Beechrayal [c]

It was, understandably, typically seen as uncouth to eavesdrop in on conversations. Interactions that did not directly involve a particular individual deserved the reverence that came from trusting that it was held in private. However, when traveling in such a large group, there were times it was inevitable. Even in the hum of a crowd that never seemed to cease, individual pockets of chatter still became distinctly clear. Little mattered beyond that. She had been tuning into snippets of conversations the entire journey in an attempt to keep herself going and amused, given the fact that she herself had no strong interest in conversing. If anything, the fact that her primary duty had been ensuring the safe travel of the more delicate herbs was the only thing keeping her remotely sane.

A particular conversation she had heard, however, had piqued her interest. Swanpaw was not usually one to converse with cats outside of Riverclan, much less in any semblance of a friendly manner. Perhaps it was an instinct to keep an ear on the apprentice to be there to step in should she stir any trouble, but there was something much more interesting that she pulled from that encounter instead.

"My mentor was Beechfang,"

Such a detail shouldn't have mattered. But there was stories from her kithood that stirred in her memories upon hearing it. A scarred, half-faced rogue that had once come from Skyclan. Her memory could not pull just exactly why the feline had come to her rogue status, but there was something about it that did not add up quite right. After all, Mintglade looked particularly young. Acted like it, too. Surely this could not have been the same Beechfang as from the tales of her kithood? But if it was, and this warrior was so notable as to become a story she had inherited, there was more to the tale than she knew. Curiosity was a beast she did not tangle with often, but in this case, she wanted to know.

Prowling forward in the group, her gaze locked onto her target. It was easy enough to find her mother in the crowd, more towards the helm. Standing just a bit straighter as she moved forward on a mission, it was rather simple to weave through the crowd of cats. Once she was next to Perchstar, her tail just barely brushed against her mother's flank in greeting. "Mother... I have a question," Her voice spoke of neutrality, almost as if she were simply going to ask 'were they there yet,' but had a glimmer of something more. Something she knew Perchstar would no doubt be able to pick up on. "The name Beechfang was in tales from our kithood, yes?"

Mistwalker followed her mother's reactions very closely. Subconsciously, her steps guided the two of them just slightly apart from the group. It had been because of prying ears that she had heard of Beechfang from the Skyclan warrior in the first place. Mintglade, if her memory served right as to how she had introduced herself. For what she had remembered as a kit, this was the type of conversation that would likely lead to a place that no other ears needed to hear. Not just yet. So as they veered off from the group, her blue gaze also wandered to ensure there were no ears swiveled their way to listen much as she had. She had no problems in becoming Riverclan's spy amongst those that funneled through the crowd. Being the lookalike daughter of the River's queen meant that cats either told her things freely that they had not the ability to tell Perchstar right away, or they hid things from her for that very reason. In this case, it was neither, and she had just happened to be at the right place in the right time. Or wrong place, given whose side of the story they stood on. Nevertheless, having cats feel some urge to keep things from her out of reverence of her lineage had created a warrior who had become particularly adept at simply listening. It certainly helped that she had also picked up her mother's overall disdain for conversation.

That very listening skill was why she now spoke with her mother. She listened once more, carefully observing how it was that Perchstar regaled the tale. It wasn't lost on her how there was a tension in her mother's voice as she spoke, a wariness that said she was not particularly enthused to be speaking of this cat named Beechfang. Who had once been of Skyclan, but had found herself under such a tumult that it led to her exile. Her whiskers twitched with a particular sense of vindication as Mistwalker heard of Cloverheart. Though the molly had not been the cat that the stars had decided would be the best to converse with her, there was a faint familiar tug that the she-cat had once appeared to one of her siblings, or some of her other clanmates. Even in the stars she knew this Cloverheart was there and keeping an eye on her Clan.

At that moment, her mind wandered about the late medicine cat. Was she aware of the very thing that Mistwalker now knew? What did she think of it? Had there been any sense of retribution from the stars that attempted to prevent the scarred warrior's return? Or had they once more played silent, allowing things to pan out below without any sense of intervention? That thought made her inwardly scoff. It seemed as if Starclan had little care in the way of protecting those who devoted their life to them so thoroughly they forbade themselves of many comforts that came with the life many of their clanmates led. If their ancestors did not even show their paws to protect their most dedicated servants, how could one ever trust them with any sort of protection for themselves? That was Mistwalker's opinion, at least. She had little care in the way of their ancestors. The current deteriorated state of the forest was more than enough proof in her mind that they simply did not care, and there was little proof to make her change her mind.

No matter her opinions on her ancestors, though, that did little to change the situation at paw. The one she now presented to her mother. Conflict seemed to surround the scarred molly of the tales like a storm, one following a path of pure destruction. Destruction that had brought itself to Riverclan's borders. For a Clan they were supposed to be in alliance with, it seemed as if they held little reverence to that title. Curiosity trailed down different paths in her mind. If her mother had last seen Beechfang as a rogue, then surely, that meant she must have once more been welcomed in beneath Birdstar's power, instead of her predecessor. She once more reflected on the youth that surrounded the molly that Swanpaw had been talking to. It would have been easy enough to simply believe that Mintglade had once been under the tutelage of Beechfang, and simply reassigned another mentor to complete her training, had she not been so young. If Beechfang's exile had been recent, it would have been during times apparent to Mistwalker. The bi-colored warrior would have noticed her existence. She had come to learn of Felix, her father, during her apprenticeship. It would have been almost impossible for her to not have also crossed the silver tabby who only had half of a face remaining.

What information are you privy to that I am not?

If the question would have been levied to her at any point where youth embraced her more strongly, her face would have contorted into some ugly grimace. There would have been some obvious display as if she were a kit about to face a punishment for breaking foundational rules and she had been caught by a superior. In this instance, there truly was no cat more superior to her than her mother. It was not as if she had been withholding the information, however. If anything, Mistwalker had gone directly to her mother. A suspicious chill had rippled down her spine upon hearing that conversation, and part of her was proud to have had such an instinct. Instead of that grimace, her gaze simply hardened. Narrowed to focus as she turned her head back towards the group of cats, her gaze moving towards where she had been not too long before. She could not see the silver tabby or Swanpaw now, and perhaps that was for the best. Nor could she see the subject of their discussion.

"It is with sincere regret then, mother, that I am the one to deliver this news to you." A cold formality now donned itself in her tone. It was the chill of both bad news and no longer a daughter hoping to hear a story from her mother, but a warrior reporting to her general of news on a battle field. She stood taller, too, in a pose all too similar to the molly she faced. "Beechfang's status within Skyclan appears to have been restored, and I fear it is for longer than you may have known. I overheard discussion-Beechfang has resided within Skyclan for long enough for an apprentice to be beneath her tutelage, long enough to see themselves also earn the status of a warrior." That was no short amount of time. Having also recently brought an apprentice to warriorhood herself, she knew the difficulties such a task came with. Her ears were on a slight swivel as she looked out for any sign of any three of the cats that had recently pulled her attention. "Mintglade is the apprentice's name. She discussed her former mentor with Swanpaw." All information that she knew, she gave to her mother, before turning to see her reaction. "I cannot help but also wonder if it has been since before my birth that Beechfang has returned to Skyclan. I often went by the Twolegplace in my apprenticeship, to try and speak with Felix, and not once did I ever see any cat but him. Nor did he ever mention a heavily-scarred silver tabby." As she pondered her thought aloud, her expression dimmed just slightly into one much more grim. She did not know just how long the alliance between the three clans stood, but if her mind trailed in the correct direction... She wondered just how much of that alliance had been fortified on such a falsehood.

The singular word was all the confirmation that the warrior had needed that her own intuition had been solid, had her mother’s tale not been enough evidence that Mistwalker’s mind had come to the correct conclusions. It was unlike her mother to be thrown off guard by much, and to see Riverclan’s leader to halt so abruptly spoke much more than the singular word that had come from her maw. Actions spoke significantly louder than words, and in that moment, she heard all of it. All of the emotions that surged and yet fled from her mother in that moment and how she fought to process all of them beneath that mask. That very mask that she also wore and had put on to deliver the news.

She gave her mother the space that she deemed necessary, refraining from moving as well. Her own body language maintained the poise and rigidity of a soldier awaiting their next command, holding silence and stillness until they were dismissed or discharged with orders. As that ice-cold mask bore into her own, there was an understanding there that went deeper than emotions or actions. Times like this, the kin-bond that they shared was useful to be able to recognize that it was not due to her own actions that it was necessary. Even as her mother told her directly, Mistwalker already knew. This was not her fight to take on, but it was vital information for Perchstar to be aware of. Alliance changing, to say the least. While she had overall ambivalence towards their neutrality between Thunderclan and Skyclan, this certainly shifted her own perspective.

For a moment, Mistwalker also pondered if there were any slanders against Riverclan that had occurred from a cat that marched beneath Thunderclan’s banner. If, during this mass-truce that had been called during their journey, she could discover the truth of the clan of bracken and bramble. However, the appearance of her mother told her enough: now was not the time to ask that question. She wished to be there for her mother, to be a shoulder that she could lean on to state her dissatisfaction at the situation. But at the same time, she knew it was not her place for that, either. The resolution to this predicament would be sought between leaders.

Giving a nearly-imperceptible nod, Mistwalker found herself mirroring her mother’s body language. It was easy enough to mimic the cat before her when she was somewhat unsure of what to do. Even with her orders clear as the waters of their homeland once was, it was hard to not feel the urge to do something more. It was not without reverence to the situation that she weighed the weight of the news she had just delivered. Many cats would have crumbled under the fact that what they had just told their leader was alliance-ending, as she knew there would be retribution that would be paid for such a lie. Her mother had shown benevolence and grace in situations that Mistwalker doubted that she could, and there was one virtue that flowed deep beneath her mother’s pelt.

Honesty.

There was a difference between taking time to reveal the truth, and lying to the face of another. Such was apparent that it had been a lie from how her mother spoke. ”I shall continue to listen, but no others will know of this knowledge.” She affirmed. With their words exchanged and the dismissal heard, Mistwalker loosened herself into her own mask. One that spoke of the conversation-averse cat that she always was, and she allowed the flow of the group to once more overtake her as she seemed to disappear into the mist of cats. Just another face in the crowd, not one to draw any attention should cats dare scan who was around them.

A mist-walker, as she always was, and always would be.