lost little fishies [closed for swanfam/minkstar]

Stoatfur lead the way, often slowing his pace to accommodate for that of the emaciated cats who followed. He didn't care to ask their story, nor the circumstances that lead them there. If these cats were to speak with Minkstar, he would find out then and wasn't interested in hearing a tale twice. Their journey across the territory and towards the camp had not been particularly delightful. The weather had been cold and uncaring, sending winds that rustled the barren treetops and clattered sparse branches in an eerie call.

He lead them twisting through the least recognizable parts of the territory, no particular landmarks that would remind them the way, should they ever try to return to Thunderclan's camp again. The idea of caring for Riverclan cats and further spreading thin what little resources were at their disposal was unappealing. But this wasn't up to him. As he slid through the entrance of camp, his pelt hardly touched he foliage. Stoatfur was lean, small, hardly looking as deadly as he truly was. Quickly his gaze found Minkstar's ginger pelt, "Ah, Minkstar, apparently we have some Riverclanners needing some help. Don't suppose that's something you'd want to entertain?"

The words were low as he reached the leader, inconspicuous. Surely, the entire clan would notice the strange presence in the middle of their camp. There was no reason to draw further attention to themselves.

Of all the things he'd thought would happen today, this was definitely not one of them. His gaze twitched past Stoatfur, taking in what looked like bones with pelts draped over them like Asylum skins. RiverClanners? Why in the stars were they coming here? Hadn't their righteous deputy told him they needed Sunningrocks for their starving Clanmates? Didn't they know his own Clanmates were starving too?

A low rumble vibrated in the base of his throat, a swirl of bitterness that he'd thought had grudgingly faded away over time bubbling to the surface once more with a taste that soured the back of his tongue. Not really, was the thought that growled back in his head, images of Wolfblaze's body lying in a pool of her own blood flashing before his eyes to the beat of stinging claws that had raked over his pelt and twisted in his ears, the feel of teeth digging in his neck and words hissed as he lay dying bristling the fur on his hackles.

Not really.

But....

The sharpness in his eyes reluctantly faded somewhat as he took in the smaller figures clumped around the skinniest of them all, their eyes dull and uncertain, desperation clinging to every jutting hip bone and twig-thin leg. Foxdung. I can't just turn away cats like this - even if they came from the foxing Asylum.

Well, maybe he'd think twice if that were the case.

It wasn't like they posed a threat. No cat that skinny could have overpowered him, so it wasn't like one of them could have been the one who killed him. He wasn't exactly flushed with health, but their condition was a whole other level altogether. With a sigh, he rose to his paws, giving Stoatfur a nod. "I'll hear them out. Stars know we don't need extra mouths to feed, but...."

Maybe RiverClan had so many kits they had to send them out with their mothers to other Clans just to stay on top of things. Honestly, He wasn't sure whether to scoff at the idea or feel pity. An uncomfortable twinge of guilt - other, sweeter memories of his former, disowned home winding their way to the surface - tipped it more onto the side of pity as he reluctantly admitted to himself that if they were in the same position he'd do anything he could to keep his Clanmates alive and relatively healthy. Maybe it was time to let go of the pain and grudges. Or try, at least.

Swanmist was, at first, uncertain about how Thunderclan would react to them coming into their camp. She wouldn't be able to fight back, and even the healthiest of her kits would be easily overpowered.

Without a word, she followed the Thunderclan warrior. Looking back at her kits every few steps, making sure they were catching up. She was especially wary about Pebblepaw getting lost. Seeing him swerve so much as he tried to keep straight. He was... harmless.

He wasn't Smokeflame. She had to remember that. He never will be.

Swanmist opened her mouth a little in wonder as they entered the camp. Her gaze drifted over the cats and the dens, some cats started turning to stare, some cats kept to themselves and didn't mind them walking into camp.

Her eyes soon turned to Minkstar. At first, his gaze seemed uncaring. The fur along her spine barely standing up, matted to itself. Swanmist was relieved to see that his expression changed from unfriendliness to something more... caring?

He seemed reluctant, Swanmist didn't blame him, she knew Riverclan and Thunderclan had high tensions but... How could she and her kits hurt Thunderclan in any way? She looked back to her kits, hoping they'd answer for her.

The path they were taking through ThunderClan territory was confusing, twisting past a countless number of trees. Were they going in circles? Did this tom think he was smart leading them around and around? Couldn't he see how tired their mama was? Flurrypaw kept to the back of the group, waiting up for anyone who lagged behind.

After the hundredth time she thought she had spotted the same tree, the strange scent that soon might become her own grew stronger. The small warrior led them into a clearing, filled with the quiet hum of a camp filled with warriors, queens, kits, apprentices; the usual. The stares of judging cats burned into her ragged pelt, dirtied with bits of dirt and various debris that came with laying on the ground. She kept particularly close to her littermates, huddling together like a flock of birds.

She found herself looking at a flame-colored pelt, a tom of stature. Paying no attention to his unwelcome gaze, she made an inquiry. "Are you Minkstar?" she meowed, careful not to let her tone sound disrespectful. If this was the cat they needed to convince, she needed to make a good first impression. Taking a glance at her mother and siblings, she then looked back at the leader.

“Thank you,” Mintpaw said quietly to the stiff warrior who escorted them. She dipped her head. He seemed reluctant, but… he did bring them. And didn’t do any more than show his claws.

The journey had been hard on her, still. The brown tom had led them through a winding trail she couldn’t see; the only thing she could say was that it was definitely further into the woods. Trees thinned and alternately thickened around them as they went deeper — so different from the open skies of Riverclan — and it felt as if they were slowly being swallowed whole. If she’d turned back, Mintpaw half-felt the trees would close together to lock them inside. But it smelled subtler, earthier, and it wasn’t… unpleasant.

She’d liked it, weirdly enough. It doesn’t smell like fish.

But the walk was a lot for her, and the unevenness of her gait had worsened to a full limp. Their escort said not a word about it, though. (Perhaps they looked so weak it was given.) Even so, she never let her lameness keep her from focusing on where they were being led. Their camp surprised her still, though. Unlike Riverclan’s — an island surrounded by river, visible from far away — they’d entered through a thick gorse bush. It was rich and green, impossible to peer through, and also snowy.

After thanking the warrior, she looked around with slight awe. The scent… It’s as strong here as back h— in Riverclan. Mintpaw hadn’t been anywhere else before this last night, and their camp seemed so… different. At the center stood a flame-colored tom: distinct, and given the deference from their guide, it had to be Minkstar. She bit her lip and kept by her mother’s side, but close enough to Pebble to steady him. Not that I feel that steady myself. She swallowed nervously.

The tom’s face seemed drawn, as he took them in — ragged, thin, dirtier for their paler fur — and she looked down. Mintpaw knew they looked terrible; it wasn’t anything new. But she thought the ugly, shameful feeling curling in her chest wouldn’t feel so… bad. Would anyone want them in their Clan? They looked like... like starving rogues.

But they had to try.

Mom seemed to know this, and looked to her kits with serious eyes as the leader of Thunderclan approached them. It felt suddenly intimidating. Even Flurrypaw seemed cautious, and at the uncertainty in her eyes, Mintpaw knew she had to speak too. Willing her paws not to shake, she stepped forward. “My name is Mintpaw, and this is our mom, Swanmist. She doesn’t speak, so she... she wants us to speak for her.”

Here her throat closed in nervousness, but she forced her words anyway. “We’ve come to ask for your help. If we — if we could join you.” They had to ask, and yet all Mintpaw could think of is if they said no. We have to try. “Riverclan isn’t our Clan anymore, and we can’t go back. But my littermates and I, we can hunt, and I promise we’ll work hard. We really will.”

She tried to say more, explain why, but the rest felt lost to her. Dogs and fish, but — could Minkstar understand it, when everyone in Riverclan couldn’t?

Pebblepaw’s enterance into the ThunderClan camp was far less graceful than the rest of his ragtag family. The long trek through the snow covered territory had left him even more unsteady on his paws than he already was. The cold had numbed his paw pads, making it even harder to concentrate on where he should put them. As they slipped through the camp enterance single file, he ended up stumbling a little too far to the left and snagged himself on the branches of the gorse bush that guarded the camp.
He grunted and pulled himself the rest of the way into camp. He almost stumbled into Mint, muttering out a quick sorry as he dropped into a crouch to rest his paws. This time, Flurrypaw and Mintpaw had stepped forward to speak to the ThunderClan leader. He was fine enough with that. There was a dull ache that had settled in behind his eyes and his head felt far too heavy to think of anything to say.

As he approached, they showed a hint of life, uncertain glances swapped and shame flickering in the exchanged looks. One in particular piped up, bolder than the rest, her question innocent enough as she asked if he was Minkstar. "I am."

His gaze switched to a grey-furred, green-eyed young cat, nervousness subtly prickling her scent as she stepped forward, her mew just a tad intimidated. An old memory rose at the back of his mind, looking up at Jaystar and other leaders in awe, their stoic faces and the sheer majesty practically wafting off them leaving him tongue-tied. So strange to see his own presence have that effect on these cats; strange to be so reluctant to let his expression thaw into anything friendlier than a relatively emotionless mask, open to listening but not much else.

A distant musing seemed to hiss in his ear again that if Jaystar couldn't be bothered to look after his Clanmates, why should he care? Perhaps no one cared that these kits' mother didn't speak, and simply wanted to be rid of her. He couldn't help but see something familiar in the white she-cat's yellow gaze, no matter how skinny she was or how much dirt coated her pelt. Just give her black stripes and blue eyes....

Finally, he let his expression soften, turning his attention back to... Mintpaw, was it? "I'm sure you can, kit - however, I can't let in every cat who asks just because they say they'll work hard." Though there was no doubt in his mind anymore that none of these cats had had anything to do with the aggressions between their Clans. "Your offer is noted, but before I can consider that I need to know how and why you've come here."

Swanmist was very uncertain when her paws touched the snow of Thunderclan's camp, and her emotions hadn't changed. Her tail swayed slightly, weighted down by her own tiredness, she watched Pebblepaw with a bit of worry as he slumped down. She understood. Turning her attention back to Minkstar. Of course he would know why they came here, but... wasn't their condition enough?

Looking down at her paws, she exhaled slowly. I don't want to go back to Riverclan. I can't go back, not like this, I'm not even sure if I know how to get back... She lifted her head towards the exit. Eyes shimmering with an unsure emotion. Maybe I should've gone to Windclan instead. Well... She couldn't leave, she just... had to wait for Minkstar's opinion.

She sat down, not taking her wary eyes off of the exit. It seemed like she was closed in, unfriendly and cautious cats all around. Could they see her? How she wasn't okay? How none of her family was okay? A part of her wanted to run out, just to jump back into her father's fur again. But she couldn't, she wouldn't.

And Starclan, she hadn't eaten in many days.

A soft thud behind her indicated Pebblepaw's weariness and concern for him distracted her from the steady gaze she had been holding on Minkstar. A subtle swishing of fur let her see how nervous her mother was. What was she looking at? Peering in the said direction, she understood. She's not sure if we'll be welcome here... A burden was suddenly placed in her paws. Mintpaw shuffled forward, introducing herself and asking for help. This responsibility was on them both. It's up to us. To make this place our new home.

"We can hunt, and I promise we’ll work hard. We really will."

We'll work extra hard if we have to. she agreed in her head. The look on the leader's face softened a little, Probably in pity of our state... Flurrypaw noted. He needed to know how and why they had come. Hadn't Mintpaw just explained? Was it not enough? Alright, it's time for me to take charge.

"Like Mintpaw just explained, we've come from Riverclan. We followed the river and ended up at a tall tree at the border between our territories. We don't eat fish, and so Ma-- Swanmist thought it was best for us to leave. Look at us. We know how terrible we look. Like rogues even. Please. Let us stay here. " the way the dirtied apprentice spoke, it betrayed no fear, left nothing unsaid. Her piercing yellow eyes stared intensely into the tom's own, willing him to give in.

"Riverclanners who don't eat fish?" Stoatfur snorted lowly. It wasn't quite amusement in his tone but rather he was astounded at the concept, "I didn't know that some cats could afford to be picky in leafbare." His voice was merely a mutter as he regarded them cautiously. Something was off, and he couldn't pinpoint if his inhibitions were because of their origins or the strange nature of their journey here. It simply didn't add up. Allowing odd cats to starve within their camp walls was wholly unappealing but it wasn't up to him. To have sympathy for them would mean that his clan would be flourishing first. There were twinges of it, he wasn't heartless, but he had priorities that tied him to his kin and clan. After a moment the little deputy's tail twitched and he sighed, "Whatever you decide, Minkstar. If you think we should care for these cats, I'll hunt for them like I would any other clanmate. And expect them to do the same."

RiverClanners who didn't eat fish...? Minkstar had to agree, a low rumble vibrating the base of his chest in response to Stoatfur's words. The taste of fish had always been one he'd loved, despite how others sometimes hated it with a passion - the taint of river water and mud to its crisply soft flesh made his mouth water just thinking about it. No wonder they were so skinny - with fish as the main food of RiverClan, they didn't spend as much time stalking after land prey, though it was possible to live on it, as they'd had to do with twolegs stealing or poisoning much of it every second greenleaf or so. In a leaf-bare like this, though....

He met the aggressive gaze of one of the others as she spoke up, a brow lifting slightly at the attitude. Bit of a vixen, isn't she? Something in her eyes briefly reminded him of Rain - not exactly a good comparison. It only made him more reluctant, that hint of caution saying that letting in strange cats could and did lead to problems. "I was asking more in the sense of how you came to leave, not the exact path you walked," He said mildly. "As I understand it, Jaystar isn't apathetic to the point of kicking starving cats out of his Clan. Did you speak with him before you came?" From the sounds of it, he was willing to bet that they hadn't. An impulsive decision probably based on whoever's claim that ThunderClan had it better than RiverClan. As if being "better" meant running wild with prey.

His ear twitched as Stoatfur spoke up again, casting a brief glance from his deputy back to the RiverClanners. The majority of them just looked exhausted. If he sent them away now, who knew if they'd make it to the next Clan? "We'll take them in for now - give them the usual chance for integration," He said at last, a flicker of warning in his eyes as he ran them over the pitiful group. "But I'll tell you now that we have barely any prey of our own. Our territory is small and hunting grounds have been dwindling ever since the snows set in. If you want to stay here, you'll have to work hard." He eyed the last one to speak up for a moment, before taking them all in again, his voice grudgingly softening to its more usual, easy-going pitch. "I wish I could give you some time to recover, but you'll only have a couple of days - give or take one or two depending on Crowpaw's advice - to get checked out by him and given what we can spare in terms of prey. And then you'll have to join hunting patrols and help out like the rest of us."

Mintpaw stood, frozen, until Minkstar turned to look at her. But his eyes weren’t unkind. Her mother’s anxiety still seemed to prickle beneath her fur, though, and Mintpaw was thankful for Flurry — unflinching as always. Will that make sense to them? Will… and she gulped, uncomfortably. Will they let us stay?

Her eyes flickered to the small tom. And she wanted to protest, because... Does it look like we’re being picky? Mintpaw had spent the last day taking mouthfuls of snow, to try and feel full. But then he wasn’t wrong. Riverclan couldn’t all refuse to eat fish, to stop the dogs from finding them… they had to. Water voles could hardly feed all of us. It couldn’t feed Riverclan. But... Mom couldn’t let that happen to us.

All Mintpaw felt was this sick sort of swirl in her gut, at the scent of fish. Seeing her mom turn sharply away: seeing the fear in her eyes. The thought made her feel dizzy. But then Minkstar spoke again. “We left in the middle of the night,” she answered quietly. That’s what Darkpaw had asked, too.

And then, at the next words, she felt such a rush of relief. Even the warning — They don’t have much prey — and the expectation of work didn’t hit her hard. She straightened, and hardly felt the strain at all. “That’s fine! I said we’d work hard, and I meant it! I… thank you. Thank you.”

Their mom would get to rest, and sleep, and then… they were given a chance to stay. Mintpaw heard that: the tentative acceptance. But was more than they could’ve asked for. More… than Mintpaw thought they might get. She looked to the small brown warrior, then, and dipped her head. To you, too.

A bit of distaste for the smaller tom coated her tongue, like bile she wanted to spit out. Picky? We just want to survive! The apprentice didn't fully understand, but what information she'd been told, what she knew, she believed it was true and did not question it. She could see some disapproval in the leader's eyes if a little. Uncertainty was starting to clench at her heart. Perhaps they shouldn't have come after all. To add to the unease, the question of Jaystar's approval was brought up. Unnaturally, she flinched when Mintpaw spoke. She confessed about their sneaky escape, the nervousness in her voice clear.

The ginger tom turned to glance back at the other warrior as the latter spoke again. At the news of their... considerate welcome, Flurrypaw nodded her thanks before stiffly turning to face her mother. She brushed her pelt against her mother's, a whisper on her tongue, "We're safe now, Ma. Home."