prologue .

Our tale begins with a young molly, sharp-tongued and sharp-minded, hungry for a remarkable life. Ripplefur was as beautiful as she was smart, with a feathery red pelt and brilliant green eyes, and she knew how to wield it like a weapon. She knew how to charm and cheat and weasel what she wanted out of just about any situation, and without anyone batting an eye. A viper, a fox hidden under the surface with enough ambition to lead her to the top.

Was the top the leader? Of course not. She would be the next oracle, blessed and chosen by StarClan, her voice carrying above even that of the leader’s. Coveted. Respected. She was a devoted acolyte, devout and exceeding all standards.

But she met her match in Russetfoot. A guardian that demanded respect, commanded attention, and claimed her love. Ripplefur grew weak for the handsome tom, heart fluttering with every look, belly flipping with every gift and ’Hello, Ripple.’

He was her greatest downfall.

Pregnancy did not suit her—sick day and night, her belly too heavy and too round, her paws always aching. He was only glad. She had been removed from her duties as acolyte of the oracle, sentenced to the nursery like a simpering permaqueen. She was as bitter as her mate was proud, though she did her best to hide it. Appearances and all that.

But then she birthed her litter, and tragedy tore her in two. Six kits were born silent and still, a shock she had never thought could wound her as deeply as it did. Only the seventh wailed upon his arrival. Lionkit. Both for his roar of life and his fluffy, dark golden pelt.

One one survived—it had to be a sign from StarClan. A punishment, for becoming a queen instead of the Oracle. She would never speak such a thing aloud. And in her sharp distance from any kind of love for the kit, she let Russetfoot focus his intense attention on Lionkit, insisting her disinterest in either of them.

And now, adrift without mate, kit, or purpose, she had all the opportunity in the world to find solace in a charming loner at the border.



I met death at a very young age.

I remember very little of my early life. I remember joining RidgeClan—or rejoining it, as we were told. I remember meeting my eldest brother. I remember the disgust from Russetfoot.

And I remember watching my mother die.

I remember her ragged breaths.

I remember the look in her eye. Not love. Not fear. Hate. And it was locked on me and my sisters.

And damn it all, I still loved her. I still wept when she faded, raged when no one believed me: Russetfoot killed my mother. He followed the code to the letter. He was respectable. Perhaps gloomy and intense, but never murderous. Not until his traitorous mate returned with the children of a loner called Snare, a loner that would have seen them all dead himself if he’d had his way.

Really, some cats should never have children.



"Keep up, kid," Rookjaw rasps as he slips under a clump of ferns.

"I'm at the tip of your tail, Rook," I say, wearing a faint smirk to cover my ire. "This isn't my first time exploring the territory." Even if this is supposed to be.

The scarred black tom glances over his shoulder. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."

Rookjaw is young at only 27 moons old, but his voice is gravelly, and would always be. Attacked by a fisher cat three seasons ago, his jaw and throat bear the scars of being shredded. It's a miracle he lived, and killed the fisher. His voice was never the same though. Took him moons to find his voice again, you hear, and he renamed from Rookfur to Rookjaw, a homage to his strength and survival. I'm proud to have him as a mentor.

"Just up ahead," he said. "Last stop."

The trees are still thick as I come to a stop. This is the eastern border, and I remember this one well. The scent of RidgeClan is powerful here, but there are no others, not like the scents of MistClan or PrarieClan that carry across the river.

"You know where we are?" my mentor asks.

"Yes." I hide my discomfort with pride. "Of course I know this border, my friend. My sisters and I were born just over this border, if you don't recall."

I'm not ashamed of my origins. Russetfoot doesn't let us or the rest of the Clan forget who we are or where we're from, so I wear it like a badge of honor. I wear it like armor. If I'm not ashamed, they can't hurt me with it.

Rookjaw just smiles and nods. "Ahead are the unclaimed lands. Someday I'll take you out there, you'll see the old graveyard."

I lift my brows. "A graveyard? I didn't think loners had a burial ground."

He shakes his head. "For two-legs."

"Huh." You learn something knew every day. I didn't think two-legs had burial grounds either.

"Now lets get back—"

I’m not listening. I’m smiling as I keep walking, crossing the border.

“Firepaw!”

I cast a smirk over my shoulder. “Isn’t this my home too? I want to see it.” I keep walking.

“You are RidgeClan,” he growls, catching up.

“RidgeClan and Clanless. Everyone knows that,” I remind him without looking. My eyes scan the trees and the spaces between. It all looks the same as the rest of the forest. It’s almost… disappointing.

Rookjaw has caught up, and then he’s in front of me. I pull up short and smile with condescension. He glares.

“Your loyalty is to your clan,” he says, voice harsh. “Disregard your blood, Firepaw. You are with your clan, or you are a loner.”

“So dramatic. Fatalistic,” I respond with a roll of my eyes. “You know, everyone else—”

“To the Dark Forest with everyone else!” Rookjaw snarls, stepping up hardly a breath from me. I curl my head back, my ears back, eyes narrowing. “Who are you, Firepaw? Decide now. I will not train a careless quisling.”

I lash my tail, lifting my chin. But that hits hard. Who am I?

Rookjaw steps back, giving me space. “To me, you are my apprentice. You are a future RidgeClan warrior, and a fine addition to our ranks.”

I swallow hard, glancing beyond Rookjaw, then back toward the border. I stare for a long time. There lies my sisters. My brother. There lies the home my mother wanted for me. Ahead… what’s ahead for me?

“I’m tired,” I reply, keeping my tone airy. “Let's go back to camp.”

I look back and meet Rookjaw’s eye. He sees the meaning in my look, and I don’t miss the relief in his nod. He doesn’t say anything as he passes me, back toward RidgeClan. I follow without looking back.



“Mousebrain!”

I pin my ears and brace, but I’m still not prepared for the hard knock to my head that sends me to the forest floor. Stars dance in my vision, and I don’t have a chance to recover before a paw steps down on my throat, halting the passage of air in my throat. I wheeze, I struggle, but Russetfoot has me pinned.

“You shouldn’t even exist. I should have drowned you and your sisters in the river the day you were brought here. You’re a violation of the code, of StarClan,” he hisses. “And yet here you are, ruining a hunt.”

I hadn’t ruined it. He had. He made the mistake of looking at me instead of the chipmunk, made the mistake of stepping on that crunching leaf. And fuck him. My mother was an acolyte of StarClan, her piety runs in my blood, I am embraced by StarClan.

Aren’t I?

Rage burns in my gut.

”It…wasn’t…me,” I choke.

He snarls and darts down with his teeth, for my throat, and my eyes go wide—

“Father!”

Lionflight. Relief rushes my system like the rapids, and ragged breath floods my lungs as Russetfoot steps off of me. I scramble to my paws, and Lionflight steps toward us, pelt bristled.

“That’s enough,” he growls.

Wasp-paw is tucked behind him, her green eyes wide on me. I just nod to her. I’m okay, I silently express. She doesn’t look like she believes me. Needlepaw comes rushing from the brush, her mentor not far behind. She’s at my side in an instant, pelt pressed to mine as I regain my breath. I want her comfort, but I push her off with a sharp look.

I will not look helpless, no matter how helpless I actually had been.

“It was a quick spar,” he answered. “Can’t let your mother’s son be a liability.”

There is no further discussion. He stalks away, leaving us to glare after him.



She’s good, I can’t deny that. In the nursery, I’d always thought she would be weak. Fragile. That fluffy coat was really all she’d had going for her in size, and she was easy to beat when we all played. She’s a moon younger, but that doesn’t mean shit when you’ve got to be strong to survive. I didn’t like her at first, truth be told.

Watching her spar with her mentor now, I think I might have been too quick to judge. I watch her intently, track her every move, and I’m impressed. Flickerpaw fights smart. She dodges until her opponent is tired, and then she attacks. I wonder if she came up with that strategy on her own—I hope she did. You have to be as smart as you are tough to survive here in RidgeClan.

And damn, she’s beautiful too.

“It’d do you some good to take some pointers from her,” Rookjaw mutters from where he watches behind me.

”Would it now?” I say. ”What’s that say about your training, Rook?” I smirk up at him, and he rolls his eyes.

”Not his fault you get so angry,” Dandelionpaw huffs from my side.

”I keep beating him.”

“You haven’t beat Lionflight,” Needlepaw says from my other side.

I hiss at her, and her whiskers twitch in amusement. I don’t humor my sister with a response. Our older brother is gifted in everything he does, and she is too aware of my drive to beat him at something. He’s a good brother, but infuriating in all his perfection. It isn’t fair that Wasp-paw gets to be his apprentice, the smallest and weakest of us.

“Yield.” Flickerpaw.

I snap my eyes back to the training area to find her poised above her mentor, triumph gleaming in her eyes. When she releases her mentor and looks at us, I catch her eye. She doesn’t look away, and I smile.



I met death again when I was ten moons old.

Squaring off with Lionflight, I felt nothing but a thrill, no clue what waited for me at the ridge. Neither of us had any clue.

“You sure you wanna do this, little brother?” He’s grinning, and I am too.

“I’d ask you the same,” I reply, voice smooth as silk.

I dart forward, and Lionflight is ready. As soon as I rear to wrap my paws around his neck, he does the same. He’s bigger, older, stronger, and he easily flips me in half a heartbeat. But I’m quick, I’m smart. We grapple, twist, roll, until I’m able to sink my teeth into the soft flesh of his belly. I bite hard, and he hisses, kicks at the top of my head. In real combat, my ears would shred.

But in real combat, I’d rip his innards out with my teeth.

“Stop! Stop now!” Dandelionpaw? What’s he doing here?

I don’t stop. I snarl and bite harder.

“Stop!” Dandelionpaw sounds desperate.

I release my brother, only because Dandelion is my friend. Lionflight and I separate, shaking off. I won, I know that, though there had been no yield. I’m smirking at my scowling big brother, so noble and non-lethal. But my smile disappears when I look at my friend, at his distress. His absolute sorrow.

“It’s… it’s Wasp-paw,” he huffs. “At the ridge.”

Dread rises in my throat like bile, and I exchange a look with Lionflight. “Lets go,” he rumbles, and the three of us take off.

Sometimes I wish I’d stayed behind. I wish I’d waited to return to camp until the medicine cats had cleaned her body and buried the blood with dirt, waited until she was draped in burial herbs so that her siblings could mourn her. I wish I hadn’t seen her broken head or her mangled legs. I wish I hadn’t heard Lionflight’s mournful yowl.

But I’m glad I saw Russetfoot climbing down from the ridge. I’m glad I saw that murderous fox-hearted tom slink off into the shadows. He pushed her, I have no doubt about it. He killed our mother. He killed our sister. It was only a matter of time before he came for the remaining two stains on his reputation.



“I believe you.”

I stare, dead-eyed, but I feel a hint of shock. “You didn’t when my mother died.”

Dandelionpaw’s ears drift backward, and he drops his eyes. “I was a kit. I was stupid. You’re right, he’s a murderer.”

I could collapse with relief, but I only cast a glance around us. Up here on the mountain, it's easy to find solitude, but it's hard to see through the fog this morning. Anyone could sneak up on us.

“He’s going to come for me and Needlepaw,” I mutter, looking back at him.

He looks grim, and his paws shuffle. “Does Rookjaw believe you? Lionflight?”

I nod. I’m not sure how to grasp that there are cats who believe me. No one else does, but the ones that count do. My siblings, my mentor, my friend.

“What do we do?” he asks.

I flick my tail. Kill him, I think. But I don’t say it. I’m not a murderer like him. I won’t be like him.

“I don’t know,” is all I say.

“I believe you too.”

We both jolt and snap around at the sound of a new voice. Flickerpaw emerges from the mist, her coat almost blending in perfectly. The gentle sunlight-patch on her face keeps my attention, drawing me to her olive green eyes.

Damn fog. And she’d been downwind.

“How much did you hear?” Dandelion demands, but I already know her answer.

“All of it.”

I bite my tongue. I want to snap at her, snarl—I will not let anyone run back to him with this, she will stay silent, and stars burn it all, I will not be judged. Not by the likes of her, so… high and mighty.

I relax my pelt and shake it out, leveling a cool look at her. ”Were you spying, Flicker?”

”At first,” she admits, confusing me. ”I knew something was going on, and then I saw you two sneaking out of camp, and I needed to make sure you weren’t—”

“Weren’t… what?” I interrupt, my tone sharpening just a little, forcing a hint of a smile.

”Plotting against the Clan.”

I put on a grin. Just for snow. ”What if we were, Flicker?” I purr. ”What would you have done, out here alone in the mist, far up the mountain where you wouldn’t be heard, investigating two traitors?”

To her credit, she lifts her head, and I can’t read any fear. “I’d do what I had to.”

“Then I guess it’s good we aren’t traitors!” Dandelionpaw is forcing himself to sound chipper.

“No, you aren’t,” she agrees, eyes never leaving me. “Russetfoot is.”

”I have no way to prove it,” I say.

She nods. “Then we bide our time until we do.” She looks between us. “We set him up.”

I lift my head, perk my ears. ”Keep talking.”

She smirks at me, and I think that’s the moment I fell in love.



I met death again not even a moon after Wasp-paw was laid to rest.

“Where’s Needlepaw?” My eyes are narrow as I step up to Dandelionpaw and Flickerpaw who stand outside the apprentice den. “We had a plan.” A damn good one too.

When they exchange looks and shake their heads, a growl slips from my throat. The four of us had been planning this for three quarter moons, carefully manipulating Russetfoot until he would take his ex-mate’s children alone on a patrol. Then Flickerpaw and Dandelionpaw would insist on their mentors coming with them to witness the inevitable violence, the confession we’d haul from him.

“We need her with us for this to work, I can’t—”

A familiar voice rasps behind me. “Can’t what?”

I don’t even turn to Rookjaw as he comes up beside me. I smile, even if it is forced, and glance sidelong at my brother.

”Can’t go visit dear mummy’s grave without her.”

Rookjaw frowns. He knows our conflicted feelings about our hateful mother, but he doesn’t dispute the lie.

“I saw her leave camp to patrol with Russetfoot.”

My blood rushes in my ears, and my smile vanishes. ”When?”

“At sunhigh.” He narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I lash my tail and stride past him, doing all I can to stay calm. It’s hard. My heart is going to pound out of my chest, my whole pelt prickles and ripples with the rising flood of adrenaline. Together we stood a chance. Alone… Her alone…

“It’s Russetfoot, that's what,” I hiss as I reach the camp’s exit.

I pick up their scents in moments, and I take off the second the guards can’t see me. I don’t know if Flickerpaw or Dandelionpaw will stick to the plan. I don’t know if Lionflight is following, or if Rookjaw will find me. I don’t fucking care.

Needlepaw. Needlepaw is all I care about.

I follow the scent up the ridgeline, and for a moment, I’m afraid Russetfoot will do to her what he did to Wasp-paw. But no, it carries on, up and up onto the mountainside, until fog surrounds me, until my claws have to grip stone more often than dirt, until I can hear a yowl. A cry. I’ve never run so fast before.

I smell blood, and in the next second, I find both guardian and apprentice locked in combat. Needlepaw is vicious, but Russetfoot is bigger, faster. He’s bloodied, but he has her on the ground, teeth sinking into her throat, drawing blood.

My. Sister.

I see red, nothing but red. In the next second I’m on his back, claws in his shoulders, his haunches. Fangs sink deep into the back of his neck. I taste blood, and it’s never tasted so good. He screeches and twists, flips over, and I don’t let go. I won’t. I bite harder, I bite until my teeth can’t go any further, until he twists too hard and my jaw threatens to snap.

I let go and shove away from him. I look for Needlepaw in a panic. She leans against a tree, bloodied, exhausted, eyes wide with terror. She opens her mouth, as if to warn me. It comes too late. Russetfoot slams into me, and we’re sent sprawling. I don’t know what happened, how it happened. Teeth bite into my shoulder, claws tear at my haunches, and somehow, some way, my teeth find his throat.

Seconds. It takes seconds after a hard bite to his jugular. Then he’s collapsing, gurgling, blood a fountain from his throat. There are no departing words from the guardian. Nothing but his blood pulsing free from his body as his eyes become wide and lifeless.

“Firepaw?”

Needlepaw’s voice is so small. I stagger toward her, and she meets me halfway, holds me up even as I analyze her injuries and she does the same for me.

“It’s over,” I say, and stare at the body.

I killed him. I killed Russetfoot. My whole body feels cold. My heart still pounds, as if he’s going to haul himself up to fight on. He doesn’t, and still I stare.

“What in the name of StarClan—father—what—”

I look up and find Lionflight. I hadn’t noticed him in my shock. He’s staring at his father, looking like he might be sick. He looks at me, and I see his horror for only a moment before he replaces it with brotherly concern.

“He was going to kill Needlepaw,” I croak.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promises.

“Firepaw!” Flickerpaw careens from behind him, rushes me, olive eyes frantic as she searches me, sniffs me, touches her head to mine. I don’t move, but I’m glad she’s there. Dandelionpaw approaches too, and behind him, Rookjaw, and three other warriors.

The three warriors take in the scene, and its me they settle their eyes on. They look at me like they might look at a snake coiled under a rock. I’m not sure I believe my brother. Nothing feels alright.



The crowd is dispersing, and I remain as I am. I stare up at Wolfstar on his perch, and continue to stare at the place he disappeared when he steps down. What just happened? This all couldn’t have happened in a single day.

I was made a warrior.

I was put to trial.

I killed Russetfoot.

I killed Russetfoot. Just this afternoon. And now as the sun sets, as his body is laid out in the middle of camp for his overnight vigil, a warrior vigil will begin as well. For me. For Needlestorm. For Flickerheart. For Dandelionleap.

“Firetongue,” Rookjaw rasps, striding from behind me to sit at my shoulder. “Suits you.”

A ghost of a smirk crosses my face, still staring at the spot Wolfstar had been standing. ”Why, because I talked my way from a murder trial to a warrior ceremony?”

“You can talk your way out of anything,” he says, whiskers twitching.

Slowly, I grin. He’s right. And when I look over my shoulder at Russetfoot’s body, my tail flicks. I was right to kill him—even Wolfstar agreed enough to spare me from exile. I would spit on the body if there were no witnesses. How furious he must be from the Dark Forest, knowing his murder brought about my warrior ceremony—and that of my friends, my sister.

Briefly, I wonder what Wasp-paw’s name would have been.

I watch Lionflight leave his group of comrades—Dawnclaw, Duskfang, a few others. They’ve been consoling him, casting uncertain glances my way. Lionflight finds me, and he says something to them before he breaks away, padding toward me. He’s avoided looking at the body in the center of camp. He had never been close to his father, but that was his father, still.

Rookjaw says nothing, only flicking his tail over my shoulders as he leaves me, nodding to my brother on his way by.

“Congratulations,” Lionflight greets, but he’s subdued.

I consider him closely. “Thank you.”

“Are you alright?” He nods to my wounds.

“The medicine cat did fine. She says nothing should scar.”

“Ah, StarClan forbid anything mar your perfect pelt.” He smiles a little, and I can’t help the relief at his jest.

I’m silent for a moment. I feel a twinge of discomfort in my gut, and I glance behind Lionflight to where Russetfoot lies. He intercepts my vision, meets my eyes.

“He had it coming,” he says. “I’m not angry, Firetongue. I’m only sorry.”

I blink. “Sorry?” I try not to sneer. I don’t want his pity.

“That you had to do it.”

“Of course I had to.”

His ears swivel back as he steps forward, and he presses his forehead to mine for a moment. I allow it, and I have to swallow past the lump forming in my throat. He doesn’t hate me, I tell myself. He can’t hate me.

“You shouldn’t have had to. I should have been there.”

I step back and give him a rueful smirk. “I’m glad it was me,” I lie. He doesn’t look like he believes me, but the deputy is leading my friends and my sister to where we will sit vigil. ”That’s my cue.”

I get up and slip by him before he can say anything else. I can feel his eyes on me, but I keep mine ahead. It occurs to me that maybe I should apologize for killing his father, but I won’t. I’m not sorry.

As I approach, Needlestorm rises to meet me, purring as she rubs her pelt along mine. I rasp my tongue across her ear when she turns around, reassuring, affectionate. No one will touch you again, I think. She is my sister. My fiery, sharp, funny Needlestorm. Mine.

I sit between her and Flickerheart, Dandelionleap on Flicker’s other side. The beautiful she-cat smiles at me, and I warm from the tips of my ears to the end of my tail. Her nose touches my shoulder, patched over as it is with cobweb and poultice, and I curl my tail around her. My look to her is lingering, but when I look back before us to begin our vigil, my gaze locks on the body that will accompany us through the night. Lionflight is crouched there, sitting in his own vigil.

That body does not haunt me. It will never haunt me.



One, two, three, four, five, steps. Turn. One, two, three, four, five steps. Turn. Repeat.

“Would you stop pacing?” Needlestorm gripes from where she lounges with her prey, feathers scattered about her.

I curl my lip at her as I stop. ”Am I bothering you, sister?” I itch for the promised action—I can’t remain still, not when battle is on the horizon.

She just narrows her eyes. “Yes. It’s annoying.”

I snort and continue my pacing. ”Wolfstar is right, you know. That fallen tree—he’s been right all along. We are StarClan’s most devoted, aren’t we?”

My sister thumps her tail. “I guess.”

”You guess? I slip my face into something imploring, fervent and passionate. ”Needle, our mother was primed to be oracle. The stars are in our blood!”

Her whiskers purse, and she casts her gaze up at Lionflight. His face is stony, dark eyes watching me with reproach. I seethe, but I leash it—anger serves its purpose, I have learned, and right now, it won’t.

”Don’t tell me you disagree, brother. You knew mother better than any of us.”

He turns his ears back, but he gives a hard nod. “We do have a right to the moonpool, more than MistClan does. Mother would agree.”

My crooked smile is one of relief, and I don’t hide it. We need him on our side. ”Mother fell from the graces of StarClan when she birthed us. Half of us is blasphemy, but we are going to earn the patronage of our RidgeClan ancestors, as she intended.”

Needlestorm finishes her prey and rises. “We already delivered them a betrayer. A murderer.”

Lionflight tries to hide his flinch, but I don’t miss it. I clench my jaw and stand a little taller, lash my tail. ”And we will deliver them more. All three of us will go to war. We will make our sacrifices with teeth and claws.”

Dandelionleap approaches from behind Lionflight. “Scheming without me?” he grins.

I grin back. ”Never. Are you and your apprentice primed?” I wonder what earned him an apprentice so young, but he's a good mentor.

“They’re nervous, as they should be. But they’re strong.”

Flickerheart is a step behind Dandelionleap, and my smile droops. Her face is somber, but she still comes to me, still ducks her head under my chin with a quiet purr. I rasp my tongue between her ears.

“This feels wrong.”

My brow furrows, and I lean back to look her in the eyes. Those beautiful, enchanting eyes. ”We’ll be alright, darling,” I promise.

“MistClan has done nothing wrong.”

My smile is as soft as my voice. ”They will not give us the moonpool willingly. We are doing what is right by StarClan.”

“With violence?” she says, looking at the others. None of them appear fussed by her concern. She returns her gaze to me. My eyes darken, but I stay even.

”StarClan is a Clan of gods, darling,” I say, my voice low. ”And true gods require offerings of blood and sacrifice.”

She looks at me in a way I’ve never seen before. Like I’m a stranger to her, and it prickles my pelt. “StarClan is made up of just cats. Cats like us.”

I force a gentle look, touch my nose to hers. ”And one day, we will all be gods as they are. We will conquer in their name, as our leader and oracle have foretold. We will earn our place among the stars.”



The next time I meet death, I do so eagerly.

The sound of paws thudding the ground becomes the sound of my heartbeat. I am on the front line with Needlestorm, Rookjaw, and Lionflight, other warriors like Dawnclaw, Sunstorm, and of course, Flickerheart is always somewhere within sight. My claws are out, the tips are sharp as the terror of the child I’d been and the rage of the warrior I became.

The first opponent comes into view, a scout I think. The MistClan meow rises to a yowling warning, then slices to a sudden silence. My claws tear through that throat as if it were gossamer webbing, a wicked, eager satisfaction settling into my chest as we all fling ourselves into a nightmare.

The next two guards fall like sand. Like Russetfoot’s death, it’s all quieter than I expect it to be. Their calls strangling into silence, their bodies falling with dull thumps to the earth. For a few seconds, everything is suspended. RidgeClan with our claws and fangs, our passion and righteousness.

And then, all at once, something snaps, and we plunge into dirt and blood and fury. I bury myself into it with unexpected glee. I haven’t killed since Russetfoot, and I know it’s supposed to be avoided. But battle explodes, I want nothing more than blood. Control slips more and more as I drown in the agonizing, blood-thirsty euphoria. Needlestorm is beside me, and she sinks into this brutality with a precise grace that is darkly beautiful.

There is nothing graceful about what I do. If she has the grace of a hummingbird, I am a dog drunk on hunger and instinct. She makes up for the sloppy mistakes of my rage, responding to every silent request of my movements.

It takes me too long to realize exactly when the retreat has been called. The second wave that poured in from PrarieClan? Good! I don’t see my clanmates falling, I see only my enemies. I could have fought there for moons, every nerve firing hotter than a crackling flame. I’ve been being ripped apart by the euphoria of battle, loving every eviscerating second of it. I smell and taste nothing but blood, and can feel nothing but the flesh and fur caught under my claws.

Two ParieClanners land on me just as my jaws close onto the soft throat of a young warrior. They knock me down, but I stand again fast, and I am made of fury. I’ll kill them, too. Lionflight is the one who hauls me backward by my scruff before I fight him off. I almost tear off his ear before he slams me backward and roars it in my ear: Retreat, brother!

I listen only when I see Flickerheart race toward us, her fur matted with blood, her face haunted. What blood is yours? I demand, but there’s no time. We’re all chased through unfamiliar territory, thundering across the bridge, splashing across the river, back home, fleeing in defeat.

I am unsteady, stepping on all the uneven stones of my mind as we all stagger into camp. The medicine cat den overflows. Bodies are being dragged in, Wolfstar among them. Our numbers have been cleaved, leadership cut down. RidgeClan made a grave mistake.

And my blood is still singing. My body shakes, coming down from the wild energy I feel like StarClan themselves had fed to me. I find Rookjaw, only as scratched as Lionflight and myself. Needlestorm’s ear is notched, and it bled a lot, but she’s safe. I find Dandelionleap in the medicine cat den, his foot torn up by teeth, but he will recover.

I find Flickerheart lingering near the camp exit, staring at the aftermath. My face softens when she notices me, but her expression remains as it is: gutted, exhausted, harrowed. I say nothing, and neither does she. I sniff her over, and I find no major wounds.

The blood is not hers, and I begin to groom it from her. It's hard to pick apart the scents, who's blood it might be, but it smells an awful lot like her brother. Where is that little bugger? He'd been right there during the battle...

“We lost,” she murmurs, voice distant. I pause. “We were wrong.”

I pick up my head and angle myself in front of her. ”Look at me, darling,” I command, and she meets me eye. ”Wolfstar went about this the wrong way. We should have done much more. MistClan should have been cut off from their allies before we ever moved. We made a mistake.” She doesn’t look like she cared. ”StarClan will show us the way forward, an overzealous oracle be damned.”

She stares at me like she doesn’t know me, and for the first time since the attack was planned, I feel a twinge of fear.



Flickerheart isn’t back from visiting her father and brother’s grave. I lay on my back in our shared nest and stare at the ceiling of the den, listening to Dandelionleap’s soft snores. It’s disappointing how few of us are left in these dens. Between death and desertion, our ranks have thinned exponentially. Flickerheart should not be one missing from the den; she has no guard duty tonight, no late patrol. She should be at my side.

I leave the den, into the milky moonlight darkness. The stars are obscured by broken clouds and the brilliance of the moon, but I look at them anyway. How disappointed StarClan must be in our failure. We would win their favor again, somehow, some way.

But first, my mate.

At the burial site, I don’t find her. Trepidation creeps along my back while I pick up her scent and follow it further into our territory. She’s withdrawn since the battle, since the bodies of her family had been carried back from the border, where the dead had been left like morbid gifts from MistClan.

I was supposed to protect her brother. I had promised her. I don’t like that guilt, so I shove it down a deep hole in my mind, kick dirt over it. It had been war, some deaths could not be prevented.

I follow her scent all the way to the river, where the cold water is calm, and there I find her, two paws in the shallows, staring across the border. For a moment, I’m struck still. She’s beautiful, the silver in her pelt lighting up like the moon’s reflection on the water.

Why is she at the border?

“Flickerheart,” I say.

She looks back at me, and I don’t want to recognize the look in her eyes. The regret. The dread. The sorrow. Is there anger there? Maybe that, too. “What are you doing here?”

I’m taken aback, but I give her an indulging smile. “I’d ask the same of you, darling; you said you were visiting your family’s graves.”

She flinches, like she’s done every time I mention them for the last couple moons. It’s one of the few times I see emotion in her. She’s distant. Grieving, she tells me. I accept it. I don’t understand the way she processes her grief, but I understand it. Vengeance is how I processed mine. Retribution. Lionflight tells me everyone mourns differently.

But what is this, standing at the border their bodies were dragged across? Mourning, torturing herself, or…

My eyes narrow, and she catches it.

“Go back to camp,” she softly pleads as she faces me. But she doesn’t come closer.

“I can’t sleep without you in the nest, you know that,” I say, and tilt my head, and indication to follow. “Come back, darling. We’ll talk about whatever’s on your mind on the return home.”

I know her, my darling Flickerheart. I know her better than anyone—better than my own sister, maybe. I can read her like I read pawprints in the snow or scents in the underbrush. I see the tension in every muscle. The stillness of her tail. The way her eyes harden over the top of that sorrow, as it had in preparation for battle. What battle is she fighting now?

I don’t want to entertain the reality that's creeping in.

“Darling.”

Her chin rises, but her voice quivers. “I’m not going back.”

“Hah!” The laugh is harsh and she flinches, and then my face darkens. “Enough, Flicker. You’re coming home.”

“I’m not.”

I move toward her with a scoff, and shake my head. “You’ll feel better once we’ve gotten some sleep. I’ll take your dawn patrol and I’ll bring you breakfast, just—"

“Stop, Firetongue,” she warns, stepping further back into the water. “I’m leaving RidgeClan.”

I do stop, slamming into a wall of shock so thick I can hardly see. Or maybe I’ve gotten dizzy. I’m leaving RidgeClan, resounds in my mind like a yowl in a mountain cavern. I blink at her, at my mate, and I realize it: she’s been contemplating this for a long time. My lip slowly curls into a snarling sneer.

”Some filthy MistClanner caught your eye?” I bite out with all the venom of a viper.

Her turn to look shocked. “Of course not!”

”No? So why in the fucking name of StarClan would you ever think—” I bite down on my words and force a strained smile with a humorless, growling laugh. ”If you’re not hopping borders as my traitorous mother did, then why are you?”

“RidgeClan is plagued with rot,” she throws back at me. “Whatever StarClan you hold dear led our Clan to ruin, and they ate it up. That is not a StarClan I can believe in, and it is not a Clan I can believe in.”

I can hardly process this coming from her, of all cats. Flickerheart. My Flickerheart, who understands me better than anyone. ”StarClan is an immortal collection of souls that exist beyond our realm; Wolfstar was too hasty in trying to interpret their signs, that’s all. We will rebuild and do bet—”

“My family is dead, Firetongue!” she cries. “Only my mother remains. You were supposed to protect them! And all you care about is how much blood you can shed before you’ve satiated your ancestors.”

”Careful, darling,” I warn in a low growl.

“How much clan blood do you need to spill before they forget half your own blood is claness?”

My blood is boiling, my pelt bristling. ”I never took you for a mewling fucking coward.” I let out a sharp, wordless hiss. ”You would turn your back on your Clan and kin? On StarClan? On everything your brother and father gave their lives to defend? You kick dirt on their memories!”

“I am turning my back on senseless violence and cruelty,” she urges. “Firetongue, you have to see this is wrong.”

”The only things wrong I’ve ever done were to be born of faithless rogue… and to trust you.” Her face falls. “I let that pretty face dupe me. Those pretty little eyes shining with the dreams of a kit thinking the world could be a kind place.” This, I know, is wrong too. She’s no naïve, doe-eyed, she-cat. She’s a tried, tested, and true warrior — through and through. I don’t care. ”It’s pathetic, Flickerheart! StarClan isn't some feather-down story to tickle the kits with, it is the collective might of every ancestor before us, and we strive to be worthy by any means necessary. Your father and your brother knew the price charging into that battle. You knew the price. It’s time to grow the fuck up. We live and die by tooth and claw.”

She looks as if I’d struck her. Maybe I should have done that instead, because maybe she wouldn’t look quite as gutted as she does right now. I want her to snarl, I want to see her rage, I want it — need it — to match mine. But she just stares, looking like I’m the one ripping her heart out!

“It is time to grow up, Fire,” she says, too calm. “You grew into a monster. I’m growing into someone that will slay them.”

I see red, and I feel my face contort with rage as I step forward. ”Will you now, darling? Will you slay this one?”

Before I can get anywhere near, that wretched she-cat that is the mother of my mate, leaps from the treeline, barrels between the two of us. Spottedfang lowers her head, pelt bristled and claws out.

“You will be letting my daughter leave now, boy,” she says.

I straighten, clenching my teeth as I stare her down, then look beyond her to find Flickerheart staring like I might attack. Spottedfang doesn’t look away from me, not for a moment. She knew her daughter would be leaving tonight, or there'd be goodbyes. Traitors. I would see the old hag exiled, all too happily. Dead, if not for the affection for the she-cat that stared at me with too many painful emotions.

My lip twitches, but I give her a cruel, mocking smile. ”No. Of course you won’t. You don’t have the stomach to be a monster slayer, darling.”

I wait until Flickerheart bounds across the river and disappears into the trees before I turn and stalk into the woods, all of Spottedfang’s taunts falling on deaf ears. All sound is muffled. I can hardly feel my paws enough to place one before the other. Flickerheart was a great pillar of existence, my everything. Every waking moment, we spend together: hunting, border patrols, sneaking away from camp, sharing tongues, sharing prey, sharing a nest, sharing relaxation with our friends and my siblings, everything. Life without her isn't supposed to exist.

’You grew into a monster. I’m growing into someone that will slay them.’

Well now. I’ll just have to be a monster worth slaying, won’t I?

Pre-Plotting: Firetongue falls into the ranks of Mars, weaving the curtain of unwavering loyalty with ease. But behind that curtain, a little bit at a time, the tom has begun to see the cracks in RidgeClan’s foundations. Mushroomstar lost a life to that low-life deserter, Dawnclaw, and it rekindled old fury, but not enough was done about it. Then, finding their opportunity, the Kingdom broke away from RidgeClan, cleaving away half that foundation he’d stood so solidly upon. He has begun drifting into Pluto in some small ways, losing his respect for his leader, seeing weakness in the absence of an oracle, in the absence of action. For now, his loyalty to RidgeClan, his families, and his friends, runs deep, but Pluto seems to be closer to the stars…

optional images