April 2022 “Medicine Cat Meeting”

The half moon hung above him. Fuzzypaw hadn’t met the other medicine cats yet, nor had gone to the Moonstone. Basilbloom explained some of it to him, which always blew his mind. The small rustling of the grasses and the breathing of a sick Clanmate roared in his ears. The starless skies were ominous and made him feel so alone. The skies weren’t right, the eldritch horrors weren’t right, so many things weren’t right. He frowned, but shook it off. He had to be strong. Strong for his Clan, strong for StarClan, strong for Basilbloom. The tom closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm his nerves.

He opened them again, staring the half moon down. What would be there for him? Would his ancestors ever speak to him, or were they gone?

All he could do was glance at the herb stores, and make his nest tidy. Worrying about what could be or could have been was a fruitless exercise.

It was late, and the warmer air danced on his face with each gust. Things would look up again, they always did. Leafbare turned to newleaf, and if there was any justice in the world, the terrible demon cats would be a season come and gone soon enough.

Fuzzypaw stepped back to his nest, wiping his face before settling down. Whatever happened, he needed to sleep to start work again tomorrow. He took a deep calming breath before drifting off, the weight in his heart drifting away with his worries, swept off his pelt by the light breeze and the embrace of slumber.

It had been a stressful time to Basilbloom, and it was with a heavy sigh that the tortoiseshell medicine cat flopped down into her nest near the back of the den, taking deep breaths to calm her heart.  The mixture of stress, worry, and general exhaustion had been getting to her, and her heart kept skipping beats and fluttering despite her treating it with chamomile.  She wasn't going to worry her father with it though, or her siblings.  They had enough to deal with at the moment, the biggest being that Murkystar still hadn't revived after losing a life.  She was considering telling Fuzzypaw, but she didn't want to add more expectations on the already busy apprentice, and she was proud of how far he'd come in such a short time.  Shrugging off her worries, the small she-cat purred goodnight to Fuzzypaw before closing her eyes, not expecting anything beyond confusing dreams of her mind's own devising.

However, it seemed she might get more than that tonight.

Life had past, and the afterlife had not come. It felt unfair. Night after night, time moved on yet he stayed put. Where was his peace? He watched the starless sky each time it appeared, searching for a sign or answer. This night, he just might have one. The wind had brought him to a familiar den. Here there were traces of memories, torturous ones. His mind showed an image of a short, broken, tabby leg. But that wasn't all that greeted him. He was faced with critical feelings of love and grief surrounding the medicine cat who slept here.

Basilbloom.

His heart softly echoed her name, longing for the sister whom he loved dearly. He knew he couldn't share tongues with her right now, which felt like wasps digging into his paw pads. The tom prayed to Starclan that his pain might one day heal just like his leg, and that one moon they would see each other in Starclan and play with Condorpaw. There was hope, but only if he delivered this message.

Approaching the sleeping forms, he woke them softly but urgently. He didn't respond to whatever they might try to say, even if he really wanted to.

"Basilbloom, Fuzzypaw. Listen, the walls are crumbling, hope peeking through the cracks. Five cats of strong faith and determination, one from each corner of the clans, is needed to break the shackles that bind them. Choose wisely, for this is our final stand."