An agile, gray tabby tom with blue-green eyes.

-

Two generations ago, Heronpaw's grandfather - a kittypet from the nearby twoleg place - spent several moons in PrairieClan's camp. He ultimately chose not to become a warrior and returned to his old life, but not without imparting a gift: a litter of kits, all of whom sported bold bengal markings. Heronpaw, too, inherited these markings, as well as his grandfather's blue-gray coat. Some say he's the spitting image of his grandfather, down to the color of his eyes and the way his gray fur blends softly into white.

One day, Heronpaw might be handsome. For now, he's stuck in a growth spurt, his legs a smidge too long for his body, and his ears not quite the right size for his head. Heronpaw's face is normally pulled into a slight frown, but when he does smile, it lifts his whole expression, crinkling the dark stripes around his eyes. His body is made of angles and lean muscle, perfect for a cat meant to zip across the meadows, or move quickly through the tunnels. He can be a little vain, but he's aware of it, and sees it as an opportunity to groom and bond with other cats.

There's no reason for the birth to go wrong. It's a beautiful day in new-leaf, songbirds taking to the sky from their arboreal perches, the sun shimmering with late season heat. "Sometimes," one of the queens says, as if it will console the grieving father of two, his dead mate's fur still stuck between his claws from where he clutched at her body, begging her to come back. "StarClan's plans aren't supposed to be understood."

The father grieves harder, haunted by the fact that his ancestors wanted Swanfeather dead.

-

Silversong was born to be popular, some used to say about the warrior, before sorrow and loss overtook him after his mate's death. He's just a shell of the cat he used to be, hardly moving, never speaking. He keeps to his corner of the nursery, nothing more than a warm cat for his two kits to sleep by after they've fed from a queen who offered her milk.

The firstborn, Heronkit, looks just like him, and thus also like Silversong's father - a handsome, silver bengal tom from the twoleg place who ultimately decided to return to his twolegs after a few short moons in PrairieClan. The second-born, Snowkit, looks like his mother. 

In the rare moments of lucidity for Silversong, he never looks at Snowkit.

This is the first memory Heronkit has: his father telling him how handsome he is, grooming down his wayward fur, his eyes glossy whenever Snowkit cries for attention.

-

Eveningblossom is a kind cat. Nurturing, patient - the exact sort of tom the nursery could benefit from, if it wasn't for the fact that he can't have kits of his own. Up until Swanfeather's death, Eveningblossom put distance between himself and the nursery, unwilling to be reminded of the children he'd never raise. But Swanfeather's death comes just a few days before Eveningblossom's sister gives birth, and thus the tom finds himself spending every day in the warm, dimly lit den that protected PrairieClan's future.

At first, Eveningblossom is only there to help watch over his sister, Cedarclaw, and her impressive litter of six. On the third day he visits the nursery, that litter becomes five, and the day after that four. Eveningblossom, alongside Cedarclaw and her mate Lilacheart, pray they won't lose another child, but their prayers go unheard. After half a moon of life, only two kits remain.

It's during this time in the nursery that Eveningblossom tends to Silversong. They're friends from their own kithoods, though drifted apart in recent moons, with Eveningblossom's interest in herbalism keeping him busy. Slowly, as the moons go by, Eveningblossom manages to pull more and more of Silversong's old self out of him, but only in brief, fleeting moments. "He won't be a warrior again," Cedarclaw says harshly. It's not out of judgement - she speaks harshly of everyone, much gruffer than her gentle brother. "Not at this rate."

"He just needs time," Eveningblossom replies, uninterested in his sister's gloomy disposition.

-

Heronkit takes to grooming Snowkit by their third moon, when Silversong has given up on tending to his younger son entirely. "I don't get it," Snowkit grumbles. "Bluekit has two parents taking care of them. Why don't I have any?"

Bluekit, one of Cedarclaw's surviving children, is doted on by more than just their parents. They and their sister, Oak-kit, are tended to by a rotating cast of family members: Cedarclaw and Lilacheart, of course; Eveningblossom when he isn't checking in on Silversong; members from Cedarclaw and Lilacheart's extended families; random queens who want to see the miracle children prosper.

Snowkit and Heronkit don't have such luxuries. They have no father, and their mother's family wants nothing to do with them after Swanfeather's death. "You have me," Heronkit tells his brother. "Is that okay?"

In response, Snowkit beams at him. "Yeah!"

-

It's around his fourth moon when Heronkit realizes he doesn't have friends. He has Snowkit, but he's not sure his brother counts. And he has Snowkit's friends (Bluekit and Oak-kit, plus two other kits from other litters, Spottedkit and Smokekit), who seem happy to spend time with him, too, but feel distant. Like real friendship is just out of reach, something he never learned how to grab. It's a skill that comes naturally to Snowkit.

Later, Heronkit might realize that Snowkit learned it from him. That by having someone around to ensure his needs were met, Snowkit learned how to connect with other cats.

But Heronkit didn't have anyone, just a cat who sired him and sometimes called him handsome.

-

"It's your fault," Silversong snaps. His voice, usually drab and tired, except on days Eveningblossom can coax out his old self, is tinged with fire, like an old coal sparking back to life. "That she's dead. It's your fault."

He's not looking at Heronkit, who stands a few tail-lengths away, having just returned from spending time with his favorite elder. Instead, Silversong has Snowkit cornered. Snowkit's tail is tucked between his legs, his eyes glued to the ground, every limb in his body trembling from the weight of his father's hatred.

Heronkit doesn't remember making the decision to lash out. His kitten-sharp claws dig into Silversong's side and a hiss of pain erupts from his father. Eyes wide, Silversong turns to face his firstborn son. "We don't need you," Heronkit says. "So go away."

It's a lofty admission for a five moon old kit. Heronpaw speaks it coldly, not an ounce of love in his veins for the cat that sired him. Silversong regards him with those same wide eyes, until he finally nods, and walks away.

He never returns to the nursery.

-

"I just asked him to take me on a walk," Snowkit says later that night, when Heronkit finally gets him to talk about what happened. "He was with Eveningblossom, and they were laughing. So I thought he was okay. He's okay sometimes, you know?"

Heronkit didn't think that was true. A cat who was okay, even sometimes, didn't say that to his son. "We were fine at first. We walked. He asked me who my friends were." It was a shame on Silversong that he didn't know. "And then I asked him who his friends were, besides Eveningblossom. It got bad after that." 

"What he said isn't true," Heronkit says seriously, more serious than a kit of his age should have to be. Snowkit nods. "Our mother dying was an accident." These were words the elders told him. Sometimes, cats died when they gave birth, one elder tried to soothe him, tried to tell him that his mother died because he and his brother were so full of life, but Heronkit didn't want to hear it. To him, that sounded no better than Silversong telling Snowkit it was his fault Swanfeather died.

"She would be proud of us if she was here," Heronkit continues - another thing he heard an elder say once. Snowkit, tears in his eyes, keeps nodding. "And she'd be angry with Silversong. You can be angry at him, too."

"Are you angry at him?"

He's furious. He's always furious. Not a day goes by that Heronkit isn't angry. He hates his father. He hates Eveningblossom, for tending to Silversong, and not the kits Silversong all but abandoned. He hates the other cats in the nursery for not realizing when two kits needed help. He hates Littlestar and Cindersong and Maplefrost for never stepping in. He hates the other kits in the nursery, for getting the love he never got.

Sometimes, he hates Snowkit. Because at least Snowkit knows how to make friends.

"Yeah," is all Heronkit says.

-

At six moons old, the newly named Heronpaw and Snowpaw become apprentices, alongside Bluepaw and Oakpaw. Heronpaw is assigned to Swiftwind, a lackadaisical sort of tom who's easy enough for Heronpaw to get along with, if only because Heronpaw can't imagine Swiftwind not bending and twisting himself to get along with everyone.

Right away, Heronpaw doesn't know how to connect with his new mentor, so he doesn't bother. He lets Swiftwind take him on patrols. Goes with him to hunt. To spar. All the things expected of him as a new apprentice. But he never really talks. He doesn't ask questions or listen to advice or process any of the critiques he hears from Swiftwind or any warrior. Heronpaw only nods to show he's listening, then goes back to doing what he did before.

-

"He's difficult." That's Eveningblossom's voice, coming from just beyond the hill Heronpaw was walking along. Surprising him, he hears Silversong's voice respond.

"Heronpaw? He was such a good kit." His father is lucid, far different from the raging, bitter cat he last heard from, the one who snapped at Snowpaw two moons ago. "A little quiet, but good."

"He doesn't respect his mentor," Eveningblossom explains. Heronpaw plants himself behind a dying bush to listen. When had he disrespected Swiftwind? "They say he's arrogant. That he doesn't want to improve." And then, hedgingly, Eveningblossom adds, "he could use a little more personal guidance, I think."

He feels Silversong's sigh more than he hears it, carried on the breeze over PrairieClan's hills. "He doesn't want me there. Neither of them do." His bones scream with the desire to run toward his father, to tell him that's wrong, to tell him all he ever wanted was Silversong in his life. They could fix things, couldn't they? He would learn to forgive. But then Silversong keeps speaking, his voice soft and stuttering. "I just don't know..." 

Heronpaw knows that tone. His father isn't well. To speak to him now would be to risk another outburst - not something he wants for himself, and not something he'd ever put Snowpaw through again.

Quietly, he turns back to camp.

-

"Hey, wanna spar?" 

Heronpaw glances up at Spottedpaw, her dappled, tortoiseshell pelt rather pretty in the mid-morning light. He looks to his left, his right, then frowns when he doesn't see Snowpaw nearby. "Me?"

"Yeah?" Spottedpaw bats some moss toward him. "Bluepaw and Oakpaw are too strong, and Snowpaw's always busy." That was true. Snowpaw's mentor had him running around trying everything, and Snowpaw loved it. Sometimes, Heronpaw thought his brother's mentor was making up for their lack of parents. It made him jealous. Swiftwind would never bother like that with him.

"We can spar."

-

Spottedpaw beats him, but only barely. "Rematch," Heronpaw says as she pins him down a second time. Spottedpaw only laughs at him - it's a friendly laugh. Joyful. Spottedpaw, of all all his brother's friends, always did laugh the most.

"Nah. Let's just get something to eat."

-

"Y'know we can hang out, right?" Spottedpaw pushes him the small rabbit they're sharing after she takes a bite. "Like, without Snowpaw." Heronpaw doesn't respond. He didn't know that, because they never had before. Without Snowpaw, Heronpaw spends his time alone, unless Swiftwind is taking him somewhere. It's only when he goes to join his brother does he get time with the other apprentices. "I worry about you, Her'."

Her'. Like Heron, but softer. The nickname makes his throat tight with relief, and it's only then that Heronpaw realizes how scared he was that no one cared about him. "Yeah?"

"You've been really withdrawn lately," Spottedpaw admits. "I miss you." He hadn't noticed. Somewhere in between becoming an apprentice and sneaking off to find glimpses of his father, Heronpaw had stopped hanging out with his brother's friends. "Is that okay to say?"

"Yeah."

"Good. 'Cause Snowpaw said you might think it was weird."

Heronpaw shakes his head, the smallest smile on his face. "No. Not weird. Thanks, Spottedpaw."

-

Sometime before his eighth moon, Heronpaw stumbles over Eveningblossom and Silversong once more, this time just outside camp. "Snowpaw is incredible," Eveningblossom says, his voice full of love Heronpaw isn't sure he's allowed to have. Of all the cats in the nursery, Eveningblossom had the best chance of stepping in to raise them when Silversong couldn't, but he never did. It bristles Heronpaw's fur, hearing Eveningblossom talk about Snowpaw with the pride of a father. "Truly, everything an apprentice should aspire to be."

"Friendly?" Silversong asks. Eveningblossom hums an affirmation. "Popular?" He hums again. "Considerate?" Another hum. "That's good."

"A lot like you, Silversong," Eveningblossom says. "And a lot like Swanfeather." Heronpaw goes rigid, but Silversong doesn't lash out. Instead, his father starts to purr.

"Good. I'm glad. I was worried I might've... Well, I wouldn't be surprised if I ruined both of them."

Ruined.

His father thinks he's ruined.

Heronpaw sprints off into the night, tears hot against his face, something not even leaf-bare's chill can hope to cool.

-

"Her'?" Not even the nickname in his brother's comforting voice can make Heronpaw feel better. He doesn't respond, doesn't even really look at Snowpaw, just makes himself smaller in the nest they share so Snowpaw can curl up next to him. "Have you been crying?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Snowpaw butts his head into Heronpaw's shoulder hard enough that it almost hurts. "I want you to talk about it."

"I-" Heronpaw shudders. "I don't know how."

"Okay. I'll wait while you figure it out."

-

It's a few days later when Heronpaw finally breaks it all down for his brother, but Snowpaw doesn't seem to mind. He listens carefully, only asking a few questions here and there - mostly, he just lets Heronpaw speaks. Heronpaw tells him about the anger he feels, how it's all he feels, most days. How he doesn't want to be angry but he doesn't know anything else. How he struggles to connect to the world around him. How he wishes for someone - their father, Eveningblossom, Swiftwind, anyone - to force him into behaving, because he can't imagine doing it on his own. At that, Snowpaw makes a suggestion. "Just ask Swiftwind for more work."

"Huh?"

Snowpaw explains it. His own mentor is working him to the bone (not a bad thing, Snowpaw promises, he likes being busy) but it means Snowpaw has little time for other things, like worrying about Silversong or being angry. "Bluepaw hates it," Snowpaw says with a laugh. Heronpaw knows why - his brother and Bluepaw are too young for it to be official, but he's sure they'll be mates one day. "But it's nice. To be busy."

Busy. Maybe he can do that.

-

Heronpaw asks Swiftwind for more work, and after shuffling through some other warriors (Heronpaw has to swallow back his embarrassment at how no one wants to work with him), he's on twice as many patrols as before. He spars with Spottedpaw every day and eventually starts to beat her - then Smokepaw, then Oakpaw. Snowpaw is easy to beat, he learns early on, grinning as Snowpaw laughs as he's pinned down. His brother isn't meant to be a fighter.

Heronpaw might be, though. Sparring with Spottedpaw unlocks something competitive in him. He likes to spar, even when he doesn't win. Maybe especially when he doesn't win, because every time he loses is a chance to prove that he's willing to listen to advice. "Could you correct my form?" He asks the warrior watching his spar with Bluepaw, the only one of his friends he can't reliably beat. The warrior scrunches their face and Heronpaw hates himself for every moment he rejected advice before, but finally they give in and walk him through a few adjustments.

That time, he nearly beats Bluepaw.

-

"Heronpaw's improving," Eveningblossom says softly. He and Silversong are pressed close together, whether from the cold or the intimacy between them, Heronpaw isn't sure. He's crouched downwind from the two of them, letting the breeze carry their words to his ears. "He's impressive to watch. You should see him spar."

"Do you think he'd want me there?"

Yes, Heronpaw thinks. I'll prove I'm not ruined.

"I think he would," Eveningblossom says. "I think all those boys have ever wanted is their father."

"I know. I just don't know if I deserve them." When Silversong sighs, Heronpaw feels a spark of sympathy for his father. For the first time, he thinks he gets it. The father who loves him - who always loved him, he hopes - needs patience he refused to give the father that abandoned him. And he'll never get to know Silversong if he isn't willing to be patient with both sides of his father.

If it means a chance of reunion, he'll do it.

Pre-Plotting: Having just seen his ninth moon, Heronpaw has yet to fully form an opinion on the world and PrairieClan's position in it. He sees the traces of Wolfstar's war left behind on his clan, and he sees the divide forming between opinions on the tunnels, but he's still seeking to form his own thoughts.

Ultimately, Heronpaw will fall somewhere between Peony and Sage, wanting to promote balance but with a lens of practicality - peace cannot prosper without being rational, after all. When it comes to tunneling, Heronpaw will want to defend his clan's traditions, but over time feel uncomfortable with the unnecessary death that fills the tunnels.

Heronpaw comes from Coyotepaw's wanted ad, Here's To My Future. 

Family: Heronpaw loves his brother and that love instills in him great value for family, despite their father's emotional distance. He's determined to one day fix things with Silversong, but has begun to understand that patience will be the only way he'll ever get to really know his father.

Friends: The close ties of friendship often fill in the gaps created from being in a difficult family. Though Heronpaw struggles with making close friends, he puts a lot of care into all of his friendships, and views his inner circle as just extensions of his family. 

Romance: Heronpaw has never had a crush and doesn't intend to break that streak any time soon. He has more important things to worry about, like preserving his family, fostering stronger friendships, becoming a warrior, and helping train other apprentices. (In reality, Heronpaw worries he'll never explore this aspect of life, mostly because he struggles to recognize romantic attraction.)

Rivals: Friendly rivalries are a must for Heronpaw. To him, rivals and friends should often overlap. Nurturing growth is just as important as training for growth, and that shows in his competitive nature. As for cats he doesn't get along with, Heronpaw dislikes any cat that harbors negativity toward outsiders or their descendants.