head of stone [closed]

Thrushnose had never seen the camp so quiet. The day’s first round of border patrols had yet to return. Most of the apprentices were gone, too, presumably scattered throughout ThunderClan’s territory to train with their mentors. Those left behind ate, shared tongues, took well-deserved naps under the faltering sun. Even Dovefrost was out—she could barely discern his not-quite-fresh scent through the fog of herbs—but his den was far from empty. Just as she’d hoped. As much as she hated having to visit her parents here, hated seeing their nest within the Highrock cold and abandoned, she’d be hard-pressed to find a better place for private conversation.

With a wave of her tail meant for nobody in particular, Thrushnose invited herself in. Sure enough, they were both here. Her mother, small and unnervingly quiet; her father, lingering nearby as he often did when leadership wasn’t calling him elsewhere. Crossing the den on near-silent paws, she pressed her nose between Batbite’s ears. Then she straightened, squared her shoulders. “Minkstar—” Though this was a business matter, the formality didn’t sit right on her tongue. Thrushnose's brow furrowed. “…Dad? I need to talk to you about something.”

It was comforting having her scent nearby, his pelt pressed to hers as if to bring some warm semblance of life back to her. She slept far too much, far too deeply, nowadays. That she barely stirred when their daughter padded in on silent paws was a testament to that, and he fought to twitch the corners of his maw up as he looked up at Thrushnose. His mouth parted slightly to give a greeting, but the first word out of her mouth gave him pause.

...Usually she'd just call him "Dad". "Minkstar" seemed a little... formal.

The vague suspicion popped into a bubble of confirmation as she went on, and he shifted slightly, doing his best to throw off the fog of heaviness that seemed to drag down his limbs. Eyes with a tinge of hidden tiredness swimming in their depths looked up at her. "What is it, Murr?"

One glance at her father’s face, and Thrushnose gave up any semblance of formality. He looked far too tired to deal with it, and she lacked the patience to bother with it when it wasn’t necessary. With any luck, she would never need it again. She sat, striped tail swept over her paws, and began.

“I promised to fill in for Mom until she could come back. But, Dad…” Her gaze flicked to the still form beside them both. “She isn’t getting better.” That Batbite hadn’t gotten too drastically worse wasn’t the comfort it had been in the first days. She sat in a near stasis, not dying, not recovering. Withering away in slow motion like any cat would after being nest-bound for so long. “I’m not saying you can die anytime soon,” and Thrushnose’s eyes went sharp as she said it, an echo of the conversation they’d had in the wake of Asylum’s reign, “but you know as well as I do that things…things happen.” Her paws tightened against the earth. She could spend all the breath in her body asking her family to keep themselves safe, but it wouldn’t guarantee anything, even if they listened.

“I’m not going to be Thrushstar. I won’t spend the rest of my life at the Great Rock—I’d probably lose my mind,” she added after a moment, her mouth twitching upward. At the borders and Fourtrees, she had to be mindful of everything down to the slightest twitch of her whiskers, had to wonder if talking to someone from this Clan or that might reflect badly. It wasn’t one of her talents; moreover, it was exhausting. The sort of exhausting a good night’s sleep couldn’t cure. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to help you and Mom however I can. But ThunderClan needs a deputy, a real one, and I’m better as a warrior.”

She noticed the pressure in her chest by its abrupt absence, gone as the last words left her mouth. Thrushnose rocked back on her haunches, the only thing she could do at this point. She’d said her piece. The worst thing her father could answer with was “no”—and even then, she’d inherited Batbite’s determination alongside his. They would find a way.

A shadow flickered in his eyes, his gaze following hers as it strayed to Bat, a squeeze in his heart making itself known. He'd thought.... Hazy memories of the days after she'd waned came to mind, coloured with hope and determination. I thought she'd.... His eyes closed briefly.

When he opened them again, he looked back at his daughter, feeling oddly hollow. I can't blame her. In the beginning, he'd absolutely hated it. Sometimes, when he had to deal with the mess of inter-Clan relations, he still did. Nobody had ever claimed being leader was easy - exactly the opposite, actually. If he could spare his own daughter that burden, he would.

"Alright." His voice was soft, no tint of argument to it. She'd been the best choice when Bat had to step down, but now there were new warriors brimming with promise to take up the duties. "But before I call the announcement, I need someone to step in for the permanent spot." His eyes strayed down to Bat's quiet pelt again, the tip of his tail gently stroking her flank. "Is there anyone you've seen who you'd put forward?"

Minkstar’s eyes met hers, and Thrushnose couldn’t help but wince at the emptiness behind them. Going into this, she’d made a list of what to expect: acceptance, disappointment, an attempt to convince her to hold on just one moon longer. None of those would have changed her mind. Neither did this—if anything, she was grateful she wouldn’t have to argue her position—but she didn’t feel at all victorious, either. Maybe that would come later. “Thanks, Dad.” She pressed her head against his shoulder, voice quiet to match his. “Really.”

His next question gave her pause. She leaned back, a frown settling onto her muzzle. Anyone she’d put forward… She’d refused to choose a successor even in her imagination, and this wasn’t the sort of thing a cat could decide on the spot. Besides, she didn’t know what Minkstar wanted in a deputy. She could guess—he’d picked her, after all, temporarily or not—but when it came to ThunderClan’s future, a guess was nowhere near good enough.

Her father’s voice was as worn as his face.

The first name that sprang to mind was useless. An absent (or dead, she thought with a twist of nausea) cat couldn’t serve as deputy. Distantly, Thrushnose heard her tail's steady thumping against the den’s floor. “Stoatfur,” she said at last. “Kestrel. Maybe Wolfblaze.” They each had their strengths: Kestrel’s cool head, Wolfblaze’s fierce honesty, Stoat’s eagerness to learn and adapt. And those were just the warriors she knew; her younger denmates, the ones whose ceremonies she’d held, might catch Minkstar’s eye for their own reasons. “You know our newer warriors better than I do,” she admitted, her frown turning from thoughtful to vaguely apologetic. “Honestly, there aren’t many I’d rule out.”

A flicker of a smile touched his maw at Thrush's contact and quiet gratitude, its corners laced with melancholy. No, he couldn't put the burden on her that he had to bear, not when it risked crushing her under its weight. I've lost too many kits to risk another.... Burials of little forms under a drizzly sky, vigils at sunset waiting for the flash of a russet coat and mischievous green eyes.... Old memories - sharper in his current state of mind - tugged at his heart.

Gently, he put them aside, focusing on the here and now as Thrushnose put forward her suggestions, and nodded. "My thoughts, too. I'm not sure if I'd want to put it on either Kestrel or Wolf, though. Not after they...." Missing kits, vanished daughters. "...You know. Stoatfur, though...." A hint of thoughtfulness entered his tone, a tinge of interest to drive away the clinging weariness just a little. "He's smart - resourceful. Takes after his mother. Over the last few moons he's really grown; I've seen him take command of more patrols, and get used to hanging out with Clanmates." So his hazy memory said, anyway, but he'd taken note. "He learns quickly, and he isn't a stubborn eel-tail bent on picking fights with every cat he meets...."

"You're right, there a lot of good young warriors. Just as long as you weren't thinking of Starlingflare as another candidate," He said, a touch of dryness in his tone, his eyes flicking in Bat's direction as she stirred, just slightly. For a moment, he almost thought he could see a hint of a smile on her face. "Now that you've mentioned it, though, I'm leaning in Stoat's direction."