Chapter 5 – The Cold Morning

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Chapter 5
The Cold Morning

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♣

The cold morning wind brushed against firestar’s fur as she moved through the damp undergrowth.

The dawn light barely peeked through the trees, gilding the still-dark trunks. She walked with a firm step, though the tip of her tail twitched with contained unease.

Behind her, Cloudtail followed without questioning, though the frown on his face betrayed his confusion.

“Firestar?” he finally murmured. “Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Firestar did not stop. She took a few more steps until she reached a clearing where the bushes were dense and the earth was soft from the night’s moisture. She looked around. No one would hear them there.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she replied, finally turning to face him. Her voice sounded calm, but there was something in her gaze that made him tense.

Cloudtail tilted his head, his ears flicking nervously. “Then… why did you bring me here?”

“Because I need to make changes,” Firestar responded, not breaking eye contact. Her tail stopped moving. “Important changes. And you are part of that.”

The branches cracked slightly from a gust of wind. A bird flew between the trees, and silence settled again. Cloudtail furrowed his brow.

“Changes? What do you mean?”

Firestar took a deep breath. Her fur shimmered in the faint light. Every word she said seemed heavy, as if she had been holding them back for moons.

“You can’t follow me everywhere anymore, Cloudtail.”

The warrior took a step back, surprised.

“What?”

“I’m going to assign you more tasks,” she added without hesitation. “I want you to supervise the apprentices’ training this week. Also, I need you to lead the dawn patrols. Check the elders’ nests, and make sure the kits are protected in the nursery. And I want daily reports, at dusk. Detailed.”

Cloudtail narrowed his eyes, confused. “Wait… is this a punishment? Or a test?”

Firestar shook her head gently, but her expression did not soften.

“It’s not a punishment. It’s because I need you to be useful. I need you to spend your time on more important things.”

“And why don’t you explain it better?” he insisted, raising his voice slightly. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

Firestar lowered her gaze slightly, and for the first time in the conversation, her tone became softer, almost vulnerable.

“Tell me the truth, Cloudtail.” She lifted her head, her eyes fixed on his. “Do you like me?”

The warrior opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. His expression changed, his ears dropped, and a shadow crossed his face. Despite his attempt to stay calm, a slight blush spread across his cheeks.

Firestar watched him in silence, and although she noticed the change in his face, she did not mention it. She took a step towards him and with the tip of her tail gave him a gentle nudge on the side, barely a touch, like a silent goodbye.

“I’ll be busy,” she said finally, her voice firm again. “There are things I need to do. Visits I need to make alone.”

Cloudtail looked up with a mix of confusion and sadness, but Firestar had already turned her face towards the east.

Beyond the foliage, where the trees became denser and the air was heavy with humidity, the lands of the River Clan rose. The wind blew from there, carrying with it the scent of water and willow branches.

“I need you to help me lighten the load,” she added. “There are decisions I need to make… and I need space to make them.”

“Decisions?” Cloudtail tilted his ears. “About what? Does it have to do with Star Clan? With the lack of prey?”

Firestar did not respond. She took another step towards the edge of the clearing.

“Firestar?” Cloudtail’s voice was lower but insistent. “Is it because of what happened with Cinderpelt? Does it have to do with her?”

The movement in Firestar’s tail stopped. Her shoulders tensed for a moment, but she did not turn around.

“It’s not that,” she murmured, barely audible. “Don’t mix things up.”

Cloudtail narrowed his eyes. He moved a little closer but did not approach completely. The space between them seemed denser than before.

“Then tell me why. You can’t just drop all this and then leave. At least let me understand what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated with a sigh, lowering her head slightly. “I just need distance. That’s all.”

“Distance from me?” His voice cracked slightly, but Firestar noticed.

She was silent for a few seconds.

“From everything,” she replied. Then she added softly, “Including you.”

Cloudtail lowered his gaze, and a breeze passed between them, filled with the murmur of wet leaves. He said nothing for a moment, but when he looked up, the discomfort had been replaced by something more sincere.

“Are you pushing me away because you think I like you?”

Firestar finally turned her face towards him, emotionless in her eyes. There was no coldness, just a decision made.

“I’m not ‘thinking’ anything,” she said calmly. “I asked you a question. And you didn’t answer. Don’t follow me. Not now, not later.”

“Firestar…”

She began to walk, slow but determined, without looking back.

“Do what I asked, Cloudtail,” she said without stopping. “Take care of the Clan.”

And she disappeared into the trees, leaving behind the clearing, the wind… and him. She moved a little, and Firestar sighed. At that moment, the air was more humid to the east.

Firestar moved through the dense undergrowth, where the bushes grew tightly and the branches formed an irregular canopy of shadows.

The sun barely filtered its light through the trees, casting broken figures on the wet earth.

The bark of the trunks was slippery, covered in moss, and the scent of water began to fill the air with each step.

The ground changed under her paws: first firm, then soft, and soon it became muddy. The vegetation here was different, thicker and taller, as if the forest leaned towards the river to drink. The brambles intertwined with each other and had to be carefully pushed aside, though Firestar did so without hesitation. Her paws moved with the precision of someone who knew every root, every twisted root that could betray her step.

In the silence of that path, she heard the faint rustle of a squirrel moving through the high branches. Further ahead, a mouse ran across the trail.

Her stomach growled with a pang, but she did not stop. Her body craved food, yes, but she had not come to hunt. And she could not let hunger distract her.

The sound of the river grew, deep and constant, like an endless murmur. As she emerged from the last stretch of bushes, Firestar stopped. Before her stretched the river’s current, wide but not particularly violent that day. The boundary between the clans was clear: this bank was hers. The other was not.

The breeze from the water brushed her muzzle, carrying with it the scents of the River Clan: algae, willow branches, wet moss. And something more. Presences.

Without wasting time, she flexed her hind legs and, in a single leap, crossed the water, landing firmly on the damp grass on the other side.

The slight splash she left behind soon disappeared under the sound of the river. Now she was officially within the territory of the River Clan.

She took a few steps forward, her body upright and her whiskers on alert. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps. They paused briefly, then approached rapidly. Firestar looked up.

From the ferns emerged two figures she recognized instantly: a graceful silver female and a robust male with dark fur. Feathertail and Stormfur. Daughter and son of Graystripe.

Both stopped as soon as they saw her. Feathertail tilted her head, confused, but her eyes reflected tension. Stormfur narrowed his, baring his fangs with a low growl.

It was logical. She had not announced her visit. And she was in enemy territory.

Firestar remained steadfast. She lowered her head in a respectful gesture, her tail still. She had no intention of fighting.

“You don’t have to do that, Firestar,” murmured Feathertail, though her voice was still laced with mistrust.

Stormfur interrupted her with a paw on her shoulder. She fell silent, and he stepped forward.

“What brings you to intrude on our Clan?” he asked firmly. He did not raise his voice, but his stance said it all. He was ready for any false move.

Firestar looked him straight in the eye. There was no trace of doubt in her gaze.

“I come to speak with Leopardstar,” she said clearly. “It is an important conversation.”

Stormfur held her gaze for a long moment. Then, with a subtle nod, he scanned the trees around them, the bushes, the river’s edge. He was checking if there were more ThunderClan warriors hiding.

Firestar did not move. There was no one else. She had come alone.

Feathertail approached from her side. Her tail gently brushed Firestar’s flank, a soft purr emanating from her throat. It was not complete trust, but neither was it rejection.

“Graystripe sends his greetings,” said Firestar, keeping her gaze on Stormfur.

Both warriors’ ears twitched instantly. Feathertail blinked, and Stormfur let out a slight snort through his nose. Neither responded immediately, but their eyes flicked to the side, as if that mention had touched something they preferred not to show.

Still, a subtle smile played on both their faces, which they did not try to hide.

Silence hung for a few seconds. Only the constant whisper of the river behind them could be heard.

“How is he?” Feathertail finally asked, her voice softer. “Graystripe…”

“He is well,” Firestar replied, inclining her head. “Healthy. In his role as mentor, as always. Though… I think he still misses you both.”

Stormfur looked down. He said nothing, but Firestar noticed how he clenched his jaw. Feathertail, on the other hand, flicked her ears, as if trying to shake off the weight of emotion.

“How urgent is what you want to discuss with Leopardstar?” Stormfur finally asked.

“Urgent enough for me to come alone,” she replied straightforwardly. “I do not want this to be misinterpreted. I am not here to ask for help, nor to spy, nor to give warnings. But it is something I can only discuss with her.”

Stormfur nodded slowly. Feathertail looked at him, as if asking him not to shut her out.

“If you follow us,” he said in a measured voice, “we will escort you to her den. But do not take a single step out of our sight.”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

Feathertail turned and began to move through the willows. Stormfur waited for Firestar to follow, walking beside her, still alert, still wary. But in his gaze, there was more than just caution.

Respect. Or perhaps… a faint memory of another time.

Firestar walked with a firm step, though her senses were on constant alert. As she ventured deeper into RiverClan territory, she noticed how the vegetation changed.

The roots protruded more from the ground, thick and damp, and the plants grew denser than in ThunderClan lands. The willows hung like living curtains on either side of the path, swaying with the gentle breeze that came from the nearby river.

Moisture permeated the air, seeping into her fur and giving everything a stronger, earthy, almost sweet scent. The brambles grew wide and juicy, and there were traces of fruit scattered among the bushes. Firestar said nothing, but she was not surprised.

If the scarcity of prey affected them as it did everyone, it was likely that the River Clan was making use of every resource at their disposal, even those they would have ignored in other seasons.

Perhaps they ate some fruits, or perhaps they hunted prey that were already weakened, taking what they could.

But she was not there to judge.

The camp did not take long to appear among the branches. It was protected by a natural elevation of the terrain, and accessed through a narrow passage bordered by knotted roots.

Stormfur guided her with his tail held high, Feathertail following at a prudent distance. The ground suddenly became firmer, covered by a thick carpet of moss that muffled the sound of their paws.

As soon as Firestar crossed the boundary and entered the heart of the camp, gazes fell on her like a lightning bolt.

The first sound was a murmur. Then, silence. Cats who were sharing tongues stopped. Others, who were sleeping in the shade of a bush or eating in peace, lifted their heads in surprise. A pair of apprentices opened their eyes, almost incredulous, upon seeing her appear among the willows, flanked by two of their warriors.

Some eyes shone with joy. Firestar recognized them immediately: they were cats with whom she had shared more than one battle, more than one Gathering.

She directed a brief purr at them, and they returned the gesture with inclined heads or friendly blinks.

Still, most of those present tensed immediately. The fur of many warriors bristled. Tails stopped moving. Claws grazed the earth. Firestar perceived the change in the air.

But Stormfur’s decisive steps and Feathertail’s calm demeanor as they walked beside her served as a shield. No one moved to intercept her. Their mere presence alongside her was proof enough: she did not come as an enemy.

Firestar stopped at the side of the clearing, letting her gaze sweep over every corner of the camp. It had changed little since her last visit. Some dens had been reinforced with thick branches and woven leaves.

The warriors’ nests were grouped under a slanted grove, and the apprentices stayed near the entrance, as if waiting for a signal to act.

She saw familiar faces. Beloved faces.

One of the oldest cats, Stonefur, was reclining on a flat rock, his eyes closed to the sun. Beside him, Blackclaw shared a rabbit with another queen. Firestar was glad to see them alive and at peace. There were no visible wounds, and that was already a victory.

“Where is Leopardstar?” she asked in a low voice, turning her face towards Feathertail.

The gray warrior looked at her for a moment, as if evaluating the situation. Then she nodded slowly.

“She is returning from a recent patrol,” she murmured. “The truth is… she might be a bit angry when she sees that we’ve brought you without warning.”

Stormfur growled, but Feathertail did not look at him.

“You can wait over there,” she said, nodding towards a corner of the clearing, next to a rock surrounded by thick moss. “It’s cool and a bit secluded.”

Firestar nodded. She had no problem waiting. She had not come to impose anything.

She allowed herself to be guided without resistance to the indicated spot. The moss was cool and soft, and the sun fell on the rock with a warmth that reminded her of good days in the ThunderClan camp. She sat calmly, wrapping her tail around herself. Her body was straight but relaxed.

Still, she felt it.

Every pair of eyes in the clearing was on her.

Some observed her with frank mistrust. Others with mere curiosity. A pair of apprentices whispered among themselves, and a queen looked at her from the entrance of the nursery with an ambiguous expression, as if she did not know whether to alert or ignore. No one approached, but no one took their eyes off her.

Firestar smiled, somewhat uncomfortable. She raised a front paw in a friendly gesture and greeted those who stared at her. No one returned the greeting.

“I’m just visiting,” she murmured to herself, lowering her ears slightly.

The tension remained, suspended in the air like the scent of a distant storm. She understood. Her presence was an anomaly.

Amid the problems the clans faced, the scarcity, the mistrust, the rumors, an unannounced visit from a rival leader could seem like anything but a courtesy.

But she was willing to wait.

She had not come to cause trouble.

Firestar allowed herself, for the first time since crossing the border, to relax a little. From her mossy corner, she silently observed the comings and goings of the RiverClan cats.

None approached her, but the vigilance was no longer so hostile. Some had returned to their tasks. Others simply pretended to be unaware.

It was then that her eyes fell on a group of kits playing near the nursery, tumbling among themselves with clumsy and amusing movements. Their high-pitched squeals broke the monotony of the place.

One of them, a small tom with light tabby fur, separated from the group upon seeing Firestar and stood looking at her, curious. His eyes shone with excitement, and his body vibrated with the innocent energy that only the youngest could possess.

The kit’s mother, a queen with white fur and silver patches, rose immediately upon seeing where her son was looking.

Firestar saw how the queen silently called her son with a flick of her tail, but the kit did not obey. He stepped forward, stumbling once and then again, and completely left the den, running straight towards Firestar.

Firestar remained still. She watched the little one approach, his paws uncoordinated and his muzzle damp. She purred softly, noticing how her heart softened at the scene.

“How are you, little one?” she said warmly, lowering her head slightly.

The kit approached her without fear, as if the concept of “other clan” did not yet exist in his world. He rubbed against her chest and let out an enthusiastic purr, happy for the attention.

Firestar could not help but smile. She lowered her muzzle, ready to give him a gentle lick on the head, as any mother would.

But just as she was about to do so, her eyes met the queen’s. She was standing at the entrance of the nursery, her fur bristling, her claws partially visible, and a mute fury burned in her gaze.

The leader of ThunderClan stopped mid-motion. She closed her mouth slowly, not taking her eyes off the mother. Then she whispered in a low voice, barely a murmur in the kit’s ear:

“Your mother is calling you. It would be best if you returned to her.”

The kit turned his head. Upon seeing his mother’s stern expression, his ears immediately lowered. With a guilty gesture, typical of a discovered mischief, he let out a small squeak and ran back to the safety of his den.

Firestar followed him with her gaze, then sighed deeply. She could still feel the warmth of the kit on her fur, that brief moment of peace without territorial barriers or clan rules. But it had vanished with a single glance.

She looked back at the camp. The cats were in their places, without altercations or evident tensions. There were no discussions about patrols, no loaded glances between warriors.

The atmosphere was full of movement, yes, but not chaos. Compared to ThunderClan, which was on the brink of an internal fracture, this scene seemed foreign.

The River Clan… was at peace.

Firestar narrowed her eyes, letting that thought envelop her for a moment. That calm. That silence without threats. It wasn’t perfect, she knew, but for the first time in many dawns, she felt a stillness that did not belong to her, but that she wished to touch.

She smiled softly. It wasn’t a smile for anyone. Just an intimate response to that fleeting moment.

“Firestar.”

The voice reached her from behind, grave, firm, and cutting like a paw sinking into the damp ground.

The purr died immediately in her throat.

Firestar turned her head slowly, already knowing who was there even before she saw her.

Leopardstar.

The interior of the camp seemed to have stopped. All eyes were fixed on the two leaders facing each other in the middle of the clearing. Leopardstar had not stopped observing Firestar since she had called her by name, and now her fur bristled slightly, with a contained tension noticeable in every muscle of her body.

“What brings you to intrude, Firestar?” she asked firmly, slowly unsheathing her claws, more as a warning than a direct threat.

But Firestar did not back down. Without a word, she leaned slightly and brushed her nose against Leopardstar’s, a gesture that was not a challenge, but an attempt to show respect. It was only a second. Barely a light touch. But enough.

Leopardstar blinked, surprised by the closeness and the unexpected gesture.

“I do not come to cause trouble,” Firestar said in a softer tone, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I came alone. There is no trick.”

But she did not receive an immediate response. Leopardstar still frowned, and her ears remained slightly flattened. A low growl rose in her throat, hoarse, like an echo threatening to burst.

Before the silence became unbearable, Feathertail approached decisively and stood between them.

“Leopardstar, please,” she murmured, her voice softer than the wind through the reeds. “Firestar has only come to visit. There is no hidden plan. She just wants to talk to you.”

Leopardstar looked up at her, her eyes still hard, but blinked as she saw her so close. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she turned her head to look for Stormfur. He was a little farther away, but when his gaze met his leader’s, he let out a slight sigh and nodded slightly.

It was enough.

Leopardstar snorted through her nose, lowering her claws a bit. She took a step to the side and turned her head towards Firestar.

“If you came alone,” she growled, “then it must be something important. Very well. Follow me.”

Firestar nodded gratefully but said nothing more.

When Leopardstar turned to begin walking towards her den, she paused suddenly, as if noticing something for the first time. She turned her neck slightly and glanced at Firestar, evaluating her.

“You look thinner than the last time I saw you,” she murmured, without softness, but also without mockery. “Wait.”

Firestar stopped.

“Go get a piece of prey from the pile. Quickly,” Leopardstar ordered. “Don’t look at anyone. Don’t talk to anyone from my Clan. Just take something and come with me.”

“I don’t need…” Firestar began, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

Leopardstar turned fully, her eyes gleaming like the reflection of the sun on stagnant water.

“I didn’t ask if you needed it,” she said in a low voice, but with an edge that cut the air. “What I see is that you are thinner than any other cat in my camp. And if you are going to talk to me clearly, you will do so with a full stomach. I don’t want to see you trembling from weakness while trying to convince me of something.”

Firestar stood still, surprised. For a second, she didn’t know whether to feel humiliated… or grateful.

Finally, she lowered her gaze and nodded. She walked towards the prey pile in silence, feeling the stares of some warriors on her back. She did not look up. She said nothing.

She took a small, dry mouse, barely fleshy, but more than she had eaten in the last few days. Holding it in her teeth, she returned to Leopardstar, who was already waiting at the entrance to her den, her tail held high.

“Come,” she murmured. “We can talk without interruptions.”

Firestar followed her, crossing the entrance to the den with slow steps. The shadows inside enveloped her, and the murmur of the camp faded away.

Firestar followed Leopardstar without a word, leaving behind the clearing and the inquisitive gazes. The entrance to the den was semi-hidden by a curtain of intertwined reeds, damp and cold, like everything in that camp.

Upon entering, she was greeted by a damp shadow and dense air that smelled of moss, wet stone, and dry branches. It was a compact place, somewhat narrow, but not uncomfortable.

Around her, walls formed by twisted roots kept the cave protected from the wind. It was not cozy, but neither was it hostile.

Leopardstar moved to the back of the den, where a thick bed of moss was carefully arranged. Without looking at Firestar, she settled into it with the ease of someone in their own territory, her tail coiled over her front paws, her chin held high.

Firestar stood for a moment, evaluating the space. The cold seeped through the cracks, sliding through her fur like a frosty breath, but it was bearable.

Nothing she hadn’t faced before. She lowered her head towards the mouse she still held in her mouth, dropped it on the ground, and hurried to devour it. Her stomach welcomed the food with a warm pang, and although the taste was somewhat rancid, she did not complain.

“If you’ve already eaten,” said Leopardstar, with her usual commanding tone, “sit down. Don’t make me waste my time.”

With her tail, she pushed a pile of dry moss that was to her right, indicating that Firestar could take a seat there.

Firestar obeyed without hesitation. She settled down with her body straight, her paws firmly planted on the ground, and her whiskers still damp from the recent bite. She took a deep breath and looked up at the other leader. Leopardstar’s eyes were an amber trap, fixed and expectant.

“Speak,” she ordered. “And do it quickly.”

Firestar swallowed. The humidity of the place, the closed silence, and the tension of the moment made even the slightest sound seem like a dangerous vibration. But she could not hesitate. She had not come all this way to retreat with half-spoken words.

“I came…” she began, lowering her voice, “because I need something. Something important. Something that can help both of us.”

Leopardstar did not respond. She merely narrowed her eyes.

Firestar held her gaze, now more steadfast.

“I came to propose… a truce. Better yet: an alliance. Between your Clan and mine.”

The word hung in the air. For a moment, the silence was absolute. Even the murmur of the camp outside the den seemed to disappear, as if both clans had held their breath at the same time.

Leopardstar did not move a single hair.

Firestar tilted one ear, uncomfortable. She pressed a paw against the moss. Her tail twitched once, restlessly.

“Leopardstar?” she asked softly.

She received no immediate response. Leopardstar’s eyes remained fixed on her, unmoving. And then Firestar saw something strange: the corner of her muzzle curved. Barely a gesture, barely visible… but it was a smile.

Firestar blinked. Had she not heard her?

And before she could process what was happening, the smile widened. Leopardstar, still seated on her bed of moss, let out a snort. Then a brief, sharp sound that broke the tense air. And finally, she laughed.

She laughed loudly.

“An alliance?” she said, between gasps of laughter. “You? Does the glorious ThunderClan want to ally with us?”

Firestar was bewildered. She remained still, watching as Leopardstar doubled over, laughter trembling in her sides. The other cat could barely contain herself.

“Did I… say something funny?” Firestar asked, her voice trembling slightly with confusion.

The question only made Leopardstar laugh harder. She now held her belly with one paw while shaking her head. She seemed genuinely amused, not mocking, but sincerely surprised by what she had just heard.

Firestar looked down, bewildered. She had not come to make a joke. She had come to offer an opportunity.

Leopardstar’s laughter faded like a stream drying up in summer. Her body still trembled slightly when she exhaled a final snort, and then her gaze returned to Firestar, calmer, though no less sharp.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, shaking her head as she resettled on her bed of moss. “I’m not laughing because your proposal seems ridiculous to me. Quite the opposite.”

Firestar tilted her head slightly, not yet responding. Her breathing had steadied, but the rigidity in her back betrayed her tension.

“It’s just that… I never would have imagined hearing something like that from you,” Leopardstar continued, her tone now a mix of astonishment and a hint of respect. “An alliance. Of all the cats, you, Firestar, proposing this.”

She paused and looked at her intently. Her eyes blinked once, and then she spoke in a lower murmur:

“It’s been a long time since I heard something like that. Not since… well. Since that tabby we got rid of.”

The atmosphere inside the den froze.

Firestar did not respond. She did not move an ear. But her tail twitched involuntarily, as if pushed by a poisoned reflex. That mention, though veiled, was clear.

Tigerstar.

As if his name still had claws, it dug into her memory. That tone of voice… that arrogance. The heat of his breath. His constant presence in her dreams, in her thoughts, which she could not avoid. Her body tensed violently, and for an instant, she felt that familiar invasion that she hated as much as she wanted to deny.

“Don’t make a face. Don’t show anything.”

Firestar clenched her jaws, closed her eyes for a second, and shook her head quickly, as if shooing a leaf stuck to her muzzle. The touch of the humid air on her fur helped her return to the present.

When she looked again, Leopardstar was no longer smiling.

The leader of the River Clan had a fixed, serious, calculating gaze. The smile had evaporated like mist before the sun, and in its place was a different intensity: the analysis of an opportunity.

“It doesn’t sound bad,” she finally admitted, lowering her voice. “An alliance between our clans… if things continue like this, perhaps it is inevitable that someone proposes it. And you have been the first.”

Firestar held her gaze. She waited. She knew that the hardest part was yet to come.

“But tell me one thing,” Leopardstar added, straightening slowly. “Are you willing to pay the price?”

Firestar raised an ear.

“What do you mean?”

Leopardstar tilted her head, and her eyes gleamed with a colder spark.

“Are you willing to cede part of your territory to the River Clan in exchange?” she asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Or better yet… would you cede the leadership of your Clan?”

An absolute silence fell between them. Even the sounds of the camp on the other side of the den seemed to have vanished.

Firestar remained still. For a second, she did not understand. Or did not want to understand.

“What…?” she murmured.

Leopardstar watched her without blinking.

“A true alliance,” she continued calmly, “requires true sacrifices. If you seek my support, if you want us to help each other, I must know how far you are willing to go. Because a pact that does not benefit both of us is not an alliance, it is a debt. And I do not accept debts from other clans.”

Firestar looked at her, astonished.

Cede her territory. Cede her leadership.

The words echoed like a dull blow to her chest.

Never, in her plans, had that been a possibility. Never.

Firestar did not respond immediately. Leopardstar’s words still hung in the air like invisible claws, cold, sharp, silent.

Cede the leadership? Territory? She could not accept it.

But she could not say it so soon, not if she wanted to keep even a spark of possibility in this conversation.

She took a deep breath. The air in the den was humid, dense, filled with the musky scent of the roots and Leopardstar’s fur. Her throat burned, and the mouse she had eaten moments before now felt like a stone.

No. She could not let everything fall apart like this. She had to take another path. Buy time. Measure the ground before taking a false step.

She moved her tail gently, choosing her words, and with a slight cough, she broke the silence:

“Can I ask you a question, Leopardstar?”

The other leader raised an eyebrow, slightly bewildered. But she did not respond immediately, which Firestar took as a “yes.”

“Did you… know anything about Tigerstar?” she began, her tone lower, more personal. “Any secret? Something that Tigerstar might have told you… before he died.”

The atmosphere seemed to freeze completely.

Leopardstar did not move.

She did not tilt her ears. She did not frown. She just… stayed there. Still. As if someone had turned off the soul of her body for a few seconds. Her eyes did not blink, and her breathing was barely perceptible.

Firestar felt a shiver run down her spine.

That reaction was not what she had expected. Not rejection, not mockery. Just… that dense, unsettling silence, where any sound seemed like a mistake. The moss beneath her paws felt suddenly colder. The humidity in the air weighed heavier.

And then, Leopardstar blinked. Once. And let out a dry laugh.

“A secret?” she repeated with a strange smile. “From Tigerstar?”

She leaned back calmly, resting her chin on one of her front paws.

“What brings that up, Firestar? Aren’t you changing the subject too quickly?”

Firestar did not respond immediately. She maintained her posture, watching her intently. There was something odd. Something that did not fit.

The way Leopardstar had frozen. The exact pause. As if something had crossed her mind… and it had taken her too long to find a response. Or as if she were hiding something.

“It’s just curiosity,” she said finally. “You were the only leader who joined him during the great battle. I thought that if anyone knew something… it would be you.”

Leopardstar laughed again, but this time more softly.

“I joined him, yes. I respected him… for a time. But I was never his confidante, Firestar. He did not share secrets. Only orders. And when you did not obey, he used fear as his language.”

Firestar tilted her head but did not lower her guard.

She was watching her. Watching every little gesture, the slightest tremor in Leopardstar’s golden eyes. Was she lying? Was she telling the truth?

Her tail twitched once, slowly, as her mind raced.

If Tigerstar had been able to enter her dreams… if he had been capable of manipulating her, wrapping her in a web of desire and confusion that she could not avoid… then why couldn’t he be doing the same to others?

And who better than Leopardstar?

Firestar clenched her teeth. Her heart pounded fiercely. The images she tried to bury rose like black foam: Tigerstar’s deep voice in the darkness, the weight of his body in her dreams, his words filled with possession. That power that seeped under her skin.

Was he now also seeping into Leopardstar’s thoughts?

She had been his ally. Not an obedient one, perhaps, but submissive to his will for a time. A strong cat… but not impervious. And if Firestar, with all her resistance, had fallen under the influence of those dreams… what guarantee was there that Leopardstar was not being visited as well?

The silence grew thick again. The humidity of the den weighed on Firestar’s whiskers, and although she did not move, her mind raced. She still felt Tigerstar’s shadow in the conversation, floating between them like an unspoken threat, like the wind before a storm.

She could not keep ignoring it. She needed an answer, even if it made her uncomfortable.

“Leopardstar?” she murmured carefully, lowering her voice slightly.

The leader of the River Clan raised her head slowly. Her gaze was still as penetrating as before, although now there was something different in her posture: more contained. As if she knew what was coming.

Firestar took a deep breath before speaking.

“Have you… have you been dreaming about him?”

Leopardstar blinked.

Her body did not react with a startle, nor did it tense immediately. But the slight blush on her cheeks was evident. Not a striking blush, more like a slight warmth that peeked out from under the light fur of her face.

“What do you mean?” she responded evasively, although her voice was firm.

Firestar narrowed her eyes, trying to read beyond the words. She wanted to see if there was a spark in those amber eyes. A reflection. Something that betrayed Tigerstar, even if it was just a shadow.

“Dreams,” she insisted, not breaking eye contact. “His presence. Thoughts that are not yours…. You know…”

Leopardstar furrowed her brow, but not in anger, rather as if she were forcing herself to remember carefully. A moment later, she sighed.

“No,” she said finally. “Not as you describe. Not recently, at least.”

Firestar kept her gaze fixed, but felt her hope of finding something more fade away.

“Although…” Leopardstar added, lowering her voice slightly, “in the past, yes. When he was alive.”

That stopped Firestar completely.

Leopardstar looked to the side, as if the shadows of the den were more comfortable than the face in front of her.

“I obeyed him,” she said coldly. “Not out of fear. Not out of devotion. But because… well, he fucked me.”

Firestar coughed dryly. A intense blush rose to her face like a wave. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words did not come out immediately.

“I didn’t need… to know that,” she finally managed to say, in the most neutral tone she could muster.

Leopardstar shrugged, as if the comment seemed trivial to her.

“It’s the truth,” she replied. “And there’s no point in hiding it. Tigerstar was not a tender mate interested in building affection. His was domination. And I… did not refuse.”

Firestar’s blush remained firm, although with her thick orange fur, it was easy for it to go unnoticed. At least, she hoped so.

“It was never something loving, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Leopardstar clarified, looking at her again. “There was no tenderness. There were no promises. Only power. And use.”

Silence settled in the den again, as if the very air refused to move after what Leopardstar had said. Firestar kept her eyes fixed on her, her tail firmly coiled around her paws.

She still felt the warm blush on her cheeks, but now it was buried under something denser, more piercing.

Jealousy.

She didn’t fully understand it, and it bothered her to admit it even within her own mind, but there they were. There was something about the lightness with which Leopardstar spoke of Tigerstar, something about her familiarity, that churned her stomach.

She stood a little taller, and her voice came out lower, tenser.

“So… he hasn’t visited you in your dreams?”

Leopardstar narrowed her eyes.

“Dreams? I already told you. Not for moons. Why?”

Firestar growled. It wasn’t a loud or challenging growl, but it was audible enough for Leopardstar to tilt an ear with curiosity. Firestar looked away for a second, her fur vibrating with an annoyance she couldn’t quite hide.

“It’s just… he does with me,” she admitted in a low voice, though her tone was more dry than embarrassed.

Leopardstar said nothing.

“Tigerstar,” Firestar continued, frowning. “He appears in my dreams. He talks. He watches me. And sometimes… I feel like he’s inside me, as if he never left.”

Her voice barely cracked, but she didn’t let the discomfort stop her.

“I don’t know why he does it. Or if it’s real. But it’s constant. And… ” she hesitated for a moment, lowering her gaze. “Maybe he does it because… because he chose me. Or because I haven’t given in to him.”

She didn’t say the word that danced on her tongue: “jealousy.” She wasn’t going to put it between them.

“And I need help,” she added, raising her voice with seriousness. “ThunderClan is weakened. We don’t have enough prey. The patrols are tenser than ever. If we can’t achieve a little stability, a truce… a simple promise not to attack each other, at least… I don’t know if I can hold them together.”

Leopardstar looked at her in silence, impassive. Her eyes, which had softened for an instant, hardened again. Her tail slowly swept over the moss, and then her muzzle curved into a mocking smile.

And then, she laughed.

It wasn’t like the previous laugh, brief and surprised. This time it was clear, sustained, with an open mockery that filled the den like a cruel echo.

“Now I get it,” she murmured between laughs. “No wonder ThunderClan is such a mess. They have a leader who can’t even trust her own dreams!”

Firestar narrowed her eyes, her body tense, not responding.

Leopardstar continued.

“First, you come to me talking about alliances, your voice trembling. Then you tell me you see Tigerstar in your dreams, as if that’s some prophetic sign. And now what?” she mimicked her with a mocking tone. “Help me, or Tigerstar will come to devour you from beyond the grave!”

Her laughter burst out again.

Firestar felt something inside her break.

“Do you think this is a game?” she asked, her voice firm, though her fur was still bristling.

“No,” Leopardstar replied, still with traces of laughter in her throat. “But you seem to think this is a scary story for apprentices. An alliance with the weakest clan? A veiled warning about the spirit of a dead cat? Come on, Firestar. I thought you were better than that.”

The silence in the den turned icy.

Firestar kept her gaze fixed on Leopardstar, her breathing measured, though she felt something vibrating in her stomach with a mute fury. The previous words still hung like sharp thorns in the air, but the other leader was no longer laughing. She was no longer pretending to be cordial.

Leopardstar straightened slightly, not taking her claws off the moss-covered ground. Her gaze was intense, and this time there was no trace of mockery. Only determination. Cruel, serene, and deeply calculated.

“Do you want to know why we haven’t attacked you?” she asked, her voice low but sharp as a wet, cutting rock.

Firestar didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

Leopardstar narrowed her eyes and moved her tail slowly.

“Because the Gathering is approaching.”

Her tone held no doubt.

“And it would be a shame to ruin a good opportunity. If we attack now,” she continued, barely raising an eyebrow, “there would be consequences. Claims. Interventions. But if we wait… if we are patient…”

She smiled. It was a cold, malicious smile, with no trace of joy. Only teeth and sinister promises.

“When the Gathering arrives, your Clan will be so weak they’ll barely be able to stand. And by then… there will be no need to attack them.”

Firestar frowned, a shiver running down her spine.

“What do you mean by that?”

Leopardstar didn’t hesitate to respond.

“I mean,” she whispered, her voice slow, as if savoring each word, “that it will be natural. A… peaceful transition. Under the watch of StarClan. Your cats, exhausted, hungry, broken… they will surrender. Or they will leave.”

She paused, letting the echo of her words settle in the damp air of the cave.

“And when that happens, we will take their lands. Without war. Without blood.”

Firestar clenched her jaws. There was no surprise in her eyes, but there was a contained fury. A mix of disbelief and sadness welled up in her chest, though she didn’t let it show. Not in front of her.

Leopardstar shrugged, still smiling.

“That way, no one can accuse us of breaking the warrior code. We will have simply taken what was left abandoned.”

The moss under Firestar’s paws no longer felt so soft.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice tense.

“No, Firestar,” Leopardstar replied, slightly turning her face. “It’s not fair. For you.”

And she looked at her again, this time without any mask.

“And I see now that I can sleep more peacefully, perhaps you’ll be gone sooner than I thought with such an incompetent leader.”

The growl rose from Firestar’s chest like a muffled thunder. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it was firm enough to make the air between them tense.

Her claws dug slightly into the moss, and her body leaned forward, as if part of her was ready to pounce, to shred that smile Leopardstar wore with insulting serenity.

But before she could say a word, Leopardstar raised her tail.

“A moment,” she murmured, her voice as soft as it was icy. “Before you go, I want you to remember something.”

Firestar froze, but her eyes burned.

Leopardstar turned slightly, no longer with the defiant posture from before, but with an unsettling calm. Like a cat who had something more to say… something that wasn’t mockery or an open threat, but a poisonous gift.

“You’re probably too stressed, and that’s why you’re dreaming about him. But let me make one thing clear about Tigerstar,” she said, without changing her tone. “He doesn’t like losing control over his cats. He doesn’t like it when they get rebellious.”

Firestar tilted an ear, her face tense. She didn’t respond.

Leopardstar continued speaking, and in her eyes, there was a different shadow. Not fear. Not shame. Just a kind of recognition. Something that came from the deepest part of her memory.

“Once,” she murmured, “he held my neck with his paws while he had me pinned to the ground. I could barely breathe. It was part of his… game.”

The pause was brief, but it felt like an open chasm.

“He almost choked me,” she added, not taking her eyes off Firestar. “And when he let go, he laughed. As if he had been testing how far he could take me without killing me.”

Firestar’s stomach tightened. Images chained together in her mind unwillingly: Tigerstar’s claw on her chest in dreams, his voice in her ear, his golden eyes piercing like thorns under her skin.

“He liked to play rough,” Leopardstar continued with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You know that, right? You’ve seen it.”

Firestar closed her eyes for an instant. Just a second. But in that second, Tigerstar’s face shone in her mind like fire in the darkness. And she felt that invisible weight that accompanied him even beyond death.

“I don’t know if those appearances of yours are dreams or nightmares,” Leopardstar murmured, lowering her voice. “But whatever they are, they’re not good.”

Firestar swallowed. The growl had vanished, replaced by a sharp emptiness in her chest. Not from fear… but from the harshness of the words. From that feeling of not being able to protect herself even while sleeping.

Leopardstar tilted her head, observing her with a seriousness she hadn’t shown until now.

“From leader to leader,” she said finally. “Rest. Try. Do it for your clan. I’m not a bad cat, you know. We won’t attack you… not until the next Gathering.”

Firestar looked at her, not speaking, holding back a response she wasn’t sure she wanted to say out loud.

Leopardstar slowly stood up, her fur glowing faintly under the light filtering through the cracks above the den.

“After that,” she added, her voice now something dry and definitive, “you won’t be around anymore. I’m telling you honestly. When the Council arrives, ThunderClan will no longer be a threat. They will be history.”

She paused. Then, with a crooked smile, as if offering a broken branch instead of an olive branch, she murmured, “Deal?”

The silence stretched out. Firestar didn’t respond immediately. Each word resonated like a slow bite. She didn’t know if Leopardstar was speaking from strategy, cruelty… or the twisted compassion of someone who had once also been used by Tigerstar.

Firestar growled softly, no longer containing the tremor that shook her tail. Her eyes shifted to the side of the den, not looking at Leopardstar. She couldn’t hold her gaze. Not after what she had said. Not with those words so cold, so final.

The dampness of the moss, which had seemed bearable when she arrived, now seeped into her bones. She felt like she couldn’t move, as if something invisible was holding her from within, knotting her thoughts, her will.

She took a deep breath.

Exhaled slowly.

And lowered her gaze.

“…”

The silence swallowed the rest.

***

The forest was different when returning to it with a heavy heart.

Firestar walked with heavy paws, her fur matted by the humidity of RiverClan territory. She hadn’t lingered too long, nor had she exchanged words with any of the guards on her way out. Stormfur and Feathertail had only followed her with their gaze, not intervening.

There was no need for an escort.

Not after what had been said in that den.

Now she moved alone.

The sun began to set among the high branches, painting the trees with orange and golden hues, but Firestar barely noticed. Her gaze remained low, fixed on the ground, avoiding roots and stones out of pure habit. The crunch of dry leaves under her paws accompanied each step with a muted rhythm.

Her mind was still trapped in Leopardstar’s words. In that smile loaded with judgment. In that “deal” she hadn’t answered.

Her claws dug slightly into the earth with each stride. She had wanted an alliance. She had come with the hope, however small, of finding a thread of understanding, a truce, even compassion.

Instead, she had found contempt. Mockery. And a promise that, when the Gathering arrived, her Clan would be “history.”

She clenched her teeth.

The silence of the forest enveloped her, but it couldn’t calm her.

Near her territory, she stopped on a small hill. From there, she could smell the familiar scent of ThunderClan: bark, ferns, dry earth. Home.

But she couldn’t return like this.

Not with that anxiety bubbling in her chest.

Not with an empty stomach.

She needed to hunt. Even if it was something small. Even if it was just to drown out that feeling of helplessness.

She crouched, her silhouette blending with the dark bushes. The scent of the air brought her a clue: bird. Not too far. Near the oak clearing.

She moved silently.

The branches cracked slightly as she slipped into a more open area. There, on a low branch, a thrush fluttered distractedly. It was gathering seeds, pecking among the fallen leaves.

Firestar tensed. Held her breath.

One moment.

Two.

She leaped.

The air parted beneath her paws as she rose, and for a second, the whole world narrowed down to that thrush.

The impact was sharp, direct.

Her claws closed around the bird in mid-flight, and they both fell to the ground together. The thrush struggled, flapping its wings forcefully, but the final swipe was precise.

Finally, Firestar held the thrush between her paws, her breathing ragged, when the silence of the forest was shattered by a harsh, threatening growl.

A rough sound. Close.

Right behind her.

Her ears flicked like whips. In one swift motion, her body tensed, pivoting on her paws with an agility born of habit and necessity.

Her fur bristled like spines, and her claws dug into the earth. Her muscles, still tense from the hunt, were now ready to attack.

All the anger she had accumulated since her visit to RiverClan burned in her chest. She had hoped for a truce. She had asked for help. And all she had received was contempt. If anyone dared to challenge her now, she would unleash her fury. She had no intention of holding back.

However…

“Give me back that prey!” roared a raspy voice from the bushes.

And then, a figure emerged.

It leaped awkwardly but with determination. A body slimmer than hers, moving with desperate momentum.

The stranger lunged at her, and Firestar roared, her paws raised, fangs bared. The prey was forgotten under her paws as she prepared for the impact.

But when their gazes met…

She froze.

Her entire body stilled. The movement died out like a fire under rain.

The wind seemed to stop. The trees no longer creaked. Even the beating of her heart sounded distant.

Before her, trembling on dusty paws, was a cat she never thought she’d see again in the forest.

Black and white fur. Round, large eyes, with that mix of nervousness and familiarity. His muzzle slightly open, surprised just like her.

Firestar blinked, incredulous.

“You…?” she whispered. Her voice was barely a breath.

The other cat remained still, his ears flattened back.

And in that instant, like a flash of light in her memory, she knew.

“S-Smudge…?”