An outsider walking into RidgeClan would be able to tell you exactly what family Lionflower is from; his grandmother's legacy of ginger cats is unmistakable, especially when standing side by side, and Lionflower is no different. He stands as tall and strong as his family members, many of them guardians, though his thick mountain pelt disguises his more lithe and long-bodied shape beneath.

He is a pale ginger ticked tabby, with subtle stripes on his face and legs, the rest of him fading into a cheery, sunrise gold. His eyes are gold as well, like his father's.

His time serving as PrairieClan's herbalist has softened him somewhat, his fur becoming more sleek during the summer moons rather than overtly fluffy, betraying his more lanky build. He is by no means weak, however, kept nimble and fit by his excursions into the territory to tend his plants.


art by Jae!

Our family is a large one. The matriarch—my grandmother—is Gingerfang, a proud and respected guardian, and so are many of her children, children-in-law, and other family members. My brother Tigerflame wanted nothing more than to join them.

He expected my dream to be the same. Of course he did; who could blame him? But my brother is like fire. He's intense, driven, and will consume everything in his path to reach his goals. I've long since learned not to hold it against him; he can't help his nature. But neither can I.

I never had that fire. Even from the day I tumbled into the moss nest of the nursery alongside my brother, I was soft. I did not speak. Later, our mother and father retell the story of how worried they'd been, how the medicine cat had roughly groomed me to draw breath from my lungs, but I wasn't dead; I was just quiet.

They joked that later, they wished I had remained that way.

I blossomed into a chatterbox. I talked to anyone who would listen—and to many who wouldn't—about anything that came to mind. Most days, that was plants. The myriad of green outside the nursery beckoned to me, leaves rustling and insects chirring; I wanted to know it all.

As an apprentice, I finally got the chance. The richness of the world opened up in front of my eyes, beneath my paws, and I could smell the life flowing through every tree, every flower... but it wasn't for me. My mentor reminded me of that every day; my role was the role of a warrior's, and warriors didn't have time to learn about plants. That was for medicine cats.

My warrior training continued, but my eyes were now fixed on the healing den. Was that supposed to be my future? Every night when I closed my eyes to sleep, I prayed for StarClan to send a sign.

They never did.

The medicine cat, Sootwhisker, already had an apprentice, a quiet tabby called Bearpaw. And by the time I took my final assessment, Bearpaw was replaced by Rainpaw, passing me up yet again for the role.

I guess Tigerpaw saw the look on my face when Rainpaw was announced as the new healer apprentice; he snorted and, under his breath, assured me I'd be wasted in the medicine den. I was better off as a warrior—or, even better, a guardian. Like my family.

When I was named as a warrior, I tried not to see the disappointment in my father's eyes. Tigerpaw, still in the guardian training that I'd flunked out of, didn't speak to me for three moons, until he became Tigerflame.

As Lionwing, I entered a haze. Was this going to be the rest of my life? Would I have to stay in the shadow of my family, knowing I could never reach their expectations for me? On every patrol, I could only see the flora that lined RidgeClan's pathways, full of life and potential; that life still called to me. Healing called me, even if StarClan didn't.

Even if they wouldn't.

It was a beautiful, sunny day when I got into my first and last fight with Sootwhisker.

My mouth was full of borage. The sweet flavor seeped into my mouth as I carried it, but I was careful not to chew; my aunt would be delivering her litter soon, and she would need this borage to help her milk production.

Sootwhisker met me at the entrance of the healing den, blocking my entry. "This can't continue, Lionwing."

I set down the herbs, my pelt already starting to fluff up defensively. "What do you mean? I just—"

"Don't be obtuse; you've been hounding me to teach you medicine since you were a kit," he rasped. "But there's more to being a medicine cat than learning about herbs. It's StarClan's choice."

Eyes prickled into us from around the clearing, and my pelt heated in embarrassment. It wasn't exactly a secret that I've been desperate to learn medicine, but hearing him reject me like this in front of everyone, hearing that StarClan rejected me too... It was too much.

"If StarClan would just give me a chance, I'd prove them wrong!" I shot back. "This is what I'm meant for! StarClan are fools if they can't see it!"

Immediately, I knew I'd stepped over the line. Turning sharply away, I kept my eyes down and ran out of camp. Dismay came over me like a wave; I'd just embarrassed my family in front of the whole camp... and that was my first thought. My family. What they would think.

Running blindly through the pine woods, my entire life stretched out in front of me. I saw me in my role as a warrior, hunting and fighting for my clan, moon after moon until I joined the elders' den and, finally, StarClan. I saw how I could make my family proud. I saw all the empty spaces where happiness should have been.

I couldn't do it.

My paws settled on springy turf as I reached the edge of the woods. Sunlight warmed PrairieClan's verdant fields in the distance, across the river. A fresh, cold breeze rushed along the river, ruffling my fur and making me shiver. A strange energy overtook me.

I continued walking.

I walked until the sun went down and I crossed our outer border. I walked until my belly clenched in hunger, until my mouth was dry and tasted of foam, and finally I stopped to drink from the river and hunt. I fell asleep in a thicket of ferns, alone for the first time in my life.

In the morning, I sat for hours beside the river, watching the sunlight play across the water. When I gathered the energy to move again, it wasn't to go home; my decision was made. I continued walking, following the river downstream.

My day of travel was not to go as planned, however. Maybe it was StarClan who led me further from the river, taking a higher path, passing a hollowed tree... catching the scent of blood and cat. Whether or not it was a coincidence never crossed my mind when I found him, a white and ginger tom curled up and bloody. His wounds spoke to a warrior's strike.

When I returned to the stranger with a mouth full of herbs and cobweb wrapped around a stick, I sat to wait. It wasn't much longer before he started to stir.

"Looks like you got yourself into a little trouble, huh?" I prompted, grinning a little to put him at ease. The tom squinted at me; his eyes were hazy, maybe from sleep or blood loss, and he didn't speak. "Your neck? You look like you could use some help, little fox."

The spiky fur along his nape began to bristle, and his lips pulled back in a snarl. "I don't need help from the likes of you."

"More bite than a fox!" So feisty! I couldn't help but laugh. "More like foxglove, hm?"

The tom just frowned, brow furrowed in consideration. He opened his mouth again, but before he could (undoubtedly) continue to protest, I cut him off. "Listen," I insisted, putting on the voice that Sootwhisker used with his patients. "You need some help. I've got the herbs you need and the knowledge to use them; you'll die out here without treatment."

"Better than being indebted to a clan cat."

"That's it, then?" My stomach sank. "You don't need to worry about that. I'm on my own out here, same as you."

He watched me for a long moment, green eyes sharp and calculating despite his injury, before he rested his head on his paws and sighed. Feeling as though that was the best permission I'd get from him, I picked up my herbs and got to work.

Once his wound is cleaned, poulticed, and wrapped in cobweb, I leave him again to hunt. Part of me worries that he'd be gone when I return, but my worry is unfounded; he's still where I left him, stretched out and freshly groomed, and he doesn't reject the prey and soaked moss that I bring.

He doesn't give me a name when I ask, so I take to calling him Foxglove. To counteract his silence, I fill the day with words; they seem to pour out of me, unfiltered, and I realized that even in the scant couple of days it's been since I left camp, I'd become lonely.

Fortunately, Foxglove never seems to become annoyed with me. He sits and listens in silence, occasionally replying quietly to something I've said, or asking a question, which inevitable leads me on other spiels.

Days pass like this. I continue to treat Foxglove's wound, and it continues to improve; it's impossible to deny the pride in my work. I'd always known this work called to me, and despite the circumstances, it was nice to have a chance to prove it.

Even when he's recovered enough to continue on his own, I'm reluctant to leave; despite his withdrawn nature, I've found a comfort in his presence and dry humor. "It's no trouble!" I assure him when I return with prey for us to share. "I'd feel guilty if I found you dead after picking another dumb fight somewhere."

While I'd been hunting that day, I'd caught the scent of a RidgeClan patrol closer to our hollow tree than I would've liked. Were they looking for me? Belly gnawing with guilt and anxiety, I put on a chipper face regardless when I suggest we move on to safer territory.

Drawn by the sunlit fields on the other side of the river, we find a place to cross and it's like I've found freedom for the first time. I can't resist springing into the tall grass and tearing off in a run, the wind streaming through my fur and, for the first time, I feel that Lionwing actually fits me.

When I finally collapse, panting in the grass, Foxglove stands over me with his head against the blue sky, dry amusement in those verdant green eyes, and I feel... And I feel...

I feel...

A moon slides by, as long as a year and as short as a day, and Foxglove still hasn't left my side. On a lazy summer night, our bellies full and our hearts content, we watch the stars and I talk about home.

It's easy, at first, to reminisce about it, the beautiful mountainside and our view of the stars... but my thoughts turn to StarClan, and the expectations of my family, and how being a warrior was never what I wanted...

"Is that why you left?" he asks quietly.

The question gives me pause as brambles fill my chest. "Partially," I murmur, when I can breathe again. "Not entirely. I wanted to do more, to help others, but... I wasn't allowed to study medicine." It's StarClan's choice! Sootwhisker's words echoed in my mind. "I just wanted to help."

"You helped me."

My stomach flutters in the strangest way, and I smile. "Best thing I've done in a while."

A few nights later, when we're curled up together to sleep, Foxglove tells me the story of a young tom born to a tribe of loners. They were peaceful and nomadic, traveling with the seasons, until another band of cats claimed territory in their usual route. The tribe's leaders, to maintain peace, agreed to move on, but the hotblooded young tom couldn't handle the injustice. He sought out the other band of cats, scolding and taunting them for their cowardice in thieving from a peaceful tribe.

They didn't retaliate, and the tom went to sleep safely that night with his family. But the other band was cruel and vindictive, and the tom woke before dawn to the screams and blood of his tribe.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," I murmur into his fur. "You were young, and they were cruel; you couldn't have known." It wouldn't be enough, I knew, to soothe the pain in my companion, so I sat in silence as he grieved.

As sleep begins to darken our eyes, Foxglove murmurs a single word into the dark. A name. His name.

A purr thrumming in my throat, I press my face into his fur.

Greenleaf passes into Leaf-fall, and I begin to prepare for the cold season, hanging herbs to dry in the bramble patch we've been calling home. One day, I encounter a loner while I'm out hunting; she's injured, a nasty scratch on her flank burning with infection, and I offer my help.

It takes some convincing, but she returns with me to the bramble patch and I treat her injury. After a couple of days, she's well enough to move on, and I send her off with the knowledge she needs to keep herself on the mend.

Apparently, the loner spread the word; only a day later, another stranger appears at our den with a cough. More and more cats start to show up, seeking a healer, and though I've had to work harder to gather herbs, even tending my own patches, I find myself filled with a warm sense of contentment; this is what I'm meant for.

Kurama helps me where he can; he's quick, and clever, and seems to anticipate what I need when I'm treating our patients. Everything is going well. Except...

Sometimes, we argue. Sometimes, I talk about the clans with wistfulness in my mouth, and his eyes darken. His words sharpen. He condemns the clans with all the venom with which he'd condemned the cats who'd slaughtered his tribe.

Sometimes, I wonder if he'll ever be able to forgive me for being a clan cat.

Late into Leaf-bare, one of our patients tells me a rumor she'd heard about a war between the clans, a great battle in the dead of night. I shudder at the tale of violence she weaves for me, and hope that it's just an embellished border skirmish.

Still, the story lingers in my mind, troubling me until I finally can't stand not knowing; I visit the PrairieClan border with Kurama at my side, waiting for a patrol to ask for news. Fortunately, they know of us by reputation, and invite us to visit their camp for information.

It's more of a relief to enter PrairieClan's camp than I'm willing to admit to in the moment, especially to Kurama, but I can't deny the warmth and joy that fills me; from the kits tumbling around outside the nursery, to the elders gossiping around the fresh-kill pile, it feels like home.

Our conversation with the deputy is short; he tells us about the battle, which was, in fact, worse than a skirmish. It was a war. RidgeClan tried to claim the Moonpool for their territory, but PrairieClan and MistClan prevailed in defense. Beyond that, they're still tight-lipped, so we leave again.

I try not to notice Kurama's relief when clan territory is behind us.

I try not to notice the yearning that grows in me each passing day.

When I return to PrairieClan's border, I tell myself it's to trade herbs; I have herbs they need, they have herbs I need. A simple transaction, nothing more. A patrol escorts me, alone, to their camp, and I meet their herbalist.

Her name is Juniperfur. She's a fluffy gray molly with leaves and herbs stuck in her fur; her eyes are yellow and full of playful light, despite the age marked by white around her muzzle. We trade our herbs, but our 'goodbye' lasts until sunset, both of us swept up in our delight at finding a kindred spirit.

When I return to our den covered in clan-scent, Kurama's eyes are as guarded as the day we met.

I still can't stay away. I spend another day with Juniperfur; as the herbalist, she's allowed to not have just one apprentice, but many. She calls them students, and tells me that in PrairieClan, botany and herbalism are taught freely. Anyone can learn, in any stage of life.

It's like everything I'd ever dreamed. All this time, the life I'd wanted was right across the river. I roll in ferns and hunt before I return to our den that evening, mind buzzing with this new reality.

And a quarter-moon later, I return to Kurama with an offer from Littlestar still ringing in my ears. My heart had sunk as soon as she invited me to talk, and I knew what it was about; Juniperfur had spoken to her. They wanted me to join PrairieClan.

I'd told them I needed to talk to my mate.

But now, meeting Kurama's eyes in the shade of our den, my stomach drops through the ground. I want so badly for this to work; to be with Kurama until they both retire to the elders' den, warm and content. I imagine what he would be called: Foxgloveleap? Foxfire? Mind spinning with an impossible future, I ask him.

"How dare you."

In the ringing silence that follows, I watch our future crumble. Panic and immediate regret splashing through me like ice water, I gasp in a breath. "Kurama, please—"

"Don't call me that!"

I step forward. He recoils. We both freeze.

"I was wrong about you," Foxglove spits. "You're no better than the rest of them."

And then he's gone, and I'm alone again.

I wait three nights for him to come back, coming up with a million apologies, but Foxglove doesn't come back for a single one of them. Finally, feeling hollow in the wake of grief, I cross the border back into PrairieClan.

"There you are," Juniperfur rasps, eyes shining in greeting. "I was starting to wonder if you'd be back. Where's your mate?"

"He's not coming."

As a clan cat, it doesn't take me long to settle in to PrairieClan; I've already technically graduated warrior training. I attend hunting patrols to earn my keep, but the rest of my time is spent with Juniperfur and her students, learning and sharing knowledge and passion.

It's everything I'd ever dreamed. It's what I've always needed.

But I need Foxglove too. His absence aches like a thorn in my chest, which no herb or poultice can soothe. I notice the lack of him in every beam of sunlight and every restless night.

As the moons go by, the pain of it eases, but I never stop missing him.

When Juniperfur finally retires, the stiffness and pain in her joints finally becoming too much for her to work through, she appoints me as her successor... and I get a new name.

Lionflower.

That New-leaf, my cultivated patch of foxglove flowers comes into full bloom. I sit and watch them in the setting sun, and Juniperfur sits beside me.

"That's good work," she comments. "Healthy growth. You've learned well."

"I had a good teacher." I huff a quiet laugh. Silence falls between us again. Finally, she sighs.

"You have a good future, too." Her yellow eyes flicked in my direction. "With or without him."

The hollowness yawns in my chest, and I take a moment to catch my breath. "I miss him."

Lionflower falls into the belief of Sage from the [PrairieClan plot ad]. Having seen firsthand how RidgeClan developed its fervor, he understands that both compassion and caution are necessary; a trapped adder will still bite the paw that frees it.

He tries not to think about the cabin sect.

---

As much of a social butterfly as Lionflower is, he makes friends readily and abundantly, with anyone from kits to elders. His dearest friends are Juniperfur and his students.

After he left RidgeClan, Lionflower hasn't had any contact with his family, which he harbors a lot of guilt about. He doesn't know if he can bring himself to confess to them that he's found a happier life apart from them than the one they'd envisioned for him.

After having his heart broken by his and Foxglove's breakup, he's not sure if he can handle another relationship, especially not feeling as though things between them are still left unresolved.

Lionflower doesn't make rivals readily, preferring to find peaceful solutions to any differences with his peers. That isn't to say it's impossible, though.

optional images