like roots in the ground [SOLO]

The tortoiseshell shuffled as she could to be situated upon the silver molly’s back, giving her one final nod of gratitude. She did her best to attempt to somehow keep her weight evenly distributed, but truth be told, she was just growing to be further and further dead weight the longer they traveled to camp.

A lot of the pain was burning, searing, white-hot pain. Her leg was probably nowhere near salvageable at this point, and unwilling tears slid down the leader’s cheeks at that idea. Doubt swirled her mind just as violently as the dizziness did, particularly when considering what she had just done. Was it the right move to allow these cats back to camp? At minimum, for their injuries to be treated. She’d allow that much. Beyond that point, she truly didn’t know what she would do. Would she tell them to get lost? What were they even doing in Thunderclan territory right now, anyways?

These were questions she wouldn’t be privy to find the answer to, as at some point, she felt that familiar darkness chilling her body. There was no fight this time, she simply gave in. It was a chill that she found some comfort in. At least it mean the stinging of her shoulders stopped, that the agony of her leg stilled as well. Her head finally set itself between the silver feline’s shoulders, not even being bothered by the way their movements would have otherwise been stabbing into her jaw. She simply wasn’t there. The rest of the journey was fully lost on the tortoiseshell, slipping in and out of some semblance of consciousness as they arrived in camp. It didn't need to fully be comprehensible, anyways. Mottlestar had done her job and given orders. She knew she had made it to Fawnshine's den by the slightest, faintest scent of herbs that made its way to her mind. But otherwise, she was so tired. So ready to sleep.

So she let herself find that darkness, find that rest that had seemed too foreign in the last few moons.

---

A paw roughly shoved Mottlestar’s shoulder, rousing her from her stupor. ”Get up. No time to laze around.”

The leader’s tortoiseshell ear simply flicked in response, seeming more keen on ignoring the forceful shove more than anything. But the voice that swiftly followed had enough power to bring her to attention, raising her head and clearing her eyes as the amber gaze settled onto just who it was who dared wake her from her painless rest.

It was a familiar tom: large, imposing, blanketed in unruly spikes of star-studded tan fur. Pricklebush, former medicine cat of ThunderClan. He seemed slightly more irritated than the last time Mottlestar had seen him, but also somewhat more worried. His stress was evident in the slight set-back of his tall, pointed ears, and the subdued lash of his prickly tail as he towered above her. ”Just to confirm your suspicions: yes, you’re dead. Those mutts really did a number on you. At least your corpse is still on the way back to camp... I imagine that the rest of your Clanmates will be awaiting an explanation there.” His voice grew quiet for a moment, almost muttering to himself. ”Heck of a way to go, huh? Killed by dogs. I mean... that’s how I went out. Claws unsheathed. Certainly not the worst death out there. More dignified than a heart attack, though, that's for certain.” Narrow, sage-green eyes grew even thinner, almost slits as they looked at the leader. His tone grew strong again, addressing her. This was not something he’d wanted to do so soon... but now that he had the chance, he was going to say everything that had been burning at the back of his throat for moons. ”Surely, you have not forgotten the life that I gave you so soon. I know that your personality lends you to kindness and forgiveness, but these are not the only ways for you to guard your Clan. As you have surely seen due to recent events... these will not always work. One cannot bargain with the self-righteous. I know Batsong ought to have shown you that.” Despite their shared profession, Pricklebush’s voice dripped with derision when he name-dropped WindClan’s medicine cat. ”Justice, Mottlestar. You are the leader of ThunderClan, no matter what others may say. Your word is law. It is your job, and yours alone, to ensure that ThunderClan gets their due. Allow no Clan to trample you. Not in the name of the stars or any other power. You may hate the power you bear in your paws, but you must keep it, or it will swallow you whole.”

Part of her was honestly relieved to see a familiar face, one belonging to her own Clan. Even more of her was relieved to seem to have an ally in all of this. But undeniably, the exhaustion of it all seemed keen on settling in. She couldn’t help but let out a pained chuckle at his notion of her seemingly weak heart. It was a bit of a pain in her rear at this point. At least, as he had said, this was a bit more dignified. More worthy of a true leader. Doubt swirled like a dark storm, seemingly permanently following her these days. ”Sometimes, I feel like the stars feel keen on making me pay for this power they’ve given me.” She commented, the dry humor being the only real comment she could make to give herself some sort of feeling of coping.

Pricklebush sighed. He settled back into a sitting position, no longer looming over the leader as he had been. His tail swept over his paws. ”I know you’ve been through a lot recently. For what it’s worth, I find all this overblown hullabaloo about your ‘forbidden relationship’ absolutely absurd. It was a mistake, for sure, but you know that already.” His voice took on a growling tone for a moment. ”Batsong is exactly the kind of stars-cursed fool that made me hate the position of medicine cat. Appointing herself as the stars’ messenger, drunk on her own morality and piety, so lost in what she assumes is the truth that she completely loses sight of everything below the sky... Fox-dung.” He spat to the side, then returned his gaze to Mottlestar. It was slightly softer. The green of his eyes was still intense, but no longer directed at her in quite as intimidating a fashion as it had been before. ”There is no point in wallowing in the past. All you can do is move forward. What will you do now? That is the only thing you should worry about. There’s only so many lives you have, and only so many seasons before your tree loses every leaf. Walking backward will get you nowhere. Keep moving. If you can fix your mistakes, then good. If not, all you can do is to do better. Do you understand? Let no one tell you otherwise. Atonement is for the dead--and you, Mottlestar, are alive.”

To know she had an ally in the stars, the stars she had felt so led astray by, the stars she felt more than betrayed by… it was something that gave her some semblance of peace. Not to mention, the fact that he genuinely seemed to believe in her. She could see it in the softness of that green gaze, the way the stars still flared behind them. Not in intimidation, no, it was in belief. Part of her couldn’t help but feel a bit of embarrassment burning in her chest that she needed such a pep-talk from the late tom, but on the other paw, she was more than glad it was him who had come to talk to her. If she had to face Morningsun right now? She perhaps would have rather handed over all of her lives and gone to fade to the mists.

However, with the rejuvenating speech now fueling her with some sort of otherwise forgotten energy, she forced herself to her paws. It was a blessing of being in whatever starscape they had found themselves: She could sit without her body screeching in protest. Part of her couldn't help the joke that quickly formed on her maw. ”Is this your way of atonement, then?” It left just the slightest inclination of joy on her face, but it didn't quite yet reach her eyes. Still, Mottlestar forced herself to meet his gaze, giving him a solid nod of her head. It meant more than she could truly articulate that she had his allegiance, his support.

He stood up again, once more on his paws. He nodded. ”My time is nearly up. Listen well, Mottlestar. Some may try to tell you that you have lost all right to be a leader for this reason or the other. That is not true. You are the leader, and that will not change unless you decide to change it--and I strongly suggest you do not. I don’t care much for that weaselly little deputy of yours, and you can feel free to tell him that. He has none of your poise or understanding. If you let him take your place right now, then you are practically dooming your Clan--my Clan--to be overrun by the other mouse-brains in the forest. So don’t you dare even think of stepping down. I know you’re tired, but... there are ways to relieve your stress other than passing your burden onto the unworthy.” Pricklebush huffed, lashing his tail behind him. ”I have more to say, but the ever-exasperating stars insist that I keep this brief. So, very well. These large cats, these feral beasts, may have helped you for now, but just remember what the heart of ThunderClan is. You have made your choice long ago, and you are not a rogue, loner, or ShadowClan. You are ThunderClan. Make choices that are best for your Clanmates, not for the peace of mind of some intruders you’ve only just met. You’re ThunderClan, and that’s what matters.” For a moment, he touched his nose to her forehead, as he had done when giving her his life. The gesture imparted none of the pain it had previously. This time, though it was still ungentle, it conveyed some rough semblance of attempted comfort. More like the gesture of affirmation one would give to a fretting apprentice than to a peer or leader, let alone friend, but it was all he could muster. She looked too much like Mossbloom to allow her to sit there so despondently alone. Pricklebush remained like that for a few moments, resisting the urge to envelop the much smaller she-cat in his tail. After a while, he stepped back. His eyes met hers for another moment. There wasn’t much else to say, and he had no time anyway. This was for the best. He offered her a nod before turning to begin walking away. Then, thinking better of it, he glanced over his shoulder one more time. ”I don’t know if I’ll get to speak to you again. Tell Echopaw--oh, and Fawnshine--that I’m sorry I couldn’t warn them about all these debacles beforepaw. There’s only so much that my Silverpelt-tongued overlords will allow me to say. But I’ll make sure to tell them as much as I can, whenever I can. And for you, Mottlestar... don’t take it lying down, all right? I know it’s been a lot. But you can do it. You’re far stronger than you think you are, and then some. You could carry any of these other puny leaders on your weakest paw. So you wrangle ThunderClan back into shape, and show the forest that it will take more than that to bring you down.” A brief smile touched his face. ”Give ‘em the Dark Forest, kid.” With that, he was gone, leaving Mottlestar alone in the starry plains.

The tortoiseshell leader dipped her head in deep reverence from the point of which he had touched his nose to her forehead. It was as if she was being returned her crown which had been rather unceremoniously knocked from her head, replaced by perhaps her only known ally among the star-studded sky. She held the position even as the amber gaze of honey lifted to meet that of the leaves. An unspoken promise made in that moment. She was almost sad to see him go, but a smile flicked up on her maw the moment he once more turned around to give her one last bout of encouragement.  ”For you, Pricklebush, gladly.”

---

The next the molly would rouse, his speech was ingrained deep into her mind. It seemed that the tom had been biting at whatever star-studded leash that Silverpelt had kept on him to send some type of message to Thunderclan. It was more comforting than she had thought, all truth be told. However, while the scent of camp was the first to hit her nose, it would be the ache of all that had happened to her still-mortal form that set in next. She couldn’t help the hiss of pain that followed shortly after, clawing deep into the moss as she readjusted to it all. Losing a life wasn’t glorious by any means, and returning afterwards was perhaps even worse. Or better, depending on who you asked. In this case, she could have been persuaded to either side. She was certain that it had to have been a gift from Pricklebush in some way.

His words replayed in her mind. All of them. It was of relief to hear his distaste for Batsong, and she hoped it was a common sentiment among those of the forest. It’d make things much easier when the next gathering came around, after all. However, as she readjusted herself in the nest, some of his other words mulled in her mind. He seemed to have some distaste for Darkspirit, which she couldn’t blame the tom. Perhaps he knew something she didn’t, but she also didn’t expect much of the forest to be exactly open-pawed to the tom who resembled his father so obviously. Still, it was something she filed away in her mind for later.

When it came to the intruders within their camp, she almost recoiled at the realization at what she had called them. Intruders. Were they? For the moment, they were at least cats to be repaid. But he had made a good point. She had to stay true to Thunderclan. Opening her heart to any and all who came bleeding to her border would cost her, as it already seemed to have. Honesty was a virtue, but it was a double-edged sword all the same. The truth hurt, and it could hurt deep. Such was the truth with the mistakes she had made. Every mistake came with a price, and now was the time to mull over the cost of hers.

Curling herself tighter in the nest of Fawnshine’s den, she let out a heavy sigh. Her ears told her that Fawnshine was out of the den, no doubt training with Echopaw. She didn’t need tended to in the moment, but there were words more than ready on her tongue to give to both of them. If she had to gander, there was a bit of fondness forming between the former medicine cat and the new apprentice. At least, if she had to guess from the way he had mentioned Echopaw before Fawnshine. It made her frown for just a moment. For the forest’s perhaps currently longest-serving medicine cat, the stars seemed to forget her too much. It seemed she had though, too. She was no better at the moment.

Improvement. She would improve. Thoughts of the gathering replayed in her mind. How she had managed to get through.. The leader had no idea. But, it was simply how things were. She had a job to do. Part of that was to rest, sure, but the moment she was cleared? She would attempt to step forward. It started with bearing the brunt of the storm that had been brewing within her Clan. There was simply too much to consider. Too much to think about, too much to take care of. Shaking her head as she felt the lingering sensation of overwhelm threaten to steal all of her senses, the tortoiseshell took in a deep breath.

One step at a time.

She was alive.

She had to come clean about what had happened to her, yes. But it was still her word that was law. Within reason. Mottlestar knew she had to lead by example, and part of that was coming clean about mistakes that she herself had made. After all, as much of a perfect figure she tried to be, there would ultimately be times she faltered. Perfection was an impossible bar, much as she tried to attain it. That much was obvious. After all, if it was expected for a leader to never make a wrong move, the tortoiseshell supposed that more Starclan cats would be there to bestow the life of perfection. To never falter.

She’d give them the dark forest, and even better yet, she’d get Thunderclan back.

… If only she knew just exactly how.