Aspenheart greeted him with a smile, which Raventail returned out of habit. ”It’s just a name.” His tone landed a hair short of levity. Despite what he’d thought throughout his apprenticeship, becoming Ravenstar was so much more than that. While leadership didn’t always change a cat, it changed how others would see him, in his Clan and beyond it. It changed his limits. A leader was meant to give everything for their Clan nine times over—and he had learned from the best. He sighed. ”…Me, too. Hopefully this’ll be it.”
Eager to focus on anything but the journey ahead, he watched as Aspenheart picked a cluster of herbs from the rest and sorted them into two matching piles. As comforting as Softpaw’s gentler manner would have been, it was honesty he needed now. ”You’re going to do fine.” Aspenheart slid one pile of herbs toward him. Raventail bent down, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the question. Ready for the walk, yes; ready to face the tunnels, probably; ready to face a group of starry strangers in all their glory…well. ”As ready as I’ll ever be.” The herbs were supposed to be bitter. He could hardly taste them as he chewed, swallowed, stepped back.
The two of them set off through the gorse tunnel, Raventail walking at Aspenheart’s side. As WindClan’s camp fell further and further behind them, the sky darkened; he kept his eyes fixed on Highstones’ distant peaks. Though not all of StarClan was to blame for newleaf’s upheaval, there was no changing the fact that, when he looked to the stars, he could only see the faces of the cats who’d killed his best friend. In time, they reached the Mothermouth, and then there wasn’t much point in looking up at all. Though the path to the Moonstone wasn’t much like the tunnels Grousefrost had taught him to navigate, Raventail closed his eyes as he ducked into the darkness, letting Aspenheart’s footfalls and the brush of stone against his whiskers lead him.
The walls opened into a grand cavern bathed in moonlight. It was time. Raventail knelt, tucking his legs underneath him. Up close, the sacred stone’s light blazed as fiercely as the sun itself despite the chill it cast over his face. His eyes shut, he leaned forward and at last allowed his nose to brush against the Moonstone.
Before he could fully discern the sensation of falling sideways into sleep, he opened his eyes. His first journey here had happened so long ago that the only cats he could’ve recognized were the parents he’d lost to the flood, but there was no forgetting that first glimpse of the other side of Silverpelt. The StarClan he saw now was the one he knew. A rippling sea of mist, grass, and flowers sprawled out around him. The moonless sky shone a brilliant silver. So, too, did the group of cats awaiting him, illuminated and shadowed at the same time. Though he couldn’t make out their faces, something told him they could see his own perfectly. Trying to ignore the distinct feeling of his heart slipping into his paws, Raventail flexed his paws against the cool grass and stood tall. His ears gave a single twitch.
”Welcome, Raventail.”
It wasn’t one voice, but many, woven together so tightly Raventail couldn’t separate them. Something rattled deep inside him like the crunch of bone under his forelegs, the telltale rumble of a tunnel giving way, the rushing roar of floodwater. Like the Righteous Few’s voices, yet different. The same power for a different purpose. He tried very, very hard not to shudder as it echoed around him once again. ”Are you ready to receive your nine lives?”
”I am.” Amidst the lingering remnants of StarClan’s voice, his own didn’t sound like much. It came out soft and utterly mortal, one cat, just one cat meant to carry a Clan on his shoulders—but it didn’t waver, almost defiant in its resolve, and in their silence the stars showed their acceptance.
Out of the shadows came forth a lean but well-muscled tom. His smooth brown pelt glistened with the mystical stars that adorned it. Despite the rather serious expression he was harboring, his amber eyes held nothing but warmth and a hint of playfulness. The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hold his composure but soon enough, his own face betrayed him as his signature grin formed. He couldn't help it really. He had always been a high-spirited tom, even during his time as deputy. His seemingly limitless energy was fairly infectious and it came in handy when training apprentices and handling his everyday tasks.
Upon recognizing the first StarClanner who’d broken away from the group, Raventail cracked a faint smile. Strange, that the cat who’d led Ravenpaw to the Moonstone would be the first to meet him tonight. No matter how many moons had passed, he couldn’t forget that casual, lighthearted manner or the easy acceptance of an apprentice’s restless paws. Swiftstep was the only WindClan deputy Raventail had ever known, brought down seasons ago by the illness that had forced him to resign—someone Raventail would have gladly asked for advice if he’d had the chance. Apparently, that chance had come.
”My-my look at ya Raventail! I remember when you were just a young'un barely beginnin' his life. You were always quite the calm scrap of fur, tamer than most other kits for sure. Hmm...From what I see before me, I say you grew a few mouselengths since I last saw ya,” drawled the older tom, an underlying teasing tone in his smooth voice. He gave a closed eye smile before quickly adding, ”I sure hope you recognize me though. In the case that ya don't, the name's Swiftstep. I was the deputy under Brindlestar and Finchstar. However, my time with Finch hadn't been for long. It was due to an unfortunate circumstance that couldn't be avoided…” The tom had trailed off, looking slightly spaced-out. He quickly shook himself out of his wistful stupor. He could dwell on the past some other time. Right now, he needed to give some helpful advice to the younger tom in front of him and then give him a very important gift.
Swiftstep stepped closer until he was directly in front of the black-furred tom before he began to speak again. This time, the serious expression from a bit earlier returned. ”As you know, leading and caring for a clan is no easy task. There are many qualities that one must have to be a great leader. One of the most important is being honest with your clan. You cannot expect them to be truthful if you yourself aren't. They're your family and they look up to you. They put their whole trust in you and you must make sure to honor it. Therefore, to assist you in being as deceit-free as you can be, I bestow to you the life of integrity. Do the right thing, even if nobody is around to see. Be a leader that nobody will lose faith in. Remember that even the littlest of lies can grow to become the biggest of nightmares.” As soon as he had finished, as to waste no more time, he abruptly pressed his nose against Raventail's.
The moment Swiftstep made contact, pain shot down Raventail’s spine to the tip of his tail. A strangled yelp broke out of his throat. Nothing he’d felt could have prepared him for this. It felt like the sickness the Righteous Few had sent, something he couldn’t fight or cure no matter what he tried, scalding his insides where he couldn’t even see the marks it left. Then, suddenly, it vanished. The pain, the gentle pressure of Swiftstep’s nose against his, all of it gone in an instant, leaving him to stare up at the brown-furred tom in kittish bewilderment. He’d spent so long worrying about who he’d meet here, who he wouldn’t, what they would say. Not once had he imagined how it would feel to receive a live someone else had lived.
Eight more times, he thought as his heartbeat settled. Just eight more.
Once the life was given, Swiftstep nudged him in a friendly manner. ”Take care of them and yourself. I have no doubts that you will be a great leader. I wish you a well and prosperous future. Until we meet again my friend. Hopefully it won't be soon,” he murmured softly, nudging the tom once again before slowly stepping back. He dipped his head out of respect and retreated back into the darkness, the shadows enveloping him until he was no longer in sight.
Swiftstep’s nudge nearly sent Raventail off-balance. He had the presence of mind to return it, sounding dazed to his own ears as he murmured, ”I will, I promise.” With that, Swiftstep rejoined the crowd, and the second life-giver stepped forward.
Often, StarClan cats found themselves the age they’d been during their happiest days. The sliver of time between Cardinalcry’s return and her exile was the only part of Lightfang’s life that he could call “peaceful,” and so, once he’d realized he could be at peace once again, that was the shape he’d chosen. He looked hardly a sunup past his warrior ceremony. Were it not for the starlit scars lining his throat, he would have been unrecognizable. Even his expression had changed. He no longer wore the hunted look he’d had in life, no longer held himself as if he wished he were sparrow-sized. Raventail blinked, confusion returning. ”Lightfang?”
Something flickered in the pale tabby’s dull blue eyes. He bowed his head. ”Raventail.” Then Lightfang stepped forward. WindClan, and Finchstar especially, had been beyond kind to him and the other mountain cats. It showed in their patience as he’d learned how to catch rabbits, in their willingness to assign him an apprentice and Ferretdance’s own willingness to be taught by an outsider, in how carefully they’d patched up Burningwolf’s wounds and buried his only daughter like one of WindClan’s own. Though he realized, now, that he’d failed them by leaving, he’d been deemed worthy to walk in Silverpelt. Perhaps that was why he’d been chosen for this—to take his first steps toward repaying the Clan who’d done so much for him. The only Clan he could’ve truly called home.
In light of that, he knew exactly what sort of life he had to give.
He began, each word carefully measured. ”Every cat makes mistakes. They can’t be undone, and they can’t be forgotten. I never let go of who I was or what I’d done.” Lightfang’s mouth curved into a small, rueful smile. ”…It didn’t make me better. I left WindClan just like I left SkyClan. I…died because of it.” Relieved to be done talking for the moment, he fell silent. His paws drifted soundlessly over the heather until, a whisker’s length from Raventail, he stopped. ”With this life, I give you forgiveness. If you’d give another traitor a chance to change, give it to yourself.”
Lightfang bent down much like Swiftstep had. Raventail shut his eyes, waiting for another jolt of pain. It wasn’t enough. This life manifested as a slow ache that burrowed into his stomach, then enveloped the rest of his body and squeezed. It grew and grew until it was almost unbearable—and Raventail, fearing his legs might give out, leaned forward—but before it could unbalance him, it settled back into numbness, then nothing. Raventail let out a shaky breath. When he opened his eyes, Lightfang was gone; he caught a glimpse of a striped tail disappearing into the crowd.
A striking silver tabby she-cat stepped forward, watching him with cool blue eyes and a soft smile. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Raventail. My name is Featherlight, former medicine cat of WindClan—we have not met before, my time was well before yours, but please... I offer to you now what little wisdom I have to share."
Only the constant awareness of where he was helped Raventail stop himself from bristling. A stranger. StarClan’s air had a way of muddling scents; hers told him nothing. Before he could open his mouth to ask, however, she gave her name freely, explaining she’d lived before him. Like Galestar, part of him insisted. But as far as he knew, most of the Righteous Few had been at Fourtrees that night; now that their leaders were gone, he doubted the rest of StarClan would let one of them make it to the Moonstone. Besides, there was something genuine in the smile on Featherlight’s face that made him want to trust her. He nodded, letting his shoulders drop.
In a swift and gentle motion, she touched her nose to his, much like a mentor to their apprentice. "With this life, I give you the gift of patience. The wisdom of knowing when to wait is a powerful thing indeed, as I'm sure you'll learn in time. Great leaders have fallen thanks to too much or not enough, but I trust that you will use it well."
Again, Raventail braced himself; again, it proved pointless, though for a different reason. As she spoke, the sensation of this life wasn't painful at all—instead, it was as if a wave of calm washed over him. His buzzing thoughts quieted. From the moment he’d covered the last of Finchstar’s pelt in earth, he’d known he needed to do this. Now, for the first time, he thought he could. Not because he had no other choice, but because maybe, just maybe, he was strong enough to face it. After a moment, Featherlight drew back, regarding him with a smile once more as she vanished into the audience.
Someone else might have felt out of place as the only RiverClanner attending a moorland ceremony. Fortunately, the tall calico she-cat who emerged from the crowd next was not someone else. Being able to watch so much more of the world she’d left had, if anything, made her more certain of where she stood. She didn’t know (or, to be honest, care) how WindClan did things, yet she’d been chosen for this—and she thought she understood why. Between her time in the forest and her time in Silverpelt, she’d had the privilege of watching two of her own leaders. One who fell, one who rose. In her eyes, that made her beyond qualified to speak.
”You don’t know me.” With a grand wave of her brown-spotted tail, she closed the distance between herself and the leader-to-be, padding around him in a wide, careful circle. The wariness in Raventail’s eyes flickered. ”I’m Mudfrost, warrior of RiverClan. I helped drive off the Righteous Few.” In truth, her biggest regret (aside from not getting help for the greencough that had killed her) was not tearing a strip out of Vixenstar’s pelt when she had the chance. That wasn’t knowledge meant for a WindClan cat, however, so she continued. ”I’ve never been a leader, but I know what leadership means. It means doing what’s best for your Clan above all else. Sometimes, it means making sacrifices.”
She paused in front of Raventail. Up close, her expression wasn’t nearly as sharp. ”You’ve been lucky so far, but everyone’s luck runs out eventually. One day, you’ll have to choose. Yourself, your loved ones, your own beliefs—or the good of your Clan.” Mudfrost jammed her nose against the short tom’s forehead. ”With this life, I give you strength,” she said, ”to make that choice. To know what needs to be done, and to act on it. No one else will decide for you.” Whether he took her advice was of no consequence to her—as long as his choices didn’t drag RiverClan back into the line of fire.
Featherlight’s gift had been soothing like the winds Raventail so often followed. Mudfrost’s seized him like a badger. It was no worse than Swiftstep’s, yet it shook him twice as hard and let him go several heartbeats too late. Wincing internally at the lines he’d left in the dirt, he retracted his claws. Mudfrost withdrew without another word to him, holding her head high; no one took her place…as far as Raventail could see. Hidden by shadow, the fifth StarClanner moved.
Dark paws padded over the ground, yellow eyes glowing in the night. They watched the other one step back—some cat from RiverClan he didn’t know—and he stopped, tail swishing lazily, stars glimmering a sparkling trail behind and gently ebbing and flowing across his pelt like the breeze brushing through silvery grass. The black pelt in front of him fit into it perfectly, the white paw and chin he couldn’t see from his angle like stars shining out.
He remembered the last time he’d seen it in life, like it was just the other dawn. Splatters of blood, a pained look, a hint of tears. Swirling light above, the rustling of tree leaves, green and alight with the glow of morning. The green, earthy smell of a familiar place, a safe place. Breath sighing from his body, rising to escape into the sky above, leaving them behind to cry over his battered, broken body.
That last moment. You... my friends. His only friends, actually. And more like brothers than his adopted ones. Strange how he’d managed to become friends with the two of the kindest-hearted—if a little downy-brained—cats in the Clan. Finchstar had joined him since then. Murkpaw had watched as Galestar killed him, the starry ground ripping beneath his claws, hissing rabbit-brain at the down-head’s posturing and speeches, even as he knew he was right. He’d experienced it himself, hadn’t he? Even if he never would have said it in life, that concept Finchstar always rabbited on about—love—had changed him. Love, and not some stupid code.
A gentle breeze ran through Murkpaw’s fur, curling ahead of him to ruffle Raventail’s pelt, carrying the scent of pinpricks of the night, the faintly sharp-yet-sweet smell of gorse flowers, and the tang of the peaty grass from the home they’d once shared.
He let a faint snort free of his nose as it broke through the moment of reminiscence he’d allowed himself. The random RiverClan cat was gone, and it looked like StarClan was all impatient for him to get going. I know, I know. Tail-tip twitched once before his paws brushed forward again, leaving the past behind to approach the other’s back, a gleam in his murky eyes. Some of the others would have been horrified at him sneaking up behind the leader, but they all needed something to liven the boring ceremony up, anyway.
Besides, that breeze should have already alerted him.
As the silence wore on and Raventail remembered how to breathe, he gathered his thoughts. Exhaustion and adrenaline tussled for control inside him. Four lives given. Fighting the beast-cats hadn’t left him as drained as this, and he still had five lives to go. But his senses were as sharp as ever, maybe sharper. When the shifting winds carried a fresh scent to him, his heart soared tree-lengths over the lingering pain. Who else would think to sneak up on him at a time like this? Eyes dry and bright as a kit’s, no blood in his fur or shadows in his grin, Raventail spun to meet one of his oldest friends. ”Murkpaw.”
“Raventail.” For one of the few times in his life, or rather, his death, he called his friend by his name, a slow smile of greeting spreading over his maw as the other turned. Murkpaw cocked his head slightly, regarding him. “You look better this time. Not great, but better. Less blood is always good.”
A twitch pulled at the corner of his maw. “They told me I need to say a bunch of words and then hit you with a bolt of lightning. It’s weird, but it makes you live longer.” He snorted. “The rabbit-brains also said I can’t give you twenty, which doesn’t make any sense to me, because you need them.
“But if I just have one, I’ll give it.” He went silent for a moment, mulling over the words. Finchstar would say something stupidly long with a lot of flowery words, Smokepelt... probably something short and grumpy. Him? A breath, in, out. The life had coalesced inside him from the moment Raventail took up WindClan's leadership. He knew what he wanted to say.
So he said it.
His voice came out uncharacteristically powerful, his murky yellow eyes holding Raventail’s with an unwavering stare. “I give you the life to see. Every cat around you, rabbit-brain or not, has a story. They have a reason why they’re like that. You saw me, and you didn’t turn away, even though you could have. You didn’t leave me as a useless gorseheart. I give you the life to see the cats who need your help—” A flicker of something like dry amusement passed through his eyes—“and your sappy fluff-headedness, like I did.
“See them, understand them.”
He braced himself, reaching forward and touching his nose solidly to Raventail’s, his eyes on his friend’s bright yellow ones, watching as the jolt passed with a hair-raising crackle from him to the other. Raventail's failures had happened; he’d come, he’d gone—he’d gained loyalty, he’d lost it—but he was still here. That was all that mattered. And he really did need a few more lives.
He stepped back as Raventail blinked, waiting for him to come back. When his eyes had focused again, Murkpaw went on, “You and Finchstar showed me what loyalty, friendship, and... love are like. I thought it was fluff-headed and stupid, but...” He cocked his head again, a thoughtful look in his eyes, a slight smile pulling briefly at his maw as he shrugged. “It’s not bad.”
The smile turned dry as his eyes flicked to a certain spot in the starry crowd, and he added, “You know the life that rabbit-head will give you. You have enough to drown a Clan, but he’ll talk your ears off anyway and give you extra.”
The brief smile faded. And now for the part he’d tried to push away, tried to rationalize, and tried very hard to forget, to no avail. The thought had pushed at his mind, growing as the leader ceremony approached, stifled at the gathering, but growing until it almost begged to burst free.
“I have a favour.” One ear twitched slightly uncomfortably as he glanced away from his friend’s eyes, his tail-tip flicking just a little. It was stupid, but... “Take your kit on a hunting patrol. Before dawn. Show her some good places to hunt rabbits,” He mumbled, a hint of a gruff tone to the edge not taking away the heartfeltness of his words. Smokepelt had never taken him out, he’d never got to know the tom. He’d gained his grumpiness, but nothing else. A part of him, when it saw Raventail, Dappleshine, and Fogpaw... an odd loneliness crept into his heart, unwanted, but still there.
A moment later, his head came back up, a glint in his eye as the moment passed. “And sit on her if she doesn’t get up.”
Though part of him was still reeling from the fifth life and the words that had accompanied it (”that rabbit-head” could only be one other cat), Raventail straightened, ears perked. Any request coming from Murkpaw had to be an important one. The last addition shocked a laugh out of him. As energetic as Fogpaw was, he doubted he’d need to follow through on that part of the promise—but he pledged to do so anyway, purring, ”Of course. After the Gathering. You can drag me out of my nest if I forget.” Somehow, he didn’t think he would.
Murkpaw waited for the other’s reply, the slight tense feeling in his muscles loosening when he did, and he nodded, stepping back again and glancing to the side at a familiar orange-and-black cat. “Hey, you, hare-brain, hurry up and give him your life! We haven’t got all night. Make it a good one.”
And he turned, one last flash of yellow, almost with a hint of humour, flashing in the shadows, his dark pelt fading back into the faint glimmering of the starry hosts surrounding them.
A tall, lean warrior limped up after Murkpaw and stepped forward to greet Raventail. His limp was noticeable and familiar; the tortoiseshell tom was missing his left hind leg. Unlike the scars that marred his body in life and were since removed upon entering StarClan, Elmskip’s leg wasn’t restored. He didn’t need it, nor did he want it. He was comfortable, finally, in his own skin, and it showed on his warm features as he gazed fondly at the black warrior before him. ”Welcome to StarClan, Raventail,” he purred, smiling at his old friend. ”It’s good to see you again, and to see you doing so well. I always had faith in you.”
Raventail’s easy smile was tempered by the burning of his ears. ”Good to see you, too.” Elmskip may have lacked confidence, but he’d been a rock in his own quiet way. When WindClan needed careful warriors to help them relearn the art of tunneling, he was there; when they fought the beasts, he was there. During their most recent battle, he’d been there for them once again, always brave, always reliable even from behind a veil of stars. A cat like that had faith in Raventail. ”Thanks, Elmskip,” he said quietly. There would be time to marvel at that later; for now…it was nice, seeing a friend as comfortable with himself as he deserved to be.
Elmskip padded forward, getting barely a nose-length away from the leader-to-be. ”With this life, I grant you the gift of perseverance. Use this gift to always stay strong. Always keep moving forward. Always keep your head up and keep running. And it will be hard. It’s never easy. I know you have the strength to push on.” With that, he leaned forward and touched his forehead against Raventail’s and stepped away.
Remembering perseverance, remembering strength through a struggle, Raventail winced in preparation for the life that was to come. He soon realized there wasn’t much need to. The pain that flowed through the black tom’s body was not sharp, more like the full-body soreness one got from a long battle or a long journey on their paws. It was a persistent ache that spoke of triumph, though one that only came about from hard work. It ran deeper than anything he’d felt tonight, echoing the pains he knew best—and then it faded, leaving Raventail ready to receive his next life. He raised his head—
Only for a new ache to catch him square in the chest.
"Hello, again, Raventail," a new deep voice sang through the shimmering space around them. A pale cream tabby tom emerged from the cluster of cats watching the proceedings, his face and chest scarred and his dark-hazel eyes glowing with love and pride; there was no other emotion but joy as his gaze met Raventail's. Barleytuft stood before the living cat, purring with starlight shining on his trembling whiskers. "Hopefully the next moons of your leadership will go more smoothly than your first," the starry warrior declared, scarred ear flicking in acknowledgement of the dark, dry humor there. He added with a chuckle, "You're looking well. Starlight shines well on you." His long ringed tail waved with contentment behind him; for a moment he basked in the presence of his long-time friend, a brother or son or nephew or something of that kind.
Raventail could only stare. Though Barleytuft wore every scar he’d earned over the moons, he hadn’t carried the worst of his age with him. The graying fur on his muzzle had regained its pale color. He breathed easily, lungs untouched by whitecough. When at last Raventail forced himself to look at the senior warrior’s face rather than between his ears, he noticed one more change. Barleytuft’s expression held none of the ambiguity that had hung over their last few interactions. Instead, there was warmth. Trust. Forgiveness, maybe. The knot in Raventail’s throat strangled any attempts at a greeting. He met his friend’s eyes with unguarded wonderment, knowing he had nothing to fear from them, and thought, Stars, Barleytuft, I missed you.
Barleytuft took a breath and continued, his voice wistful and warm, "Starlight shines well within you, too. Who would've thought my apprentice's apprentice would one day lead the Clan we love?" There was no skepticism, no doubt, only a mild amusement at how life seemed to twist unravel in the strangest, most unpredictable ways. "You will do well, my friend. You will have doubts, and you will struggle, but you will come through the struggles stronger than you were before them. We've seen that before, haven't we?" he suggested, a knowing look in his eyes. The lake; Brookclover's death; the barn; the beast-cats; deputyship; Finchstar's execution. Raventail was still standing, still here, now. At times he had fallen, or he had fled, or he had hidden from the responsibilities that loomed over him, but always he had returned stronger than before, smarter and more loyal.
The starry tom took a step forward so his muzzle was nearly touching his sandy nose to the dark one on Raventail's face. "When the struggles feel too heavy, I give you a life of devotion," Barleytuft declared gently. He stretched his neck, pressing his nose to the WindClan leader-to-be. The stars in his tabby fur flickered and shone, brighter near Raventail as the life passed from the deceased tom to the living. "Use it to stand fast when you and that which you love are threatened—your kin and Clan, your health and happiness. Use it to resist the fear you will feel, to throw yourself into action instead of into safety. Draw upon your experiences and your strength to carry you through the darkness and back to the light and strength of your Clan." The pale tom took a step back then, taking in a low, shaky breath as he examined Raventail with pride.
"You are loved, Raventail, as you are and as you have been. Never, ever forget that, my friend." With that, Barleytuft dipped his head and stepped back, not quite melding into the crowd as before but watching with all the admiration he could convey. Raventail's life was always in his paws, but now he had grown to command it just as he would grow to command WindClan. The starry tom would watch his dear friend's journey with peace and patience, knowing that the WindClan leader-to-be had traveled far to make it to this point. Whatever came next, Raventail would surely find his paws.
This new life burned through Raventail slowly. He bore it with his head held high, gritting his teeth as his claws sank into the soft earth. He’d never known Barleytuft to give less than everything for his family, his Clan, and most of all, the spaces where the two overlapped. That devotion had led Barleytuft out of camp in the dead of night to save his daughter and a hare-brained deputy who’d gone looking for a fight he couldn’t win. That devotion had sent him and Raventail sprinting side by side down the Gorge. It was the greatest of all the things he’d admired Barleytuft for; it was what WindClan needed, what Dappleshine and Fogpaw deserved, what Raventail himself wanted to be; and when the pain faded, he almost missed it.
The next figure stalked from the shadows with grace and purpose evident in each step. Those pawsteps betrayed her identity in an equal measure to the vibrantly hued russet pelt. Spirited green eyes met Raventail's without hesitation. Knowing, underlined with unimaginable love, danced and twinkled in the depths. If it were possible, she were more beautiful in death. The she-cat sparkled from whiskers to tail tip in a blanket of shimmering stars. Brookclover was more than willing to step away from her eternal rest to greet one of her former apprentices. This tom had possessed a special corner of her heart, nestled just below the one true love of her life. Ever since her untimely passing, she had watched eagerly from the stars to see what kind of warrior she had raised.
Admittedly there were moments where she believed the young tom would abandon the clan forever and find himself enamored with the shameless life of a rogue. Yet, he'd managed to prove that even with his wild heart, Raventail was bound to the clan that had raised him. Between Finchstar and the new leader of WindClan, Brookclover was surprised she had not been driven mad yet. However, in a similar way to his untamed emotions, the pair drew out a tenderness she hardly knew existed within herself. They were freedom and hope; she was sureness and devotion, both things meshed together in the most glorious of ways. All three cats had grown to be better versions of themselves because of the bond they shared. Annoyance at the rabbitbrained way her mate commanded the moors would always give way to the love she reserved for him. Now, with another piece of her nestled among the stars, it was time they watched Raventail grow into leadership.
A thousand seasons couldn’t make Raventail forget. Though he hadn’t called Brookclover his mother any more than she’d called him her son, that was the only way he could think of to describe what she’d been—what she’d always be to him. The first thing tying him to the place he now knew as his home. His first real family. And she’d seen it all, everything he regretted and everything he knew he’d stand for until even the stars forgot him, yet here she was. Were it not for the stars fixed deep within her fur and how little her face had changed since he’d last seen it, she might have been alive.
Stars, he was as old as she’d been.
Under the string of reunions and words each friend or stranger had piled on his shoulders, there wasn’t much of him left to break down. Raventail’s first breath came out as a sob. His legs carried him forward, oblivious to the pressure of StarClan’s eyes on him, stopping a kitstep too short for him to bury his face in his mentor’s fur.
"It's been far too long, apprentice." Brookclover finally meowed, her voice somehow husky and silken all in one breath. Admiration was writ across her maw, any conflicted emotions of the past they hadn't spoken of fell away to never be addressed. This was a sacred time, one in which WindClan would enter a new era. So many cats had died over the moons but the spirit of them was left behind and with this gift would live on further still through Raventail. As much as she longed to delve into discussing the several seasons they had been apart and everything that she had witnessed from above, more pressing circumstances were at the forefront and she was a cat driven by duty. There was no hesitation in her voice as the red-furred warrior conjured up the words to captivate her audience of one, "Raventail, the time has come, to remind you that you are as soft-brained as the tom who helped to raise you."
A twitch of whiskers betrayed the light play at humor before she continued, "I give you the life of conviction, in hopes that you may be steadfast in your dedication and unwavering in commitments and beliefs. Show them what you can do." With that, she stretched her nose to press gently to his. The life that surged through the new leader's body did not cease. It threatened to overwhelm him and split him apart. Not a moment did the fiery cease. And then, it was snapped away all at once. Yet one could argue it was still there, writhing like fire ants of the pelt and sending relentless energy through his paws.
"Show them what you can do, my son."
”Brookclover.” Her name stuck in his mouth. ”Mom.” Just for a heartbeat—as long as he could bear, knowing how many moons would pass before he’d get another chance—he pressed his face into her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut until it hurt. I will. I’ll make you proud. Then Brookclover stepped back into the crowd, and Raventail, blinking furiously, prepared to face his final life. It could be no one else. Brookclover and Finchstar had been separated for so long, but here, nothing could keep them apart.
Interestingly enough, the next cat before Raventail found his eyes tracing Brookclover’s frame as she padded away, a soft smile sitting contentedly on his maw. Yellow eyes followed the she-cat to his side, where she sat farther back into the starry mist. The glimmer of Silverpelt made her russet fur even more radiant. A chuckle escaped the tom’s maw as those same eyes came to rest on Raventail, glowing in the ethereal dew. “When I first saw Brookclover, I told myself that there would be nothing that dared to surpass her beauty.” The tom dipped his head in a formal greeting, brows rising with a twinkle of amusement behind his sunny eyes. “I was right, of course. I woke up with quite the headache, finding myself in StarClan, surrounded by this silvery grass and trees. Yes, trees. You could imagine the confusion I felt, having been born and raised on the moors.” The tall tom came and rested his long tail around Raventail’s back, seemingly waiting for a cue, or a sign. “Now, it wasn’t long until I found her, gazing down at me with those perfect green eyes of hers. I chuckled and rose to her side, thinking I’d been cheated out of a deal. I was dead, and yet the place I resided in seemed like rabbit fodder compared to the cat next to me. See, Raventail, I’d fallen in love with the moors and Brookclover herself. I think in some way, I’d become so entangled with life, and all its shortcomings, that when something truly perfect—or at least foretold to be—I’m talking about StarClan of course, flashed before my eyes, I was, underwhelmed. It was only when Brookclover spoke to me that I was pulled from my trance. Her voice broke, and the name ‘Finchstar’ fell from her maw. I thought, well, here I am. But I wasn’t fond of the trees, I’ll admit.”
A lighthearted chuckle escaped Finchstar’s chest, and his facade fell, he pressed his head into Raventail’s, yellow eyes glazing over with bliss and joy. A deep purring rumbled from his throat, and the tom sat back on his haunches to truly gaze at his deputy with unbiased eyes. The black tom seemingly picked up more scars since they last meant, and his white chin and paw still stuck out like stars on his dark pelt. Raventail was still short, uncharacteristic for WindClan cat, yet much to Finchstar’s liking. The moors would be boring if they didn’t have variation between one cat to the next.
A wide smile rose on the former leader’s maw, and his yellow eyes creased into that of a genuine lover. Finchstar looked new. His slim frame still bulged in places where his meadow-raised muscles stretched under his frame. His ears were without tears, the gray hairs around his orange muzzle now were ginger once more. The only scar Finchstar kept was the long cut down his stomach. Brookclover wasn’t pleased with his decision to keep it, but the tom had gazed at her with a mischievous eye, telling her it reminded him of Aspenheart and their adventures in the tunnels. It was then - losing his second life - that he was first told that not all of living would be prophetic and glorious. It applied even now, as he stood in front of his deputy. Never did Finchstar imagine that he’d be killed by that silvery she-cat Galestar. Annoying, yet intriguing. He didn’t live to fight the Clan’s final battles, and his hero’s journey was not that of climax. Finchstar only paved the way for WindClan, but it would be Raventail’s job to see it through. This outcome was one the leader had easily come to terms with, now content in StarClan next to his love and two sons. He was the hero of times passed, and now he’d lower his crown to another wistful spirit. A task he’d waited for—for a long, long time.
“Raventail.” There was a clip of cheeky intrigue and honey on Finchstar’s tongue as he let his former deputy’s name roll from his lips. “It’s been too long, friend.” Gently, Finchstar padded forward on the soft bed of grass, finding his paws once more. He let his nose touch that of the younger tom’s, as if foreshadowing the life that was to come later. He could feel the pain, the tension, and yet a sense of eagerness as well. It reminded Finchstar of his journey to the moonstone with Briarpaw all those moons ago, when he was still a young and spry cat with a heart to conquer the forest. Not that he’d changed much, Finchstar thought with a chuckle, but he had changed, as Raventail had.
“I apologize for the introduction, friend, there’s always much I wish to tell you, yet sadly we lack the time to do it. Sometimes I wonder when you’ll come and join me here in StarClan. Well, not for a while it seems…” Finchstar quipped, not at all serious as he let a loose grin fall over his face. “Giving you these abundance of lives may be counterintuitive to the cause. I certainly felt it was when I was named leader. But hopefully you’ll put good use to them, friend.”
A long sigh fell from the former leader’s maw then as he sat back once more, gazing into his friend’s eyes with longing. There was so much that weighed on Finchstar’s heart. So much he wished he could’ve told the tom. Dying on the Great Rock that night, that was not at all in Finchstar’s agenda. But his shortcomings were washed away by his successor. The tom remembered sitting in WindClan’s camp after his death, unseen and unheard, but very much there. His clanmates sat around his body, whispering their woes to the sky. But Finchstar only found himself gazing at the lone black tom with the scar across his cheek, now carrying a clan on his shoulders. “Best of luck to you, old friend.” He remembered speaking, coming to wrap an ethereal tail around his deputy’s spine. It was at that moment that Finchstar knew his crusade would fall to Raventail. And there was fear in his heart, fear and guilt.
See, Finchstar had spent his whole life building up something so impossible and ridiculous that the very idea of it came to exist in the forest itself. He’d paved the way for WindClan to love freely, to live beyond borders, to exist outside the code. It was an outlier, a loophole, a rip in the system. Was it possible to detach a clan from the code they’d lived by for so long? Was it possible to build up an idea and carry it to the grave? Finchstar watched as one by one, WindClan came to challenge their views against that of the forest. It was his greatest accomplishment, to fight for love itself. And indeed, he had brought it to his very grave. He’d died for the cause, his crusade. The tower of love they built was metaphorical. Invisible. The impossible idea Finchstar carried was not that of realism but that of so much more. It required one to be blind to all obstacles. To fall in hope and drown themselves in sweet, sweet honey. Finchstar could do this easily, his independent demeanor had no trouble detaching himself from his clan, to save them in the end. He’d been so blind, so blissfully blind. And as Finchstar sat in that clearing with Raventail last moon, invisible to the living, he was scared for the tom. Scared that he’d have to face the damages of Finchstar’s blind love. Scared that somehow Galestar would come for Raventail as well—that death wouldn’t be enough to stop her.
“Raventail…” Finchstar whispered, yellow eyes harsh like the sun. “I’ve come to give you the life of love of course, I’m nothing if not predictable. Yet, I can’t help but ponder… What will it do to you?” Finchstar’s nose brushed over Raventail’s as if to mimic a gentle embrace. It was a sheepish movement, one Finchstar put much thought into. As he handed his crown over to the tom before him, a chord of fear struck his heart. He wondered what effect his undying love had on the clan he now left. His invisible tower now hung over the moors, looming like a vast shadow. There was no guilt in his heart, but perhaps longing. Finchstar had loved so fiercely all his life, and now he would sit back and watch as Raventail took up the mantle. It caused his heart to flutter - to be the recipient of a wily moor cat’s heart, rather than the beholder of it. Perhaps he feared giving up his crusade—his flagship for life itself. It was no doubt Raventail would lead the clan well, but Finchstar knew he’d miss the early mornings under the Tallrock. It wasn’t the feeling of leadership that clung to his pelt like burrs, but rather the responsibility that came with it.
He stood before Raventail now, and gave it all up, lowering his stance to tenderly press into the tom’s forehead. It all flowed from him now, like crimson honey, bathing the silver grasses with the blood of many. The pain, the ache, the late nights of grief. Every death soaked their pelts, every kit’s laugh, every queen’s cry. Finchstar’s eyes glazed over as he chuckled in endless joy. The joy of laying next to his mate at dawn, the joy of bringing down an eagle with his almost-mentor. The feeling of living, of dying, of every little thing in between. He loved the moors. It encased him now and wrapped him together with Raventail like sweet ribbons of heather. There was no truer feeling. A leader is none without love. His crusade, his very reason to live, was now Raventail’s.
Finchstar stepped back, bittersweet tears dripping from his eyes, yet his face remained unsullied, one morphed into the purest of smiles, bright like the sun. “Love. It is your ninth and final life. Wield it with pride, wear it like the most beautiful crown. Hold nothing back. Even the Code will answer to it in time.”
Finchstar stepped back to stand by Brookclover’s side. All nine of them stood in a row now, bowing before the newly named leader. When the tom’s head raised, he gazed at the shorter cat with pride, a wide grin on his maw. ”Ravenstar of WindClan. It has quite the ring to it, don’t you think? Go now, ‘star, let the forest sing with hope and love. And remember not to worry—you’ll never walk alone.”
Like the blood in Raventail’s veins, it coursed through him: the bittersweet pain of a life well-lived. Though it felt as if it might rip him apart, though his legs shook with the force of it, it soothed the burning in his chest like Dappleshine’s shoulder pressed against his, Fogpaw sprinting ahead. Love had driven his wandering paws this far. No matter what wounds it left in its wake, he would follow it anywhere. He’d never imagined receiving his lives like this, surrounded not by impassive stars, but by so many of the cats he’d learned to call home. Cats who’d seen the doubt and fear plaguing his steps at every turn, and loved him enough to be here anyway.
Loved. Faced with such unforgettable proof, he had no choice but to accept it. He was WindClan’s leader, and he was loved.
Raventail—no, Ravenstar lifted his head, grinning past a fresh wave of tears. Every face in the crowd, even the ones he hadn’t known until tonight, had sharpened into wonderful, heartbreaking clarity. At once, he understood why Finchstar had dived into the earth after Brookclover. When he set foot in StarClan for the ninth and final time, his family would welcome him. That day, he’d teach Sedgekit and Smudgekit how to sprint without tiring; maybe, if he felt daring, he could ask Dacedream to show him how to fish. But for now, the rest of his heart waited back home. It was their faces he wanted to see most of all. He had to tell them as much of this as he could get away with, to collapse into his nest beside Dappleshine and drag Fogpaw out on a hunt before sunrise—and, well, he had promised.
Even as he thought, don’t leave me, he said, ”I’ll see you again, but…not until I’m ready.” Another promise. One he knew he could keep. Then, because Silverpelt had no sunsets to watch, and he’d never been one for goodbyes: ”Save a rabbit for me, all right?”
With that, he closed his eyes, and the dream slipped out of his grasp.
Awareness came back to him in pieces. First the cavern’s chill gently wrapping itself around him like fresh snowfall; then the Moonstone’s glow, dying away as the moon fell, yet still bright enough to cast white through his tightly-shut eyelids; then the dull pains somewhere past his ribs. He ached, body and mind, like an elder in leaf-bare. The fur under his eyes clung to his skin.
It would’ve been so easy to press his nose to the stone again…and yet. Leadership was still a burden, WindClan was still his Clan to hold, he was still afraid in some ways and uncertain in others—but he wasn’t alone, he never had been, and that made all the difference.
Ravenstar stretched. He wobbled, at first, when he got his legs underneath him, and once he’d turned around, the absence of stars in Aspenheart’s pelt took him aback. Strange how he’d gotten used to StarClan’s territory in so little time. But this was where he belonged. The moor was where he belonged, surrounded by the bravest cats he’d ever known, and his paws were already itching to return to it. ”I know I just woke up, but I think I could sleep for a moon,” he said, weary, a hint of victory in his smile. You were right. He'd spoken to StarClan and come out fine—come out stronger, he hoped. ”Let’s go home.”
— to everyone who agreed to be part of this and everyone who helped answer my eight hundred questions along the way, thank you so much!
Swiftstep, written by Middy
Featherlight, written by Holly
Murkpaw, written by Chickenwing
Elmskip, written by Aspen
Barleytuft, written by Sumashira
Brookclover, written by Ripped
Finchstar, written by Lemongrass
(and Lightfang and Mudfrost, written by me)______________________________________
Activity Notice [until 06/01]
Athena [35/60]*
Outsider Rogue I
disadvantaged stats active | Flywhisker [40/100]
RiverClan Warrior II
| Emberleap [70/160]
ShadowClan Warrior V
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