Chapter 13 — Secrets in the Mud

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Chapter 13
Secrets in the Mud

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♣

The forest felt thicker than usual.

The shadows were still long, and the sunlight barely filtered through the branches of the trees. Sandstorm walked with a firm step, though her body screamed for rest. The damp earth beneath her paws was cold, and the moss crunched softly at the contact with her retracted claws.

She was exhausted.

Every muscle reminded her with each stride, and yet, there she was, moving away from the ThunderClan camp as if nothing hurt. As if she hadn’t had the worst night of her life.

“Damn it,” she murmured under her breath.

Not because of the lack of sleep. Not because of the unofficial patrol she had decided to do alone. Not even because of the bite she had given Fireheart, which now felt like a foolishness.

But because she had heard the comments.

She had thought that getting away would be enough, but it wasn’t.

Dustpelt. Mousefur. Even Whitestorm, who she heard adding an incomprehensible comment at the end.

The whispers, the glances, the unfinished comments… The camp was boiling with rumors. Bluestar’s silence that morning, her absence at the formation. Fireheart’s nervous look. The tension floating in the air like poisonous pollen.

“Since when are they a couple?”

“Maybe that’s why Bluestar hasn’t come out yet.”

“The ThunderClan doesn’t need that kind of distractions.”

Sandstorm gritted her teeth.

She wasn’t an emotional cat. She didn’t get entangled in drama. But that night, the lost sleep and the scene that had been hinted at between Bluestar and Fireheart… all of that had stuck in her chest like a thorn.

She didn’t even know exactly what she felt.

Jealousy? Disappointment? Anger?

Did it even matter?

With a low growl, she decided she would hunt something quickly and then find a den in some secluded corner of the forest. She would sleep there, far from everyone, far from the murmurs, far from the glances.

She crouched upon seeing a squirrel nearby, a distracted rodent on a root. A single leap was enough. Her claws closed with precision, the snap of the neck was dry. Good. Food sorted.

But then…

A noise.

Not a common one from the forest. Not from a bird, nor from prey.

Footsteps.

Light. Fast. Not hers. And they came from ahead, near the border with RiverClan.

Sandstorm stood up, the fur on her back bristling immediately. She turned her ears to locate the exact direction, and her eyes narrowed.

Intruders? At this time?

A slight buzz of anger ran down her spine. She wasn’t in the mood for nonsense. And if the RiverClan cats thought they could cross the border with impunity, just today, they were about to have a very bad idea.

She quickened her pace, lowering her head and sticking to the ground. Every leaf, every root, every shadow she crossed, she dodged with the stealth of a hunter. The sound repeated. More footsteps. There was more than one.

And they weren’t patrol cats from her Clan.

It can’t be.

Are they going to steal prey so close to our territory?

Her heart pounded hard in her chest, not from fear, but from the warrior’s impulse to protect what was hers. The urine and claw marks on the border trees weren’t mere decorations. They were warnings. Law.

And no one, not even a neighboring Clan, had the right to ignore them.

She hurried her pace.

A dense bush blocked her view, but the scent reached her first.

Water.

Wet moss.

And clearly, fish.

RiverClan.

“Not today,” she murmured under her breath, lowering her head as the growl rose from deep in her throat.

She moved faster, determined to intercept them before they did more damage.

I won’t leave them a single scale of our prey.

Sandstorm made her way through the undergrowth with firm paws, her muscles tense beneath her sandy-colored fur. Her heart beat strongly, with the unstoppable impulse to catch any cat that dared to step on her territory. She was ready for anything: to meow orders, to show her fangs, even to fight if necessary.

But not for this.

As soon as she emerged from the foliage, the growl in her throat died down. She stood still, her tail swaying slowly behind her.

In front of her, just a few steps from the border with RiverClan, walking with evident clumsiness, was Mistyfoot.

The light blue-furred warrior took slow steps, her hind paw dragging slightly through the wet mud. Her front paws were wet up to the elbows. There were fresh marks on the moss, trembling footprints that showed a struggle to maintain balance. And at her feet, a trout barely struggled, freshly taken from the water.

Sandstorm blinked. Bewildered. Confused.

What is she doing here?

Mistyfoot was supposed to still be in the medicine cat’s den. She was supposed to be cared for. She was supposed to still need rest. And now she was hunting alone, right at the border? And with that paw still swollen?

The first thought that crossed her mind was simple, raw.

Weren’t they given food?

She shook her head.

What does that matter? She’s a RiverClan warrior. Does she think she can come live with us as if she were an abandoned queen?

She felt the bile rise in her throat. But the anger that had driven her to run, to hunt intruders, now hesitated. Something inside her broke at the sight. Mistyfoot wasn’t stealing prey. Nor was she looting. She was just… hunting.

Or trying to.

The trout slipped from her claws, and Mistyfoot wobbled as she tried to catch it. She fell to the side with a small muffled whimper, panting as she clung to the ground with her other paw. Her fur was tousled, wet, tangled with leaves and mud.

Sandstorm took another step, still hidden. Her claws were still out. But she didn’t use them. She couldn’t.

Because what was in front of her wasn’t a threat.

It was a wounded cat. And for some reason she didn’t want to admit, that sight disarmed her more than any fight.

Why is she still here? Why doesn’t she return to her Clan?

And then, as if the wind blew right in her face, she noticed it again.

The light blue fur.

The eyes. The outline of the muzzle. The way she lifted her head, even in defeat.

Bluestar.

The resemblance was undeniable. That structure in the face, the silent tension, the pride even in fragility. Mistyfoot wasn’t just from RiverClan… she was Bluestar’s daughter.

The rumors weren’t exaggerations. They weren’t silly theories. They were true.

Sandstorm felt her fur bristle.

And suddenly, the disgust she had been holding since dawn returned with more force.

Why didn’t anyone tell me this?

Why does the entire Clan keep secrets that even loyal warriors don’t know?

And why does Fireheart… allow it?

She gritted her teeth.

Her gaze remained fixed on Mistyfoot, who had now dragged herself to reach the trout. She finally held it between her front paws, breathing heavily.

She could approach.

She could confront her.

She could tell her to leave once and for all. That she didn’t belong there. That ThunderClan wasn’t a refuge for outsiders with divided blood.

And she would.

“Hey!!!!!” roared Sandstorm, emerging from the bushes with her tail bristled and her whiskers tense.

The shout echoed through the trees, causing some birds to take flight.

Mistyfoot turned immediately, her eyes widening like two full moons upon seeing the ThunderClan warrior emerge like an arrow. Her first reaction wasn’t to speak. Nor to give explanations.

It was to run.

Or at least try to.

She limped immediately, her injured paw twisting under her body. Mud splattered her flanks, and her front paws barely managed to keep her balance. The trout was left lying behind, writhing alone. Mistyfoot staggered towards the territory’s border, seeking the shadow of the nearest bushes.

Sandstorm didn’t think twice.

She ran after her with quick and firm strides, driven by a mix of anger, frustration, and something else she didn’t want to name. Mistyfoot was fleeing. Why? Did she have something to hide?

“Stop!” she growled. “You’re not part of this Clan!”

She leaped.

Her claws extended, her body curved by the impulse. She was about to pounce on the intruder.

But a dark gray silhouette appeared at the last second, interposing itself between them.

“Stop!!” shouted Cinderpelt, and her voice cut through the air like an invisible claw.

Sandstorm barely managed to brake. Her weight fell dry on the moss, and she skidded a few steps until her muzzle was just a few centimeters from the medicine cat’s.

She breathed heavily. Her chest rose and fell. Her claws were still out.

Cinderpelt didn’t move.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” she exclaimed. “You’re about to attack an injured cat!”

“A RiverClan cat!” snapped Sandstorm, her voice hoarse from the effort. “On our border! Alone!”

Cinderpelt turned her head towards Mistyfoot, who had fallen onto her side, panting with mud stuck to her flank. The injured paw trembled under her weight. But she said nothing. She just looked with her eyes half-closed.

“She’s with me,” declared Cinderpelt, firmly. “This was part of her treatment. She has to use her paw if she wants to heal.”

“On our border?” huffed Sandstorm, taking a step forward.

“This is where RiverClan fishes,” replied the medicine cat. “And no one is helping her. Bluestar gave her permission to practice movement on her own.”

Sandstorm gritted her teeth.

She looked at Mistyfoot.

The way she lowered her ears.

The way she didn’t defend herself.

“Please,” added Cinderpelt. “She’s weak, she can’t defend herself now.”

“Weak?” snapped Sandstorm, her eyes fixed on Mistyfoot. “You? The same one who walked all the way here just to hunt for herself?”

“Sandstorm!” Cinderpelt turned towards her, surprised. “What’s wrong with you?”

For a moment, silence took over the place. The sound of water flowing, the leaves rustling slightly, and the creaking of Sandstorm’s chest, tight, tense.

She didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

Cinderpelt tilted her head, confused.

“Why are you so upset?” she asked more softly.

Sandstorm didn’t look at her. She didn’t even see her. Her eyes were still fixed on Mistyfoot, on that light blue-furred figure, so similar… too similar.

Her claws dug into the earth.

“It’s not your business,” she said at last, her voice low, rough.

Cinderpelt took a step back.

“What…?”

“I said,” repeated Sandstorm, still not looking at her. “It’s not your business.”

Mistyfoot swallowed. She still wasn’t getting up. But now, although her body trembled, her gaze was firm. Serious. Attentive.

And that made Sandstorm growl once more. Because she knew what she saw.

That cat wasn’t afraid.

And that… was what angered her the most.

Sandstorm breathed with difficulty, her breath coming in harsh, controlled bursts. Without thinking, without measuring, she took a step towards the still throbbing trout on the ground. Her muzzle lowered, she caught it between her fangs and lifted it, ready to take it back to the camp. Since she needs it so much, let her eat like a prisoner, not like a queen.

But Cinderpelt moved first.

Not with violence.

Just with firmness.

She positioned herself in front of her, blocking her path, her eyes fixed on hers. Her gaze wasn’t aggressive. But it didn’t yield either. It was a warning.

And for some reason, that made Sandstorm clench her teeth harder on the prey. A dull growl came from her throat, low, irritable.

Cinderpelt didn’t move.

Sandstorm looked at her. Then at Mistyfoot, who was now barely upright, her body covered in mud, her chest moving with effort. The trout still dripped water and blood between her fangs, and at some point, something broke inside her.

She dropped the prey.

She let it fall to the ground with a dry thud.

And then, without thinking, the words came out.

“Your mother slept with Fireheart.”

The silence became absolute.

Cinderpelt froze. Her pupils dilated, as if an invisible claw had grazed her soul.

Mistyfoot’s eyes widened.

The trout still trembled a bit in the mud, as if the world refused to breathe after that phrase.

“What?” Mistyfoot finally asked, in a low voice, barely a whisper.

Sandstorm didn’t even turn to look at her. Her gaze was still fixed on Cinderpelt, as if that were the only way to hold herself up.

Cinderpelt took a step towards her, her tail rigid.

“Sandstorm… what are you saying?”

“What you heard,” she replied. “I don’t know why I said it. But it’s true. I know. I heard them. I… heard them.”

Mistyfoot stood still. She didn’t understand if the shiver running down her spine was from the mud, from the wound… or from that revelation. Her mother. And Fireheart.

Cinderpelt swallowed, but her voice remained soft.

“You don’t have to say those things like that… not in that way.”

“I’m angry,” confessed Sandstorm, more to herself than to the others. “I’m… tired. No one says anything. Everyone hides things. And me? Do I just obey? Do I just smile?”

Her claws dug into the damp earth.

Cinderpelt took another step, this time closer, but didn’t touch her companion.

“I understand that you’re upset,” she said softly. “But throwing it out like that, in front of her…”

She glanced at Mistyfoot, who still seemed to be processing it all. That confession wasn’t just a dagger thrown into the air. It was a truth with thorns. And the fact that it came like this, without care, without context…

It was cruelty, born of pain.

“I didn’t want to,” murmured Sandstorm, lowering her voice. “It just… came out.”

“I know,” replied Cinderpelt. But her voice didn’t tremble for Sandstorm.

It was for herself.

For all that it meant.

For all that it could break.

Sandstorm didn’t say anything else.

Her paws trembled. Her muzzle tightened. Her eyes, lit by something even she didn’t understand. With a final huff, she turned with a brusque movement and ran off into the bushes, leaving behind the smell of mud, fish, and broken secrets.

Cinderpelt stayed there, looking into the void where her friend had gone.

Then she lowered her ears.

And huffed.

The silence had settled like a thick mist, heavier than the damp air rising from the river.

Mistyfoot, still with mud on her back and the trout forgotten at her paws, looked up at Cinderpelt. Her voice came out low, contained, but firm.

“Is it true?”

Cinderpelt let out another huff, longer than the previous one. She closed her eyes for a second, as if that were enough to erase the moment.

“And my big mouth…” she murmured to herself, crossing her tail with annoyance. “I don’t know why I get involved in things that aren’t my business.”

Mistyfoot frowned, sitting down with difficulty on her good paw.

“So it is true?”

Cinderpelt stayed silent. She walked a few steps, dragging her paws through the moss. Then she sighed, with a mix of tiredness and resignation.

“StarClan, Bluestar really doesn’t waste time,” she blurted out. “First Oakheart, now Fireheart… if this continues… the clan is going to fall apart.”

Mistyfoot blinked, bewildered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Cinderpelt replied quickly, turning her muzzle towards her. “I’m just talking to myself. Something I do very often lately.”

But Mistyfoot didn’t let her off the hook with her gaze. And Cinderpelt, feeling cornered, let out another phrase without thinking too much:

“Maybe Longtail isn’t so wrong after all…”

That did make Mistyfoot perk up her ears.

“What do you mean?”

Cinderpelt turned completely, her expression closed.

“Nothing that should concern you. Come on. Let’s continue with stretching your paw. You’ve had enough scandal for today.”

“But…”

“Nothing!” exclaimed the medicine cat, her tail raised. “Bluestar is your mother, not your responsibility. Nor mine. And definitely not Sandstorm’s, who seems to want to take on the world today. So, if you do me the favor, let’s move that beautiful paw of yours somewhere else before another cat gets the idea to spy on us from the bushes.”

Mistyfoot lowered her gaze, still somewhat dazed. The revelation… the unease… the way Cinderpelt seemed annoyed with everyone, even herself.

She turned her head towards the river.

RiverClan…

How much she missed the constant sound of water, the smell of fresh scales in the morning, the voices of her companions. Although now, she couldn’t help but wonder what they would think of her if they knew all this.

My mother is the leader of ThunderClan. And now she’s…

“Mistyfoot!” called Cinderpelt impatiently, breaking her thoughts.

The warrior turned.

She wanted to disobey. Just for a moment. Stay there. Think. Breathe.

But then, some soft steps on the leaf litter made her turn her head.

Brackenfur.

The young warrior was walking through the bushes, with a calm posture, a serene gait. Mistyfoot tensed. She wasn’t ready to be seen. Not with the mud. Not with the thoughts swirling in her head.

Before she could move, Brackenfur had already seen her.

Their eyes met.

And she, clumsily, gave him a quick greeting. A small ear movement, as if she didn’t know if she wanted him to come closer or disappear.

Cinderpelt, who had noticed the encounter, growled under her breath.

“Mind your own business, Brackenfur.”

The warrior stopped, blinked, and then tilted his head.

“Medicine cat things?”

“Medicine cat things,” repeated Cinderpelt as if that were enough to settle the universe.

Brackenfur sighed, already used to the days when his sister became an uncontrollable whirlwind. He nodded politely to Mistyfoot, with a slight smile, and continued on his way without bothering further.

Mistyfoot felt her cheeks burn for no apparent reason.

“Let’s go,” grumbled Cinderpelt, moving faster. “You’ve already wasted enough time limping in the mud and carrying secrets that aren’t yours.”

Mistyfoot followed her. Not without first looking, once more, towards the river.

And wondering how much longer it would take for her to call it home again.