A lean tortoiseshell she-cat with thick fur.

-

Born in a trio of tortoiseshell kits, Cinderstar stood out with a bright splash of white fur over her chest and stomach. The rest of her is predominantly black, with striking ginger splotches covering large areas over her sides, back, and parts of her face. Her eyes are large, soft, and pale green, revealing a kind disposition and a sensitivity to light common among PrairieClan's tunnelers.

Cinderstar was built for the tunnels. Her body is thin and strong, with firm muscle carved over a narrow figure. She's made to move quickly across long distances and tight corners, the exact situation she used to find herself in when tunneling. Her fur is short and dense, making it easy to clean after being underground. Further, she's equipped with large ears and long whiskers, perfect for navigating in the dark and sensing when danger is up ahead when she can't rely on her eyes.

It's late in leaf-bare when Embercloud goes into labor, a welcome relief after a long pregnancy. This litter is her first and, after the night she has, certainly her last. She swears it to her mate, Nightstream, when he joins her after the final kit is born. "No more, dear," she says, firm and terse in a way that puts a surprised look on Nightstream's face. "I can't do this again."

He presses his nose to hers and they both linger in the affection. "Three beautiful children is more than enough," he murmurs, voice dripping with love. "What should we name them?"

Cinderkit is named after Embercloud. Her markings are just like her mother's, with striking, bright patches of ginger reminiscent of a dying fire. The other kits, Dappledkit and Turtlekit, are more muddled in their patterns - they look like their father, mostly black with only a hint of their mother's tortoiseshell coloration peeking through. 

As the first litter born for PrairieClan that season-cycle, the three siblings find themselves with reputations long before their personalities even develop. They're mature and responsible for their age, a whopping two moons old, and far kinder and more pleasant to be around than the other kits, who still wriggle half-blind at their parents' sides. It's the first thought Cinderkit can remember having: that older cats think she's better than the other kits in the nursery, just by virtue of being born first.

She disagrees with it, but at two moons old, she doesn't know how to express that.

Then, at three moons old, she starts to believe it.

It's a sudden development. One day, Cinderkit thinks she's no different than Mink-kit and Littlekit, the litter born just after hers. Then the next, she's turning her nose up at them, repeating what she heard an elder say earlier that morning: that her friends are loud and rowdy, something she's never been called. She takes it a step further the day after that, citing her mother's belief that Cinderkit, as the firstborn of her litter, has a responsibility to watch over Dappledkit and Turtlekit, making her better than them. Her siblings recoil at her sudden proudness. Cinderkit thinks it's right that they're quieter around her, like how they're quieter around their parents. It means they respect her.

This continues until her fifth moon, when Cinderkit stomps up to Nettlekit, two whole moons younger than her, and demands Nettlekit sit still and behave as Leafnose, her favorite elder, is regaling the nursery with a story about foxes Cinderkit has heard at least six times. Nettlekit snorts at Cinderkit's command and Cinderkit is so flustered at the disrespect, she launches herself at the smaller kit with unsheathed claws.

The fight is over before it really begins. Leafnose puts herself between the two kits and pins Cinderkit to the ground. "Nettlekit, go have the medicine cat look at that," she says, referring to the barest scratch Cinderkit left over Nettlekit's nose. Nettlekit looks like she wants to protest, like the cut isn't bad enough to warrant a trip out of the nursery, but one flick of Leafnose's tail is all it takes to hurry her away. "Cinderkit, you can't do that."

"She's so disrespectful," Cinderkit hisses. "I can't stand her."

"Who, Nettlekit?" Leafnose shakes her head. "She's a great kit. Spunky. Who said she was disrespectful?"

Well - no one. It was just something Cinderkit learned. The loud kits were disrespectful. The younger kits were disrespectful. Everyone but her, and sometimes her siblings, was disrespectful. So of course Nettlekit was, too, right?

Right?

"Just apologize to her later," Leafnose says. "If you don't, they might not make you an apprentice."

The threat is empty, but Cinderkit doesn't know that, so she scrambles to her paws and rushes off to apologize. "I don't care," Nettlekit says, her voice muffled through the small amount of cobweb the medicine cat has pressed to her nose.

"You don't care?"

"No."

"But - I have to apologize, or else I won't be an apprentice!" Cinderkit misses the amused flick of the medicine cat's ears, like they know exactly what lie she'd been told.

"Sucks," Nettlekit says. 

"Say you accept it!"

"I don't!"

Frustrated, Cinderkit almost launches herself at Nettlekit for a second time that morning, but holds back when she realizes that getting a second apology out of the other kit would be impossible on top of the first. "Fine, but I'm telling everyone you did accept it."

Nettlekit calls her a liar on her way out of the medicine cat den, but Cinderkit doesn't care, already composing the story of her apology in her head.

Despite the unaccepted apology, Cinderkit becomes Cinderpaw alongside her siblings a moon later. Her mentor is Ripplefeather, a pretty tabby tom with a personality much like her parents - calm and reserved, but sweet and optimistic at the same time.

The transition into being an apprentice is easy under his tutelage. Cinderpaw is kept too busy to boss around the other apprentices. In fact, with a little help from Ripplefeather, Cinderpaw ends up shedding much of her arrogance like it was just a season-old coat that needed to be groomed out. During her first two moons as an apprentice she learns how to make friends, not just boss other cats around. More importantly, she reconnects with her siblings. New friends are nice, but being friends with Dappledpaw and Turtlepaw again is the greatest thing she could ask for. In those early days as an apprentice, Cinderpaw thinks nothing could go wrong. Nothing.

Until Nettlekit becomes Nettlepaw and everything changes.

The two are at each other's throats constantly. They can barely share a den, let alone train together, without getting into some sort of argument. Though tails lash and claws dig into dirt when their arguments get heated, the watchful eyes of their mentors keep the two of them from coming to blows again. It's only when they're pitted against each other for sparring, a decision accidentally made by a warrior clueless to their rivalry, does one of them draw blood.

This time, it's Nettlepaw. Her claws rake across Cinderpaw's side in a move far different from what the warrior was supposed to be showing them. Cinderpaw hisses in pain as one of the apprentices on the sidelines shrieks in surprise at the wound. Undeterred, Cinderpaw launches herself at Nettlepaw without fear, knocking the younger apprentice to the ground and pinning her down with a triumphant yowl as Nettlepaw fails to get up.

Fails, because she's hit her head on a rock in the fall.

Cinderpaw looks down at the blood she can see on the rock. Everything is a blur from there. A warrior grabs her by the scruff and yanks her off Nettlepaw. Another warrior - the one who made them spar in the first place - crowds around Nettlepaw's limp body. An older apprentice ecorts the younger ones back to camp and Cinderpaw thinks she's made to wait in a pile of tall grass with a distinct pattern of blue flowers. She doesn't know. She can't remember.

Eventually, Ripplefeather comes to fetch her. He has an expression she can't read on his narrow face. The two of them don't return to camp. Instead, he brings her to one of the tunnels, an entrance she's only seen from a distance in the past. She's not old enough for tunneler training.

"Nettlepaw is going to be okay," Ripplefeather says. Cinderpaw isn't sure if it's the tone of his voice or the good news he delivers that makes her feel more relief. "It's just a scratch. She's more stunned than anything." Stunned. Just a scratch. That was good. "Have you ever thought about being a tunneler, Cinderpaw?"

The abrupt topic change leaves Cinderpaw's mouth dry. "What? No."

"I think you'd be good at it." Ripplefeather gestures his head toward the tunnel entrance. "Look." Just as he speaks, a slender cat emerges from the tunnels. Their fur is a mottled mix of browns, like a warmer version of Cinderpaw's own pelt. She recognizes the cat right away once they're free from the earth - Larkfur, one of PrairieClan's head tunnelers. "You look just like them. I think they'd make a great mentor for you."

To be mentored? By Larkfur? Cinderpaw is thrilled by the compliment. So thrilled, she misses the implication that Ripplefeather is giving her away to another cat. She's too young to understand the nuances of the moment. That the tunnelers wanted her after both of her siblings turned them down, that she wasn't a good enough hunter like Ripplefeather, that some warriors were worried she and Nettlepaw would never let go of their animosity toward each other. Right now, all she cares about is that Larkfur wants to mentor her.

The rest of her time as an apprentice is overseen by the tunnelers. She's a natural at it, far more so than hunting or sparring. She wouldn't make a bad warrior, she overhears some senior tunnelers say once. She just makes a better tunneler.

And she agrees. She doesn't have the patience to stalk rabbits over the grasslands or learn a million stances for fighting. What she does have is tenacity, the exact sort needed to dig into the earth, and charisma, perfect for keeping herself and fellow tunnelers entertained deep underground.

As a tunneler's apprentice, she and Nettlepaw are kept from further spats. In fact, they rarely see each other, let alone speak. Cinderpaw's grateful. She doesn't like the snippy, angry cat she becomes around Nettlepaw, and with so much space between them, she can soon forget that cat ever existed.

Cinderpaw is granted her name at 16 moons. Cindersong, for her welcoming and friendly nature, the leader says. Her fellow tunnelers joke it's because she can't shut up in the tunnels and Cindersong cracks a grin in agreement. She does have a problem shutting up, after all.

Life as a young warrior - a tunneler - is much more exciting than life as an apprentice. She spends all her free time in the tunnels, sometimes going days without really seeing the sun, and bonds with her fellow tunnelers in ways she couldn't when she was just an apprentice. "Do you ever think," Dappledfern says during one of their rare meals together, when Cindersong has emerged from the tunnels to enjoy a bit of blue skies. "That it's a little weird that tunnelers and warriors feel so different?"

Cindersong shrugs as she takes a bite of squirrel. "No. We do different things."

"Yeah, but we feel like different clans, sometimes."

"Do we?"

"Cinder, this is the first time we've had a meal all moon. We feel pretty separated!"

Cindersong shrugs again. "Yeah well, you try hanging out in the daylight after you've been underground all day. It's hard to be out of the tunnels." She can tell the answer doesn't please Dappledfern, but the conversation ends there, and turns to harmless gossip about some of the other young warriors to keep them from getting into an argument. Again. It's not their first since they were both named, and it won't be their last. Cindersong knows Dappledfern is tired of her excuses for their failing relationship, especially after Turtlewhisker snapped at her two moons ago. They hadn't spoke since.

At 21 moons, Cindersong is given an apprentice. Her first instinct hearing the news is surprise. She remembers what warriors said about her as an apprentice. She was friendly, but didn't embody any real leadership. She could hunt, but not well enough to rely on. She could fight, but only because she was scrappy, not strong. Cindersong's skills were meant for the tunnels. And here she was, being told to teach a young cat how to be a warrior? How to hunt and fight? 

Luckily, she has little time to be confused about the decision before the reasoning becomes clear. Finchpaw has a gentle soul. He's shy beyond compare, stuck in the shadow of his more boisterous siblings, and bullied by some of the louder apprentices who don't even realize they're troubling him. Cindersong wasn't picked for her skills. She was picked to be kind to the young apprentice. To be friendly. To encourage a little confidence, maybe even a little more voice in him. And she's ecstatic for the opportunity.

Finchpaw blooms with her as a mentor. The first moon is awkward - Cindersong spends too much of it working on his personality, and not enough making him feel like a normal apprentice. But, eventually, she learns to balance lessons of the body and lessons of the spirit. Finchpaw will never be the gregarious sort like she is, but by the time he's old enough for tunneler training, Finchpaw has a small collection of friends and a reputation for being clever, helpful, and fast.

Faster than Cindersong, even.

She starts to imagine it - a future where Finchpaw is named as a tunneler alongside her, where their relationship as mentor and apprentice can continue and they won't be separated by the same distance Dappledfern so often comments on. That distance hasn't existed as much in the last few moons. Focused on her apprentice, Cindersong has spent more time above ground than she has since she was an apprentice herself. She sees Dappledfern more, as well as other warrior friends like Minkfrost and Littlewing. She's even apologized to Turtlewhisker, who still snaps at her from time to time, but it's done with the friendly barb of siblings, rather than anything malicious.

For the first time, Cindersong thinks Dappledfern might have a point.

Then the flood comes and all Cindersong can think about is how it's good their worlds are separate. Cats die in her tunnels, the tunnels she trusted more than anything the sun could show. PrairieClan is shaken after the tunnel collapses, taking the lives of three cats - two warriors and an apprentice. Gripped with the fear that Finchpaw could've been that apprentice, Cindersong reports to senior tunnelers that he lacks an aptitude for the tunnels, and they have no reason to believe otherwise. The moons go on. Cindersong views her tunnels with increased wariness. Finally, Finchpaw is granted a warrior name - Finchleap, for his athleticism - and assigned to normal warrior tasks, and she feels she can breathe easily. 

Finchleap won't die in those tunnels.

The moons go on. Eventually, Cindersong returns to her work as a tunneler, no longer able to use an apprentice as an excuse to cover up her nerves. The work is harder than it was before. Each tunnel has to be reinforced, especially those near the collapsed one. And, eventually, the collapsed one will have to be dug out again. Cindersong is terrified of being assigned to that tunnel. She doesn't want to unearth the bodies of her lost clanmates.

Though her wariness of the tunnels slowly abates, she never learns to love them again. Gone is Cindersong's habit of spending days underground, only coming up to prove to her siblings she was still alive. Instead, she only remains in the tunnels long enough to finish her day's work. And whenever she can, she volunteers for border patrols instead. She's subtle about it. Vague implications that she wants to spend more time with Minkfrost, who she always thought was pretty. Less vague declarations that she misses Finchleap and wants to watch him continue to grow as a warrior. If anyone sees through her, they don't say anything,

Well, except for Nettlefang.

She doesn't say anything, not really. But Cindersong knows Nettlefang sees through her. She knows Nettlefang is watching her, paying attention to which patrols she does and doesn't take. Monitoring how often she's underground or not. Cindersong hasn't thought about her childhood rival since they were apprentices, but now she's all she can think about. Each day, she wakes up ready for Nettlefang to point out her fear. Call her weak. Make other tunnelers doubt Cindersong's commitment. But she doesn't - she only watches, and Cindersong settles into a new rhythm - half warrior, half tunneler - knowing she's being watched.

"I wish Littlestar wouldn't be so..." Turtlewhisker trails off, pulling Cindersong away from her thoughts about Nettlefang. She doesn't know what her sibling is talking about - she's spaced out.

"Dramatic?" Dappledfern offers.

"Yeah, sure." Turtlewhisker passes their half-eaten mouse to Dappledfern to finish. Dappledfern is pregnant now - Cindersong doesn't even remember when she and Littlewing became mates officially - and with her pregnancy comes an endless hunger. "She's dramatic. There's no war happening."

Turtlewhisker is right, there's no war happening. Not yet. But Cindersong isn't so quick to dismiss her leader's concerns, even if Littlestar is expressing herself strangely. If anyone in the clan knows RidgeClan best, it's the cat who was once part of them, right? But she holds her tongue instead of expressing this, choosing to enjoy Turtlewhisker's good mood while she has it.

She doesn't have to hold it for long.

[CW: Mild description of injuries/violence.]

In leaf-bare, RidgeClan attacks.

Cindersong doesn't even think of her fear of the tunnels as she guides her clan toward MistClan's borders, determined to get there swiftly and save as many lives as they can. The battle goes by in a blur. A swipe here. A lunge there. She sustains a scar on the same side Nettlefang scarred when they were young, and for a moment she's distracted enough thinking about the other warrior to pause her fighting and look for her in the crowd. There - pinning down a RidgeClan warrior with that same ferociousness she once turned on Cindersong. Nettlefang lets the warrior go, tail between his legs, and then looks back at Cindersong.

A moment.

Then two.

Cindersong dips her head in acknowledgement of Nettlefang's performance and Nettlefang flicks her tail in a challenge - can you do any better? She can't, and they both know it, but the challenge spurs something in Cindersong and she launches herself back into battle like she has something to prove.

RidgeClan flees shortly after. Cindersong accepts a thin poultice from MistClan's medicine cat apprentice, pressed firmly to her side. Her nose is full of the scent of herbs and blood as she hurriedly checks for the cats she cares about - her siblings, both well. Finchleap, limping but otherwise unharmed. Minkfrost. Littlewing. Nettlefang.

Alive. They're all alive. She breathes a sigh of relief, then her veins run cold at the sight of the injured, dragged to a part of MistClan's camp. There are RidgeClan cats here. Warriors soaked in their own blood, and maybe the blood of others, unable to move from their injuries. Warriors with legs twisted in unnatural angles and ears torn from their head and flanks ripped open by MistClan and PrairieClan claws. Warriors dying.

Warriors going untreated.

She feels like she's choking on the herbal scent around her. "They need help," she says, insisting it to all who'll listen. Her words are drowned by the grief of those wailing over dead loved ones. "The code is clear. We can't just let them die."

Eventually, other cats join her in her insistence, and the injured RidgeClan cats are tended to.

It doesn't feel like a victory to be humane.

PrairieClan returns home with a fierce new ally in MistClan. Though she hates the violence it took to get them here, Cindersong can appreciate the stability that comes with such an alliance. Things between the three clans have been tense in recent moons, she can admit. Her head is often elsewhere, dwelling in the needs of her clan (the safety of the tunnels, the health of new apprentices, the abundance of the land that provides both for herbalists and hunters) rather than the politics of the forest. She's never needed to care much about RidgeClan and MistClan, besides ensuring their borders are respect.

That all changes when Wheatnose dies.

It's tragic but not sudden - Wheatnose was injured by a RidgeClan warrior, and the wound festered and festered until finally the infection was too much for their body to fight. Their death is announced shortly after sunrise and the clan falls into a tense silence, eager to see who their leader will pick next. Cindersong thinks it might be Minkfrost - she's sturdy and reliable. Dappledfern says Turtlewhisker would have a good chance if they'd been given an apprentice, but so far Cindersong is the only one of her siblings to train a cat. Finchleap would be a great deputy, she thinks, but he's far too young. Not even 20 moons. Maybe Nettlefang? She finds herself thinking about her old rival lately, and despite how they once fought, Cindersong believes Nettlefang's fierceness would make her a great deputy.

"Cindersong," Littlestar says, announcing her name to the clan.

So wrapped up in her thoughts trying to guess Littlestar's pick, Cindersong nearly misses her own name.

"Littlestar," Cindersong says, announcing her arrival to her leader's den. They haven't spoken since the declaration. In fact, they've hardly spoken since Wheatnose was injured, leaving Cindersong in the dark as to why she was picked. The somber celebration of her clanmates - somber, because Wheatnose's death is too fresh; celebration, because Cindersong is well-liked - clings to her fur as she stares her leader down, waiting for an answer. "Why me?"

Littlestar doesn't answer her right away so Cindersong presses further. "I mean, I'll do it. I'll be a great damn deputy." She's still working on believing that, but if there's one thing Cindersong knows how to do, it's believe in herself. "But I don't understand why you chose me."

"You exemplify traits we'll need in the coming moons," Littlestar says simply. The answer feels nonsensical. Noncommittal. It's the same vagueness that Littlestar used to justify her paranoia over RidgeClan's brewing violence. The same vagueness her siblings hate in their leader, but the same vagueness that Cindersong always trusted. Littlestar had been right, after all. RidgeClan did shatter the peace between clans.

"Thank you, Littlestar," Cindersong says with a slow nod, deciding there and then that it didn't matter if she didn't understand her leader's motivations - she just needed to trust them. "I'm honored to serve you and PrairieClan."

Her next surprise comes less than a moon later, when Littlestar recommends she takes one of the new apprentices - Graypaw, a bratty she-cat that reminds Cindersong too much of her youthful self - as her own. Cindersong jumps on the chance to mold Graypaw like Ripplefeather and Larkfur molded her.

Mentoring Graypaw comes easier to her than mentoring Finchleap did. Her gut instinct was right. Graypaw is just like her, down to her obvious affinity for the tunnels. It was an affinity Cindersong saw in Finchleap, too, but one that she pushed him away from, too afraid after the collapse of the flooded tunnels all those moons ago. This time, she chooses not to let fear guide her. She encourages Graypaw to pursue the tunnels, particularly as the apprentice gets older, and wonders if her own mentor had the same nagging concern each time Cinderpaw went into the tunnels.

Cindersong doesn't have time to linger on the concern. Her role as deputy means she can't fixate on Graypaw the way she did with Finchleap. She has responsibilities overseeing PrairieClan's day to day needs, as well as helping Littlestar with the external politics of the clan. She doesn't mind the eclectic assortment of backgrounds found in PrairieClan. At time she's even thinks it's useful. After all, Littlestar herself wasn't born in PrairieClan, and while she hears whispers of cats not trusting the leader because of it, Cindersong has only ever seen Littlestar's RidgeClan heritage work in their favor. No, she doesn't mind her clan's diverse backgrounds at all. Just, sometimes, she wishes Littlestar would focus more on the cats already in the clan, rather than the strangers outside of it.

But one day, not long after the fight against RidgeClan, a group of rogues settle in the cabin near PrairieClan's territory and suspicions are quick to rise - including Cindersong's. She turns her attention to those suspicions, wanting to balance out Littlestar's open acceptance with what she thinks is a healthy dose of skepticism when dealing with Foxglove or RidgeClan's refugees. She's not against her leader. The opposite, in fact: she's supportive of parlaying with the rogues, and agrees it's better to offer safe harbor to former RidgeClan cats to prevent them from further zealotry. She just wants to ensure Littlestar has someone to check her when she gets too paranoid or in her head. That's what makes them a good team.

Except, the moment her attention is off her apprentice, tragedy strikes. 

The rain that late green-leaf feels endless. So distracted, Cindersong hardly thinks back to the flooding that collapsed a tunnel moons ago, and so when she hears news of another tunnel collapsing, her thoughts don't immediately jump to the worst conclusions. It isn't until she's led to the collapsed entrance does she remember Graypaw was meant to explore these tunnels today, escorted by two other tunnelers. Tunnelers who she sees now, pawing helplessly at the loose mud that covers the entrance. One of them is sobbing. Cindersong sees a tuft of gray tabby fur between their claws. "I tried to pull her out," the tunneler says. "But the flood - it happened too quickly, I-"

She doesn't hear what they have to say after that. There's nothing but ringing in her ears and pain in her throat as she chokes out Graypaw's name, praying to anyone that would listen that her apprentice is alive and well and only trapped, waiting for her clan to rescue her.

Graypaw's body is uncovered the next morning, when the rain finally stops.

She looks peaceful.

"No more," Cindersong says after Graypaw is buried for the second time. "No more tunnels. No more death." She suspects her leader disagrees. But at least now, at the height of her mourning, Littlestar has the courtesy to let Cindersong say this.

She refuses to let it go. It's easy now, as deputy, to shed her tunneler identity. But she doesn't want to just shed it. She wants to dismiss the role entirely. She wants her clan to find something else - anything else - to care about. Herbs. Outsiders. Diplomacy. There's so much strife in the forest - MistClan's missing kits, the increased tension between the three clans, the strangers just outside their borders - that she's positive her clan's attention would be better spent elsewhere. But dismissing their ancestral practice is harder than she thinks and even her rank as deputy isn't enough to make cats listen.

Moons pass. Graypaw's death becomes just one of many.

Who else, Cindersong wonders, has to die before I'm taken seriously?

"I think you're right." Nettlefang's voice startles her from her idle thoughts. "I think the tunnels are dangerous." Surely she looks like an idiot, staring at her old rival with a blank expression. "I've never liked them."

"You agree with me?"

Nettlefang nods. "Minkfrost does, too." Minkfrost- one of Cindersong's oldest friends, now Nettlefang's mate. "I think there's others."

"I don't know what to do," Cindersong admits.

"We'll figure it out." Nettlefang tucks next to her, both of them lit by the late leaf-fall moon. "Might be nice to work together for once."

Cindersong snorts. She doesn't disagree.

But they're running out of time to figure it out.

"Littlestar?" Her conversation inspires her into more direct action, and what's more direct than speaking to her leader? Except, lately, speaking to Littlestar doesn't feel like speaking to the leader she knows. Littlestar is distant. Nervous. Paranoid, even. Her eyes are often elsewhere - not on PrairieClan, but across the river. Cindersong knows Littlestar's past haunts her, but when she catches her staring at nothing, body angled toward RidgeClan's territory, she can't help but think it's Littlestar who's the ghost.

"Yes, Cindersong?"

She nearly forgot why she came here. "I wanted to talk about the tunnels." The conversation doesn't go as planned. Cindersong makes her case, but Littlestar's absence means little comes from the conversation. She gets a promise from her leader to think about it - a promise Cindersong thinks will be forgotten - and a request for Cindersong to bring it up again later, after the coming leaf-bare. Cindersong hesitates to agree to it, but ultimately does, wanting space to process her thoughts. She hadn't realize how lost Littlestar seemed until that moment. Had others noticed? Had the other clans? Or was this her burden to bear, the privilege of watching Littlestar crumble?

She almost brings it up to her friends, then Littlestar has a good day, spending time amongst the clan as usual, and Cindersong assumes she was just unlucky with when she spoke to her. She's soon distracted by the day to day of being deputy and the changing season. Each morning is colder than the last and before she knows it, prey is scarce and tempers are high, everyone cranky without food in their bellies. She hates to admit falling victim to her temper, but being deputy doesn't absolve her of her ire. First, it's just her friends who receive it - a snap or quip here and there that's a smidge too sharp.

Then, she lashes out at Mousestep. Later, Cindersong is mature enough to admit she made a mistake, but in the moment she prefers to stew in her self-righteousness.

"You have to apologize," Minkfrost tells her when Cindersong seeks comfort from her. Her other friends say something similar, though none as bluntly as Minkfrost. Turtlewhisker, on the other hand, gives Cindersong the satisfaction of being right, though it's quickly followed by a call to action. They have to do something.

She promised Littlestar she would bring this up again after leaf-bare, but Cindersong isn't sure her conscience can wait any longer. She stalls for another day or two, tending to every little task she can find, before finally she can wait no longer. Early one morning, she slips from the warriors' den to speak to Littlestar, sticking her head into the leader's den and calling her name.

There's no response. Cindersong frowns, then tries again. "Littlestar?" Her leader had been distant again lately, but Littlestar isn't known to be a heavy sleeper. Cindersong steps further into the den - just far enough to confirm what her gut is saying

Littlestar is gone.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Half a dozen patrols are sent out to find Littlestar, each scouring part of PrairieClan's territory in search of the leader's scent. Finally, the trail is picked up - it's nearly gone cold, but the patrol manages to follow it to the river, toward RidgeClan's border. There they find the last piece of Littlestar anyone sees: a clump of her fur, matted with blood. Cindersong is on the patrol and still she can't believe her eyes. Littlestar is gone. She's really gone.

By nightfall, reality sets in. If Littlestar is gone, it falls on her to lead PrairieClan.

She sets off for the Moonpool before sun-high the next day.

Pre-Plotting: Cinderstar plays the role of the Seed in PrairieClan's plot adoptables, as well as sharing the beliefs of the Heather. Her primary focus is finding a new tradition for PrairieClan to tend to and abolishing the practice of tunnels. Her opinion on outsiders is relatively neutral. She wishes PrairieClan would stop taking so many in (particularly those not of clan heritage), but holds nothing against those who've joined, and welcomes them as full members of her clan.

Additionally, Cindersong fills PrarieClan's open deputy position, using the option that Slatestep was never selected for deputy. After Littlestar's disappearance, Cindersong assumed her new name, Cinderstar, and now serves as PrairieClan's leader.

Family: Overall, Cinderstar has a good relationship with her family, and a positive view on what family means to her. Her parents were doting, but not overbearing. Her siblings are close friends, even if their relationship went through weak periods when they were younger. She's even close to her niblings, Dappledfern's kits, making sure they have her in their lives as their aunt.

Friends: Though she loves her family, Cinderstar has always put more stock in other connections - her friendships, namely with other tunnelers. Something about the camaraderie of being beneath the earth bonded her to her peers more fiercely than other friendships. Now she struggles to maintain those bonds, with so many of her peers against her opinions on the tunnels, and finds herself flailing without the friendships she came to rely on. In response, Cinderstar has turned to friendships she left behind, and has spent recent moons catching up with old friends like Minkfrost and Littlewing.

Romance: Aside from thinking Minkfrost was pretty when she was young, romance has never been something that preoccupied Cinderstar's thoughts. Every now and then it crosses her mind but she's quick to dismiss it, easily thinking of ten other things that she'd rather think about instead. She doesn't need that kind of company, not when she's surrounded by the clan she loves.

(But sometimes, she watches Dappledfern and Littlewing and thinks maybe, maybe...)

[Cinderstar has a romance wanted ad for a poly relationship between her, Nettlefang, and Minkfrost.]

Rivals: Aside from a childhood rivalry with Nettlefang, Cinderstar has never been one for rivals. She prefers making other cats laugh. Now she's facing the fact that her opinion on the tunnels puts her in opposition to many cats she once regarded as close friends. She bumps heads with them (and other cats in support of the tunnels) more often than she would like. But until a solution is found, Cinderstar doesn't think their antagonism will end any time soon.