Hawktar smiled as a few cats stepped forward. It spoke well of his Clan that already, some were amicable to helping out. His Leadership had not been long enough to take any credit for this but he knew better than to take it for granted all the same. “Thank you, both of you.” He mewed to Basilfang and Grizzlytooth. “Basilfang, you will take Bacon here. And Grizzlytooth, if you’ll take Maverick, I think these will be good matches. Come to me if you have any concerns. Your charges will be spending their nights in a temporary den, you are encouraged to sleep there yourselves though we may not need every guardian to do so. It’s during the day these little furballs need the most minding.” He mrrowed, as one such kitten pounced on his tail claws out. His amber eyes watered slightly but he pressed on, being very brave about it. “I am afraid two Warriors will not be enough to shoulder all of these kittens. I will therefore be handing out some assignments as well. If you have any legitimate reasons against caring for a kit I don’t know about, I am willing to listen, but bear in mind this is something we must all come together to resolve.” He swept his gaze once more over the sea of faces. “Echo! Yes, good. You can take Barbie and Ken here, if you don’t mind. I think you can handle two.” He winked. “And ha, yes, thank you Elmstrike. Briarstep shall be handling the patrol, but we’ll need as much help as possible if we’re to succeed in finding these little ones' families.” “Vanillabreeze, I will be assigning you Trillium here.” He went on, beginning to feel the weariness in his bones for  his journey in earnest. He glanced back at the crowd of frightened and tired kittens behind him. “The rest should be alright in the care of our nursery Queens, though if any cat wishes to lend further assistance just let myself or Briarstep know. I’m sure the Queens would appreciate it.” And with this, he signaled the end of the meeting by leaping down from his perch. He landed with a touch less grace than normal, and limped tiredly back to his den where he could look forward to a long rest at Dawnpool’s side.

Hawkstar nodded astutely at Tanglepath, and moved closer to offer his shoulder should the older tom need it. He could see how malnourished he was, and guessed his time in the outlands had not been easy. "Come, the healers den is not far. You are welcome to join us, Tanglepath, but we must not crowd him." He said softly, and began making his way toward it. Echosong was out, but Hawkstar felt comfortable leading Jaggedthorn inside and directing him to the patients nest. The rest was beyond his skillset. Peachblossom had tried to teach him a few herbs when they were apprentices together, but none of it had ever stuck. "I'm sure you've had a long journey. But you are of ThunderClan, so this shall always be your home, if you'll have it. If you need anything else, please let myself or my deputy Briarstep know. Echosong will return soon, and she'll be able to give you the care you need."

Morningpaw stopped short, caught off-guard by the question. It was a perfectly rational inquiry, but her mind had to search with a bit more effort than usual for her true answer. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t gotten much say in living here, what she thought of it had not been relevant. “Oh, it’s alright I suppose? Lots of trees to climb..” She chuckled weakly, eying their forest surroundings. Even after all this time, she was still a bit unused to how wild nature was in the lands untouched by man. “I like my foster family, Hareflight, and all of my foster siblings.” She smiled warmly at the thought of them. Hareflight’s blood-children were a good deal older than she was, growing up as the baby of the family had been very enjoyable. A good consolation prize for having no littermates of her own. “What about you? Why’d you come here?” She asked.

Morningpaw yawned and stretched luxuriously in the late afternoon sun. She had just finished a good bout of training with her mentor and Featherpaw. The small gray tabby apprentice might look scruffy and harmless, but she packed a punch. It was still a mystery where she’d picked up her innate battle skills, but there was no doubting their efficacy on the field. Deciding against a nap, though the thought was tempting, she instead made her way over to one of her denmates who appeared unoccupied.  “H-hello Ryepaw. Grootiful day isn’t it?” She grinned, realizing her slip a few seconds after it had actually happened, but was still powerless to do much about it. “Ugh, I started to say great…then I thought no, beautiful and I said both..” Her ears flattened in embarrassment. You’re beautiful, her mind supplied, but she tamped down on that unwarranted compliment. The situation was awkward enough already.

Morningpaw led the way, her tail held straight-up like a stiff board. “Oh for sure! I keep accidentally wandering off myself! They’ll chase you like they’re gonna do something, but most patrols don’t really want to fight for no reason.” She went on, though she had not tested this particular theory very thoroughly. Just because a pack of angry RiverClan cats wasn’t likely to actually unsheathe their claws did not mean it was sensible to call that bluff. “Me? Oh, no. I came to live here when I was four moons old. Hareflight knew my mother, you see.” She explained cheerily, though the corners of her smile became rather fixed as the topic strayed into her personal situation. “I was born in a barnyard far away from here. My mother has some important things she needs to do, but she’ll come back for me when she’s done.”

Morningpaw recognized the call for a meeting, though not the voice that issued it. Poking her head from Waspsight’s den, where they’d been chatting and sorting herbs (he’d attempted to keep her out, claiming that embalming was no activity for an apprentice. Her twin gaze fixed on the tom calling the Clan to order. What was his name again? Morningpaw still knew precious few Warriors names, still being new to this whole apprentice thing. Oh, what’s this? She watched in silence as another Warrior– this one she did know, Ravenclaw, a tom who’d complimented her hunting once– intervened and began arguing about succession. Oh dear, that’s right… She recalled Hareflight’s speculation on the situation and how the transfer of power had been muddied by the unexpected and sudden death of Mercuryrose. I’m really not a fan of the mortality rate here. What were you thinking, mom? She’d assumed that the dark-furred tom’s call for order was an indication that a decision had been reached by…whoever’s job it was to do that.The Elders, most likely. Such was the way in the outlands, in family groups. But not here. “Isn’t there like…some kind of vote we should do?” She muttered to the cat closest to her. Casting stones wasn’t unheard of where she was from, it seemed to her like it would work here as well. She noted Rowanshade standing close by the other tomcat, uncharacteristically quiet. It was clear where Feahterpaw's mentor's stone would be cast.

Rowanshade slunk along behind the other three members of the party. She still couldn’t believe she’d been given an apprentice, after everything. Featherpaw was a beat-up little dusky gray tabby of a rogue, but she was still a soul entrusted to Rowanshade for guidance. Was it some kind of trick? Mistrust had become her bread and butter since the battle, so she found herself regarding her Clanmates with as little trust as they did her. “Yeah, that would be best.” she meowed, chin set. She fluffed out her russet-colored fur, and looked Redmask directly in the eye as though challenging him. She was shorter than he, and indeed most cats. “These two are former city cats. City cats are all posture and bluff, because they don’t have healing herbs and Clanmates to care for them. It might seem crazy to attack outright, but a Warrior has no need of such a dance.”  And without warning, she launched herself at Featherpaw. She didn’t attack head-on, being much heavier and stronger than her pupil, but instead aimed a glancing blow claws sheathed on her left side. Featherpaw reacted instantly, side-stepping and smoothly extending a slender limb to catch her mentor mid-air. The sudden preparedness was not what Rowanshade had been anticipating, so the defense caught her solidly knocking the wind from her as she landed in an ungraceful heap.  “Er, not bad. Guess you’ve had some fighting training before?” She coughed, getting to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster. Featherpaw said nothing. “Alright Morningpaw. Let’s see you block an attack.” Rowanshade gave a jerk of her head, indicating that Redmask should engage his apprentice. Though she had the benefit of forewarning, Morningpaw couldn’t help but swallow nervously as she eyed her mentor. She had a feeling this would be very different than the casual combat training Wisteriastar had shown her back home…

Hawkstar stepped out of his den with a massive yawn. He’d been enjoying a very good nap, but duty called. Shaking himself, he focused his fiery amber eyes on Tanglepath. “This better be good.” Grumbled the young Leader, as he followed her to the camp center where quite a many cats had now gathered. Hawkstar strolled boldly through the throng, which parted for him. “Tanglepath, who is this cat?” He asked sharply, looking the rugged tomcat up and down. He didn’t recognize a hair on his head, though that hardly meant his Warrior had not had good cause to bring him to the camp. Under Hawkstar’s reign, relations with outclanners had eased greatly, so most cats were less hostile and more curious about him than anything.

The obviously suspicious nature of the older Warrior did not appear to phase Morningpaw, nor his continued hostility. Indeed, they bounced off of her cheery aura like water on duck feathers.  She leaned forward, inspecting him with her two-toned gaze thoroughly.  “Well, if it’s that important, let me help! I’ve been here longer than you, if you go out on your own you might get lost.” She pointed out with a grin, and bounced towards the camp exit. “You coming?”

Morningpaw had been lounging just outside the Apprentice’s den when she saw the movement of a ghostly figure across the way. She’d had a nightmare, her usual one. In it she was always immobilized, unable to move, helpless as she watched her mother’s retreating figure pad out of the camp entrance tunnel. She would try to cry out, but her voice didn’t work either. She supposed this was only natural, to be missing her only parent in this strange new place. But she had to trust that she’d left her here for a reason, even if loneliness twisted her heartstrings sometimes. Almost elated for a distraction, she bounded silently after the light-furred tom. What was his name again? Moolight? He’d interrupted what had been, in Morningpaw’s opinion, a very dull funeral. Holding still and being quiet did not come naturally to her, so such an affair was more akin to torture. Nevermind that she barely knew the Deputy-turned-Leader. She’d hardly known the tom who was in charge beforehand either, though he’d seemed very friendly enough. She hopped along, trying to line up her steps with the much larger pawprints of her target. But his legs were much longer than hers. So intent she was that she didn’t even notice he’d turned around until they were nose-to-nose. Her calico fur fluffed up. “Oh I just had a bad dream. What are you doing out here?” She chirped, hardly put-off by his aggression.

Further inward, they approached the triage where the worst injured were housed. It was just a derelict concrete pipe, cracked in half and partially sunken into the earth. They had draped a ragged piece of cloth over the entrance for privacy. "They call me many things," Bearheart said wryly. "Bearheart is the most popular." Inside the makeshift dwelling, the scent of infection and blood was overpowering. As a mother, Bearheart was no stranger to gross bodily odors, but it was still difficult to witness suffering like this. And with no way to alleviate it beyond what little she knew. A few patients stirred, a tall gray she-cat with a half-bandaged face. Two apprentices coiled around one another, darned with a collection shallow wounds. "ThunderClan has been driven from our ancestral grounds by our own Leader no less. I...suspect not all is what it seems." She shook her head wearily. "Still, anything you can do is much appreciated."

Rebuffed, Copperheart fell hard against the mucky earth. Blood and mud had mixed together in a rusty slurry which painted his body where it lay. It took him several attempts to get to his feet, though his adversary seemed in no hurry. Firestar’s outward calm, his slow procedural body language. It flooded Copperheart with fury. It was as though he were a child again, being scolded by a looming authoritarian figure who  knew far better than he.  “Oh this is too far along to be stopped now. Do you think for a moment that if I called off my troops, it would erase the injustices of the Code? The way it punishes good and rewards the greedy and complacent?” He shook his head. His ire with the code was mere window dressing, but it was what his supporters fought for, in the end. “You’ve made your nest father, it is time to lie in it. Take heart, any children you lose today I’m confident you’ll replace within a month. Your whore never takes a night off, does she?” He sneered. “Will you even remember their names?”

Morningpaw poked her head out of the Medicine Cat’s den when the call for assembly reached her ears. It had been the place she’d spent much of her time since her confinement to camp, helping organize herbs and sneak peeks at the resting ‘patient’ on whose account she was in trouble in the first place, a very pretty silver tabby whose name they did not yet know. Shaking the dust of tiny leaves and other plant fragments from her cream-and-black coat, the freshly named Apprentice bid a hasty farewell to Waspsight and bounded across the clearing in full strides. She was one of few who did. The general mood was still very downtrodden, the loss of such a young Leader so suddenly seemed to have trapped ShadowClan in a state of shocked torpor. It was not as if Morningpaw did not mourn, she did feel greatly for the tragic loss of a life that should have been much longer, but she had been very young for much of Juncostar’s Leadership. Only being brought to ShadowClan when she was three or four months old. The most she’d known about him was his alleged affair with the ThunderClan Leader, Hawkstar. The slim black tom did get around, didn’t he? She reflected. She was lost in thought halfway through her trek and failed both to slow her ascent, and to look where she was going, so naturally she ran face-forward into someone’s back. She bounced off, hardly weighing a fourth of a stone soaking wet, spitting fur out of her mouth. “Whoops! Sorry!”

Copperheart laughed, a shrill and unnatural sound born of his own discordant voice and Hawkstar’s. Like the scraping of claws on stone, an innate miasma of wrongness that engendered a sick feeling in one’s core. His eyes were rolling madly, but fixed on his father as if hanging on for dear life. “I’m afraid not, dearest father. Lion of the forest.” He spat the words like they were poison. “You sowed these seeds many moons ago, and now you will. Reap. What. You. Sow.” He punctuated each word with a step forward. Though unsteady on his feet, he still radiated a frightening sense of abandon. He’d died once and was scarce afeared to greet death once more. As such, Copperheart fought with nothing to lose, though he was aware his father had a few spare deaths up his own sleeve. But he was interested in far more than his demise. With aims of commandeering the flame-furred giant, he launched his battered body forward and sank his claws into that thick fur. Briefly, the intense scent of his father invoked unwelcome memories. Memories of a small kitten tumbling down Firestar’s broad back and begging to go again while his mother chided him. Small white paws pouncing on a long feather duster tail sweeping a red cavern floor. Gentle eyes, golden and green looking down at him as he turned over in his sleep, his milk-full belly rising and falling noiselessly. Safety. Completion. Belonging. Feelings that burned him with their warmth. He burrowed his muzzle through the layers of fur until he at last struck skin, and bit down as hard as he could muster. The blood that spurted into his mouth dragged him back to the present. It tasted of copper, his namesake, of rare meat and death. This is who I am now. That kitten is long gone.

Bearheart sat stonestill, letting this stranger speak her peace. Her scarred features betrayed no strong emotions, though weariness broke through in her green eyes. A car peeled by in the distance, its gaze briefly illuminating the deserted lot. Rats and cats alike scattered before the beams, but Bearheart herself remained still as its harsh brightness cloaked her. Under such stark scrutiny, her weight loss and haggard appearance were unmistakable.  “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting,” She began slowly after a beat of silence. “But you described a sign from our Warrior ancestors perfectly. Why, in StarClan’s name, they’d contact an outsider such as yourself is beyond me but…I never claimed any great insight into their ways.”  She rose to her feet with a new energy. “If you have skills in the healing arts, we’d not turn away any help. I’m afraid we can offer you no more in return than what you see before you, but if it’s amenable, follow me.” She began to lead the way back to a ditch where the bulk of the Clan sheltered. A few faces rose and vanished from within, curious eyes reflecting the light from the lampposts. “Hey, didn’t get your name by the way.”

It was a mark of how trying the last 48 hours had been that Beaheart merely blinked a few times, failing to comprehend what this city cat was saying to her. Her manner of speaking itself was foreign enough, unlike other outsiders that Bearheart had come into contact over her many years. Still, dottiness aside, she didn’t seem inherently harmful. They certainly outnumbered her, if it came to that.  Feeling a touch more at ease, Bearheart sat down. In truth, her aching joints had been begging for a respite for days, if she were being honest with herself. “Alright, I’ll bite,” She said, weariness still draped over her words. “What does that mean?”

Completely in his own world of futile anglership, Hawkstar jumped a few inches when a voice sounded beside him. When he looked up, it was into the face of a startlingly handsome black-and-gray tomcat who smelled of water and reeds. A RiverClan Warrior. Wait, don’t I know him? Hawkstar’s amber eyes scrutinized him, as his ruffled black fur fell flat. Clearly there was no hostile intent present, as of yet. Right, Edge-something. He’d seen him at gatherings, heard more than an earful of gossip if he were to be honest. A troubled, dark-pelted Warrior. The tale was familiar.  “Well, you’ll have to excuse me,” He re-settled himself, re-asserting calmness. “They didn’t exactly have rivers in the city where I was born.”

Bearheart did not take notice of the approaching figure until they were right upon her. Things were quite disorganized, with neither the Clan’s Leader or Deputy having departed with the band of so-called rebels. They had settled in what appeared to be a vacant lot behind some human buildings. There was enough refuse for them to make dens and set up camp. For her part, Bearheart had been attempting to keep the tension from rupturing into brawls between stressed and anxious Clanmates. The senior Warriors had met and sent an envoy in the form of an apprentice messenger to the other Clans, and to what remained of RiverClan, wherever they were. So it was with ruffled fur that she faced the stranger before her. Tired, bloodshot eyes and unsheathed claws. Her docked tail was but a poof of fur, round and held up straight “Unless that business is turning around and marching in the other direction, I doubt we’ve got much to discuss,” The old she-cat growled. Her tone was firm, but not aggressive. “This is the camp of ThunderClan– temporarily.”

Hawkstar walked solemnly through the misty grove, pausing only when a sheet of raindrops began to fall. They passed through his phantom form to dapple the undisturbed grass beneath his feet, as if he was not there at all. Sound was also muted. Thunder peeled in the distance, but was more of a murmur to his spectral ears. The world around him moved and breathed, oblivious to the liminal interloper that stood in the clearing. He’d arrived at last. This was the place where the battle was to happen, if he had seen truly from his invisible position in each of the camps. His heart ached thoroughly for the blood about to be shed here. Would their plan even work? He had to believe it would, else this shadow of an existence was to become his norm.  Shapes loomed in the foggy distance, revealing themselves to be ThunderClan Warriors making their way to the summit. Many wore faces of resigned grimness, but Hawkstar had eyes only for his own face.  At the head of the pack, striding purposefully beside a worrying Briarstep, was his body.  In truth, it had seen better days. Hawkstar had no experience with the laws of spirits, of how their physicality was ruled, but from what he was seeing now he was willing to wager a soul stuffed into the wrong container would eventually turn foul like crowfood. The once-sleek and thin body was bulging awkwardly around the shoulders and flank, sunken in other areas to form a gruesome topography of flesh and bone. His pelt was ragged and thinning in various areas, particularly along the spine which arched high, its vertebrae jutting up like mountain peaks. Further down by the ankles his skin was stretched and riding up, revealing pale white paws that could belong to none other than the ghastly tomcat wearing his skin. The head turned to fix him with a stranger's eyes shining out from his own face. A cold thrill shot through Hawkstar’s soul. He knew Copperheart could see him. He could only watch as his body then threw itself at Briarstep, who it warmed him to see, had turned back at the last minute. Good on you boy. Don’t follow me off a cliff.  The fight predictably stirred up a great commotion between the ThunderClanners, who yowled with confusion, some of them moving forward to intervene whilst others stood in their path. He saw Palefawn snarling in Goldenpaw’s face, the latter responding by raking her claws over the older Warrior’s muzzle. Blood spattered the earth. Cripes, this is embarrassing. The enemy hasn’t even shown up yet and we are fighting amongst ourselves. It would have been humiliating had this entire war not been a farce. The group quelled slightly as movement emanated from somewhere beyond the veil of mist. Was the ‘enemy’ here at last?

In the center of the group, the ambient light began to gather and twist itself into a shape that was vaguely feline. Before their very eyes, the outline of a cat sharpened from the amorphous starlight. Nightfall released a sigh as the pressure of manifestation passed through him. “Greetings, Leaders and Warriors.” His gaze rested briefly on each face, pausing upon Mercuryrose and Hazelface a touch longer than the others. “I am called Nightfall. I served as RiverClan’s deputy many moons ago, and gave my life in service to my Clan.” He settled back on his haunches, feeling a sense of weariness that showed only in his eyes. “It is StarClan’s understanding that you seek the truth of recent events. Although I gather that we had already warned you of the coming dangers, it is clear that you require yet more explanation.” A hint of irritation crept into his tone, but passed as quickly as a darting fishes shadow beneath the water. “Beware the toms who speak falsely– you have gleaned this much, for I do not see them among us tonight. For their hearts are not their own. It is fair to be unaware that the dead may return in the skin of the living, it has been many moons since this occurred. Only strong feelings of hate, or of love, can overcome the boundary that separates us.” Nightfall nodded sagely, closing his eyes for a moment before he continued. “To put it in terms that leave no room for misinterpretation, they are possessed by the essences of two cats from the Dark Forest. They seek vengeance for perceived wrongs– they wish only to make others suffer as they have, out of pain and hatred. But who would do such a thing? They are not of lions, of tigers– who does this leave, among the great Clans of old? No cat has been named Cheetah in some time, it is true. Think!” His tail swished agitatedly. “Panthers also walked the forests of old, did they not?” “Nor of gold, or of silver. These words do not describe the other assailant. That leaves us with a much more common metal.” He rose to his feet, gazing at each of them. “The cats possessing your fellow Leaders are Copperheart of SkyClan, and Pantherstorm of RiverClan.” He nodded astutely, pleased to see some of them had put the clues together. “You must kill them at the same time, not precisely, but it is best that they both be in the realm of spirits when your Leaders return to their bodies. Once back, our StarClan Warriors will...deal with the traitors, on our end.” His eyes flashed as he spoke.