest bush and wriggles beneath it. A puff of dust and a soft thud later, she is lying on her side with her limbs stretched out. One set of white toes peeks out into the moonlight.
