Prologue

╔─── ¤ ◎ ¤ ───╗

Prologue

╚─── ¤ ◎ ¤ ───╝

♣

Mistyfoot’s heart beat strongly as the gathering began.

Bluestar was atop the Great Rock, her firm silhouette outlined against the cloudy sky. Her eyes sparkled under the moon, but her posture was rigid, more rigid than usual. Mistyfoot couldn’t stop watching her.

Bluestar seemed tenser than ever.

“Are you noticing something strange?” Stonefur approached silently, his voice low, almost fearful of breaking the island’s stillness.

“She has always been strange,” Mistyfoot replied, not taking her eyes off the ThunderClan leader. “But today… today is different.”

The leaders took turns speaking. The topic was the same as every new leaf: the scarcity of prey. But Mistyfoot barely listened. Every word from Bluestar seemed to carry an invisible weight. It wasn’t just worry about hunger. It was something more.

The breeze blew from the lake, carrying the scent of wet mud and damp bark. The willow branches swayed gently over the shore, as if whispering secrets that only the most attentive could hear. Mistyfoot looked away from Bluestar for just a moment, just as a leaf tangled in her paws.

A premonition ran through her like thorns.

“Are you okay?” Stonefur tilted his head.

Mistyfoot hesitated.

“I heard something… recently. A conversation between Graypool and another warrior.” Her claws dug into the earth. “Something I shouldn’t have heard.”

Stonefur narrowed his eyes.

“What did you hear?”

Mistyfoot lowered her voice.

“That Bluestar… that she… might be my mother.”

Stonefur hesitated. His gaze slid toward the Great Rock, where Bluestar remained unperturbed, as if the wind and silence couldn’t touch her.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked.

“No. But Graypool… she said it as if it were true. That she raised me, but didn’t give birth to me.” Mistyfoot’s fur bristled. “I never understood why Bluestar seemed to hate me without reason. But now…”

The murmur of the Clans grew around them.

Leopardstar spoke, mentioning the difficulties in fishing due to the mud that clouded the river. But the words passed like water over stone. Mistyfoot only saw Bluestar, whose tail moved with slow, almost calculated movements.

The scent of wild mint floated in the air. Dewdrops hung from the leaves of the bushes, shining faintly under the moon. On the other side of the clearing, Cloudtail whispered with Brackenfur. Even the apprentices seemed restless. But Mistyfoot heard nothing beyond the beating of her own heart.

Could it be true? Could that cat, so proud and cold, have given her up?

“That would explain a lot,” Stonefur murmured, with a shadow in his eyes.

Mistyfoot nodded, feeling a bitter pang.

“It would explain why she has never looked at me like the others. Why it seems she always carries guilt.”

A whistle of wind shook the oak branches. The shadows lengthened, and the clearing seemed to shrink. The smell of wet earth intensified the dense air surrounding the island. The murmur of the leaders ceased for a moment, and Bluestar raised her voice.

“The ThunderClan will do what it must to survive.” Her tone was firm, but lacking the passion of other moons.

Mistyfoot closed her eyes for a second.

Her voice… was that of a cat who had lost much more than the rest suspected.

“If what I heard is true,” Mistyfoot whispered, “then Bluestar broke the warrior code. She gave up her own kits.”

Stonefur tensed.

“And what will you do?”

The question hung in the air, like the vapor rising from the damp ground. Mistyfoot didn’t answer. In the distance, the screech of a night bird could be heard. The stars twinkled between the clouds, and the Great Rock cast a long, oppressive shadow.

The leaders began to say goodbye. The final words floated among the undergrowth like smoke.

Mistyfoot stood up. Beside her, Stonefur did the same.

“I won’t do anything… yet.” Her voice was barely audible. “But if it’s true… then I want to hear it from her.”

Under the moonlight, her eyes met Bluestar’s.

For an instant, the ThunderClan leader paused. It wasn’t a direct look. Just a touch. But it was enough. Mistyfoot felt a tremor cross her chest, as if a part of her had known the truth from the beginning.

Bluestar looked away.

And after a while, Mistyfoot’s stomach churned as she watched the gathering begin to dissolve.

The cats dispersed into the undergrowth, their voices muted by the night breeze. The entire island seemed to exhale after the tension of the meeting. However, Mistyfoot couldn’t move. Not yet.

Bluestar’s figure descended slowly from the Great Rock. Her movements were measured, but laden with a restlessness that Mistyfoot now recognized better than ever.

“I’m going to talk to her,” she whispered.

Without waiting for an answer, she slipped between the ferns.

The ground still held the moisture of the dew, and her paws made barely any noise on the soft grass. She followed Bluestar at a distance, her gaze fixed on the blue-gray tail that disappeared among the willows.

“Bluestar,” she murmured firmly, approaching from the side of the path, her heart pounding in her chest like a trapped bird.

The ThunderClan leader stopped. She slowly turned her head. Her eyes, cold as the frozen lake, examined her cautiously.

“Yes?”

Mistyfoot swallowed.

“I wanted to talk to you… for a moment. Alone.”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes. For an instant, the wind seemed to stop.

“Is it that important?”

Mistyfoot nodded, lowering her head respectfully.

Bluestar sighed.

“Alright. But make it quick. You should return to your Clan.”

They walked in silence a few steps, moving away from the main clearing. The willows cracked slightly above their heads, and the moon filtered silver rays through the branches, bathing their pelts with a faint light. Mistyfoot felt the ground seem to tilt beneath her paws.

Nerves tangled her claws.

“Are you okay?” Bluestar asked, not turning fully. “You look like you’re about to vomit a rotten mouse.”

Mistyfoot forced a grimace that wasn’t a smile.

“I’m just… tired,” she lied.

Bluestar tilted her head.

“Then you should return to your Clan. The night is cold.”

Mistyfoot opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come out. Every fiber of her body trembled. What if she was wrong? What if what Graypool had said was a lie?

Bluestar was already turning to leave, her paws silent on the leaf litter.

“Are you my mother?”

The air seemed to break.

Bluestar stopped abruptly.

The silence lengthened. The wind ruffled their fur. A night bird took flight in the distance, breaking the stillness like a scream.

“What did you say?”

Mistyfoot felt her throat close up. But she couldn’t back down now.

“I heard it by accident. Graypool… she said that you had me. That you and a RiverClan warrior… that you gave me to her when she was still an apprentice.”

Bluestar didn’t move.

Her figure was still, her back tense. The moonlight outlined her body, but her face remained hidden in shadows.

“That was many moons ago,” she finally said, her voice low and hoarse.

“Is it true?”

Mistyfoot took a step forward.

“Did you give me to Graypool? Am I your daughter?”

Bluestar stopped, and her body tensed instantly. The silence fell between them like a stone in the lake. She didn’t turn fully. She just tilted her head enough for Mistyfoot to see her pupils dilate. The blue eyes reflected the moon, but they trembled with something Mistyfoot couldn’t quite name. Fear. Anxiety. Something more.

The ThunderClan leader breathed heavily.

“You shouldn’t know that,” she murmured.

Her words were cold, but unstable, like ice cracking in spring.

Mistyfoot felt her paws tremble. But she didn’t back down.

“I can’t ignore it. Not now.”

Bluestar looked down at the ground. Her claws dug into the damp earth, and she began to scratch it with quick, compulsive movements. The air between them vibrated with an invisible, agitated tension, as if even the breeze avoided crossing the space that separated them.

“Who told you?” Bluestar finally asked. Her voice was barely a broken whisper.

“I heard it. Graypool told another warrior. I wasn’t looking for it… I just… heard it.”

Bluestar closed her eyes tightly.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” she said. A tremor ran through her back. “No one should know. No one.”

Mistyfoot took a step forward.

“Is it true?”

Bluestar didn’t answer at first. The silence returned, laden with ancient pressures, with secrets buried on the riverbank. And then, with agitated breathing, with her claws still scratching the ground, she said it.

“Yes. You are my daughter. You and Stonefur.”

The words fell like lead.

Mistyfoot felt her world tilt. She knew it was true, she had known since she heard that conversation. But hearing it from her mouth, with that broken voice…

“Why?” Her voice came out more broken than she wanted. “Why did you do it?”

Bluestar raised her face. Her whiskers trembled. She breathed faster, as if her own body was trying to flee from the truth.

“Because I had no choice. If they knew… if the Clan found out… I would have lost everything. I wouldn’t have been able to protect anyone.”

Mistyfoot tilted her head, confused.

“Protect who?”

“ThunderClan. My Clan.” Bluestar opened her eyes wide, her gaze burning. “Do you think I did it out of cowardice? That I abandoned them out of selfishness?”

“No!” Mistyfoot replied, but her voice wavered. She didn’t know what she believed.

Bluestar took a step forward. Her fur was bristling, but not with anger. There was a constant tremor in her paws.

“Tigerclaw tried to kill me just a few moons ago. My own warriors doubt me. If it were known that I broke the warrior code… that I had kits with a cat from another Clan…”

“Oakheart,” Mistyfoot whispered.

Bluestar stood still.

“Yes.”

The breeze blew through the willows, stirring the shadows. Mistyfoot felt a knot in her chest, but not of anger. It was something else. Compassion.

“And did he know?”

“He knew. And he agreed to keep quiet. He was a good warrior. A good… friend.” Bluestar lowered her gaze. “He wanted us to be together, but we knew it couldn’t be.”

Mistyfoot closed her eyes for a moment.

“I spent my whole life not understanding why you felt uncomfortable near me. Why you avoided me. I thought you despised me.”

“I hated myself for not having the courage to talk to you.” Bluestar looked away, her voice hoarse. “If I ever hurt you… it was because I couldn’t forgive myself.”

The air was thick as fog. Mistyfoot took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“Is Stonefur also your son?”

Bluestar nodded without speaking. Her tail twitched nervously on the ground, as if trying to erase her own paw prints.

“He doesn’t know,” she finally said. “And he must not know.”

Mistyfoot raised her head.

“Why not?”

“Because if someone says it, if someone confirms it, my entire leadership will crumble. I will be deposed. And ThunderClan will fall into chaos. They don’t trust me as they used to.” Her eyes were wide open, dilated. “Not after Tigerclaw. Not after what happened in the battle of the dark forest.”

“And what about us?” Mistyfoot whispered. “What about me?”

Bluestar looked at her, and for the first time, her gaze was not that of a leader. It was that of a fearful mother.

“I didn’t want to leave you. But I had to. Not for me. For them.”

Mistyfoot lowered her head, her throat tight.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you. But I understand why you did it.”

Bluestar approached slowly. The tremor in her paws had barely subsided.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. Just… don’t say anything. For now. Please.”

Mistyfoot didn’t answer.

Bluestar waited. The wind rustled the willow branches, and the silence grew like moss between their paws. Mistyfoot remained still, her gaze fixed on an invisible point on the ground, as if the words were stuck in her throat.

“Promise me,” Bluestar repeated more urgently, her voice breaking. “I need you to promise me.”

Mistyfoot raised her head, her eyes shining with an emotion she didn’t know was anger, sorrow, or pure confusion.

“At least… I want to tell Stonefur.”

Bluestar took a step back, as if the phrase had scratched her.

“No,” she said firmly. “You can’t do that.”

Mistyfoot frowned. Her fur bristled, her tail lashing with contained fury.

“He’s your son too!” she growled. “He has the right to know, just like me.”

“And you have the right to destroy all three of us,” Bluestar retorted, breathing heavily. “If anyone else knows… if anyone else hears, the rumors will start to grow. And if that happens, I… I mean… we will be in danger.”

“Ah,” Mistyfoot murmured with a bitter snort. “Now you involve me in a ‘we.’ Now we’re family.”

Bluestar squeezed her eyes shut, as if the words hurt more than a claw to the chest.

“Mistyfoot…”

“That name was given to me by Graypool,” she interrupted, her voice trembling. “Not by you. You weren’t even there for that.”

Bluestar tilted her ears.

“I know.”

“Then don’t act like everything makes sense now,” her voice broke for a second, but she remained firm. “This… this is weird. For god’s sake, this is very weird.”

Bluestar took a step forward. Her fur trembled slightly in the moonlight, and her eyes reflected fear.

“I’m not pretending this is easy. For you, for me, for anyone. But I can’t… I can’t risk everything falling apart now.”

Mistyfoot looked at her without blinking.

“And when will it be, Bluestar? When will be the right time to tell my brother who his mother is? When you’re more at ease? When ThunderClan kneels before you like an immaculate savior?”

Bluestar lowered her gaze, her claws buried in the soft earth.

“This isn’t so simple,” she whispered. “Every day I fight to maintain the loyalty of my Clan. Tigerclaw already tried to kill me. There are those who still believe it was because I’m losing my mind. If it were now known that I broke the code… that I deceived everyone for moons…”

“They could depose you,” Mistyfoot concluded softly.

Bluestar didn’t deny it.

“Yes. And if that happens, ThunderClan crumbles. There’s no one else who can hold it together now.”

The silence became oppressive. Mistyfoot broke it with a more subdued tone.

“Do you really think Stonefur would betray me?”

“No,” Bluestar replied immediately. “I don’t think so. But all it takes is one indiscreet ear. A rumor in the wrong ear and… it’s over.”

Mistyfoot took a deep breath. She felt torn in two. Loyalty to her Clan. To her adoptive mother. To her brother. And now… this new, invisible bond with Bluestar.

“He deserves to know,” she insisted, softer this time. “This exploded on me. Don’t you prefer that he hears it from me… instead of by accident?”

Bluestar clenched her jaw, her body tensed like a rope about to break.

“If you tell him… make sure he doesn’t say a word. To anyone. Not to Leopardstar. Not to anyone from RiverClan. Not even to his own apprentices. To no one.”

“So you’re letting me tell him.”

Bluestar closed her eyes, exhaling forcefully. She took a moment to nod.

“Yes. But with one condition.”

“What is it?”

“Tell him it was for love. Not for weakness.”

Mistyfoot stayed silent. Her gaze remained fixed on Bluestar’s eyes, searching for something beyond the words. Truth, perhaps. Or something like it. Bluestar held that gaze for a moment, but her eyes, once as firm as the river ice in newleaf, trembled. The sorrow was visible. But so was the exhaustion.

The weight of secrets, of years, of decisions made in solitude.

Mistyfoot sighed, lowering her gaze for just a moment before letting it out, direct, without ornament.

“You’re just an old cat.”

Bluestar lowered her ears. It was a slight movement, but enough to erase the image of the unbreakable leader. For a moment, there was only a mother who had arrived too late.

She approached, a contained step, her paws barely brushing the ground.

Mistyfoot retreated.

“No,” she growled, her tail bristled. “Don’t come near me.”

But Bluestar advanced anyway. Her voice was breaking, and each word seemed to be torn from deep within.

“I wanted to have this conversation with you… with both of you. Someday. When you were ready. When I… when everything was at peace.”

Mistyfoot let out a joyless laugh, hoarse like a stone scraping bark.

“Well, we know how things turned out.”

She turned away, her tail high, but the words hadn’t finished coming out.

“Do you want me to forgive you? Done. Forgiven.”

Her voice was dry. Empty.

“Now go away.” She lifted her head. “You’re making me smell like ThunderClan.”

Bluestar didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she dragged her tail across the damp ground, as if the earth itself weighed her down. She looked at her daughter, and in her eyes there was no longer pleading, nor authority, nor even remorse. Only silence.

She turned her body slowly, as if the headwind made every step difficult. And then, with a muted but clear voice, she said:

“Take care, Mistyfoot. Please.”

The RiverClan warrior didn’t respond. She didn’t even turn her head. But as Bluestar walked away, Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes and looked at her over her shoulder.

A dull growl vibrated in her throat.

And the moon, hanging over the treetops, was the only witness to the final moment where mother and daughter walked away, separated by much more than territory.

The scent of ThunderClan faded little by little as Mistyfoot ventured into the forest, back to RiverClan territory. Each step on the damp earth took her further from Bluestar, but not from her words. They were still there, clinging like thorns to her fur.

A cold wind blew from the lake, carrying smells dulled by the humidity. Moss, mud… and something else.

Mistyfoot raised her muzzle, and her ears pricked up instantly.

Fox.

The stench was unmistakable. Pungent. Wild.

She crouched quickly, sliding under a bush with tangled branches. The foliage scratched her flanks, but she didn’t move. She breathed slowly, her eyes fixed in the direction of the smell. The fox moved cautiously, barely a whisper among the bushes, but its presence was as clear as the moon in a clear sky.

It’s not coming towards me…

With growing relief, Mistyfoot distinguished it through the foliage. An elongated, reddish silhouette advanced stealthily. Its tail twitched with predatory tension. It was following a trail.

A trail that wasn’t hers.

The fox veered off.

“The path to ThunderClan…” she whispered under her breath.

She stood up slowly, remaining silent as the beast moved away through the undergrowth, head down, muzzle to the ground. Mistyfoot exhaled only when the smell became distant. The undergrowth closed behind the fox as if it had never been there.

“Mistyfoot?”

She turned. Stonefur was approaching with quick steps and tense whiskers.

“What are you doing in there? I thought you were already in the clearing.”

She came out carefully, shaking leaves off her back.

“I smelled a fox,” she murmured, without looking at him.

Stonefur frowned and raised his nose to the wind.

“It’s gone. No wonder it smells like that… lately they come very close to the borders. Come on, we should hurry. We’re late to the camp.”

But Mistyfoot didn’t move.

She stood still, her gaze fixed in the direction the fox had gone. Her fur trembled with an invisible current. Her breathing became shallow, accelerated. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her paws, just like before, when Bluestar had told her the truth.

“What’s wrong?” Stonefur asked, his ears perked up.

She looked at him. Directly in the eyes. Hers shone with a contained emotion, her entire body vibrating as if something inside her was about to break.

“Mistyfoot…” Stonefur insisted, taking a step closer. “Are you okay?”

But she wasn’t really listening anymore.

The fox was heading towards ThunderClan.

There, where the Clan cats were returning after the Gathering.

There, where perhaps Bluestar had just crossed.

The image hit her hard: a blue-gray silhouette walking alone through the forest, her thoughts clouding her senses… unaware that something was stalking her.

And Mistyfoot couldn’t leave her alone.

Suddenly, she turned on her paws.

“Mistyfoot!”

But she was already running.

The wind hit her face. Branches tore at her sides, the damp earth slipped under her paws. She didn’t know why she was doing it. She didn’t want to think. She just ran.

The scent of the fox still lingered in the air, recent, strong. Mistyfoot followed it blindly, her ears pressed to her skull and her eyes wide open, scanning every shadow among the trees.

“I’m just an old cat,” she had told herself.

But no. Bluestar was more than that. She was… her mother.

And if she died now, alone, devoured by a fox in the darkness of the forest, Mistyfoot would never have the chance to resolve anything. To fully understand what she felt.

Fallen leaves crunched under her paws. She jumped over an exposed root, turned south, following the curve of the stream that marked the boundary between the Clans. The scent of the fox was stronger there. It had passed through that place recently.

And then she heard it.

A low growl. Raspy. Accompanied by the crack of a broken branch.

Mistyfoot crouched, her muscles tense.

There it was.

The fox. A sleek creature with thick fur, crouched behind a bush. It was smelling something… no, someone.

Mistyfoot’s heart raced when she saw a silhouette advancing on the other side of the clearing. She recognized her instantly.

Bluestar.

She walked slowly, her head down, as if her mind were miles away.

Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes, growling softly.

“Bluestar!” she whispered, but the wind carried her voice away.

The fox advanced, step by step, towards the leader.

Without thinking, Mistyfoot leaped into the clearing.

“Bluestar, be careful!”

The fox lifted its head.

Its eyes shone in the darkness.

And then everything was movement.

The fox growled fiercely and lunged at the nearest figure: Mistyfoot.

She rolled on the ground, dodging the first swipe by a hair’s breadth. The animal’s jaws snapped shut in the air, where her throat had been a moment before. Bluestar turned, alarmed, and for a second her eyes met Mistyfoot’s.

“Run!” Mistyfoot shouted.

But Bluestar didn’t move.

The fox charged again. Mistyfoot got up just in time to hit it with all her weight. Both rolled among leaves and damp earth, claws and teeth everywhere.

A shriek cut through the air.

Everything was under control. Or so Mistyfoot thought.

She rolled on the damp earth, feeling the stones and roots tear at her flank. She fell on her side, panting, but immediately pushed herself up. She couldn’t afford to fail now. Bluestar was there. The fox had to be driven away.

But before she could lift her head, a brutal weight knocked her down again.

The fox was on top of her.

A burst of hot, fetid air hit her face. Her eyes widened as she saw the animal’s fangs closing in on her neck. At that moment, everything disappeared: the trees, the wind, the ground. Only that immense jaw descending like a trap existed.

Panic invaded her bones.

She smelled blood, her own, fresh, salty, boiling—,

She was going to die.

Right there, among shadows and earth, after having discovered her mother minutes before. Her Clan would never know the truth. They would only see her body. They would wonder why. Why a RiverClan warrior gave her life to save a ThunderClan cat.

“I’m a fool,” she thought.

A sharp pressure snapped her out of her trance.

The fox bit her front paw violently, making her scream in pain. The flesh tore under the fangs, and the burning sensation ran through her like fire. Mistyfoot growled in anger, lifting her other paw and striking the animal’s snout hard.

The fox yelped, took half a step back… but didn’t flee.

Its jaws returned, straight for the neck.

The world stopped.

Mistyfoot didn’t have time to react.

The fox’s snout was a breath away from her throat. She felt its hot breath, the weight of the animal’s body crushing her, the buzz of fear in her ears. The ground vibrated with the movements, the darkness enveloped her.

It was the end.

But then, a deafening shriek tore through the night.

The fox howled in surprise, sharply turning its head.

A blue-gray silhouette fell onto its back like a stone thrown by the river in full current. Bluestar. With her claws extended and her fangs bared, the ThunderClan leader clung to the fox’s body, sinking her claws into the beast’s shoulder blades.

The animal thrashed, writhing in fury, and the earth flew in all directions.

A shower of dust fell into Mistyfoot’s eyes. She blinked hard, blinded by the mud and adrenaline. She could only distinguish moving shadows, growls, shrieks. The fox thrashed clumsily, desperately, trying to free itself from Bluestar, who bit fiercely at the base of its neck.

Mistyfoot’s paws scraped the ground as she tried to get up.

Her injured paw burned as if it were on fire.

The fox staggered backward. Bluestar was still on it, her body tense like a bowstring, clinging with teeth and claws. Mistyfoot managed to get on her knees, her breathing ragged and uneven.

The battle wasn’t over.

The creature shook once more and managed to free itself from Bluestar. It threw her to the ground with a sharp twist, but she rolled and landed on her feet, her jaws open in a snarl of fury.

“Back off!” Bluestar growled, her fur bristling like spines.

Mistyfoot, with difficulty, stood up completely. The pain throbbed in her paw, but ignoring it was the only option.

The fox now looked at both of them.

Its eyes shone with anger, but also with doubt. Two warriors. Two fronts. Wounded and with blood dripping from its neck, it didn’t seem as confident as before.

Mistyfoot took a step forward, baring her fangs.

Bluestar stood by her side, not taking her eyes off the enemy.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Only the wind.

The fox lowered its head, growled… and retreated.

Another step back.

And then, it turned.

Its paws hit the ground as it disappeared into the undergrowth, leaving a trail of blood and twisted footprints in its wake.

Silence returned slowly. The song of a distant owl, the crack of a branch, the muffled echo of their own breaths.

Mistyfoot fell to her knees.

“My… my paw,” she panted.

Bluestar immediately turned to her, her expression transformed. She was no longer a leader. Not a warrior. She was a mother.

“You’re bleeding,” she murmured, crouching beside her. “It’s not deep, but… damn.”

Mistyfoot closed her eyes for a moment.

“I almost died,” she said hoarsely. “I saw the fangs at my neck. I saw them.”

“I know,” Bluestar whispered. “I know, daughter.”

The word floated between them like the smoke of an extinguished flame.

Mistyfoot didn’t respond. Her heart still pounded against her ribs like a claw. Her breath shook like branches after a storm. But she was alive.

Bluestar was alive.

And something else had survived too.

Perhaps… something between the two of them.

“I didn’t want to let you go…” Bluestar looked at her with a mix of guilt and something softer. “Not again.”

Mistyfoot lowered her gaze.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Bluestar stood up.

“I can help you walk. I’ll take you to the border, and from there you…”

“I can go on alone,” Mistyfoot replied without hesitation, even though the pain in her paw threatened to make her double over.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was real.

They looked at each other for a few heartbeats. The forest slowly regained its sounds. Far away, a cricket sang in the darkness. The fox was gone. But something had been left behind, something deeper than wounds.

Mistyfoot then noticed Bluestar. The leader held her head high, dignified as always, but there was a thread of blood sliding behind her ear, right where the fur parted from a recent wound. Each heartbeat seemed to make it bleed more.

“Wait,” Mistyfoot murmured, moving with effort.

Bluestar tilted her head, confused, and it was then that Mistyfoot approached and nudged her face with her muzzle, making her stop.

“Stay still. You’re bleeding,” she growled softly, and began to lick the wound with slow, firm movements.

Bluestar didn’t move. Her entire body seemed to have frozen.

Mistyfoot snorted between licks.

“What’s wrong with you? If someone from RiverClan sees me now, can you imagine what they’d think? For god’s sake… your senses have dulled with time, Bluestar?”

The leader didn’t respond.

She simply remained motionless. Her whiskers barely twitched with each caress, and her ears were low, not out of shame, but for something different. Something deeper. She was… paralyzed.

Because never, not even in her wildest mind, had she allowed herself to imagine this scenario. A daughter she had given up. A daughter who hadn’t chosen her. And now… that daughter was licking her wound as if they had shared a lifetime together.

Mistyfoot didn’t say anything else. Her licks were practical, without emotional intent, but the connection was inevitable. There was warmth, breath, closeness. And she couldn’t deny it.

Moments passed. Then, without looking at Mistyfoot, Bluestar turned slowly, crouched, and began to lick the wound on her daughter’s paw.

Mistyfoot tensed.

“What are you…”

“Quiet. It’s very open. Let me.”

The rough tongue carefully traced the wounded skin. Mistyfoot felt the immediate relief of the cleaning, the warm tickle of a maternal action she didn’t know, but her body recognized instinctively.

Bluestar murmured between licks:

“The stress… probably has been killing me little by little.”

“Well, keep that to yourself,” Mistyfoot replied immediately, interrupting her.

Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was dry.

Bluestar looked up, bewildered.

Mistyfoot looked at her intensely.

“Keep it for when there’s a fight between our clans. Meanwhile, I have no reason to kill you. Nor to want you to die. So you’d better take care of yourself. If you die, ThunderClan is lost.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“And if that happens… I won’t hesitate to take it with the rest of my Clan.”

Bluestar looked at her, surprised.

The wind rustled the leaves. And then, the leader slowly lifted a paw, as if her body weighed twice as much, and gave her a gentle tap on the ear.

A hoarse laugh escaped her throat.

“I knew you had inherited something from me,” she said.

Mistyfoot growled, but didn’t pull her head away.

“Don’t think you’re so special. Graypool taught me stubbornness.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Bluestar replied, with a tired glint of humor.

Silence enveloped them again, but this time it was different. There was no urgency or tension. Just two wounded, tired cats, sitting under the shadows of a forest they belonged to in different ways.

The blood had stopped, for now. The danger had too.

But what was most notable was what wasn’t said: the awareness that that moment was borrowed. Stolen from time, from duty, from destiny.

“You should move now,” Bluestar murmured after a while. “If you don’t get to RiverClan soon, they’ll send a patrol to look for you. And if they see us together like this…”

“I know,” Mistyfoot said, sighing.

They both stood up.

Mistyfoot limped a little at first, but was able to stand firm. Bluestar walked beside her for a few steps, then stopped, watching her walk away.

“Mistyfoot,” she called.

The warrior turned cautiously, keeping her distance.

“What?”

Bluestar lowered her head.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Mistyfoot blinked.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said. “I did it because I hate foxes.”

And she walked away, without looking back, while Bluestar watched her disappear into the shadows with the same pride and pain that only a mother could understand.

However, with every step she took, the forest seemed denser.

Mistyfoot walked alone among shadows, the uneven ground giving way under her paws. She kept her head held high, her eyes narrowed. Her injured paw burned, but she walked as if nothing was wrong. As if she wasn’t limping. As if the pain wasn’t real.

But it was.

The buzzing in her head didn’t subside. The burning intensified with each heartbeat. A feverish heat rose through her body as if the earth were boiling beneath her paws.

She blinked. The world spun.

And without warning, her paws gave way.

The damp ground received her with a dull thud. The air left her lungs. The sky spun in her vision as she tried to focus on the stars through the branches.

She couldn’t move.

Her breathing became rapid, shallow, trembling.

And then, again… darkness.

“Mistyfoot?”

The voice reached her like a distant whisper. Blue, recognizable. Concerned.

“Mistyfoot, what’s wrong with you?” Bluestar ran over, her fur bristling. “Can you hear me?”

The warrior didn’t respond.

She panted. Her flank rose and fell irregularly. Her injured paw was swollen, with the blood already dry in some parts and oozing a thick liquid in others. Bluestar crouched, bringing her nose close.

The smell hit her like an invisible paw.

She swallowed hard.

No.

It can’t be.

She sniffed again, this time closer to the wound. The sour, penetrating, unnatural stench. The reddened area. The fever in her daughter’s body.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath.

Rabies.

The fox had rabies.

Bluestar stepped back abruptly, shaken by a wave of thoughts. Her mind clouded for a moment. Then she reacted.

“No, no… not now. Mistyfoot. Come on, open your eyes. Please,” she whispered, with an urgency she didn’t try to hide.

She nudged her with her muzzle, not roughly, but insistently.

“Wake up. Are you okay? Say something. Daughter…”

Mistyfoot barely moaned. Her eyes opened just a crack. Her lips parted, but no words came out. The pain in her paw was unbearable.

Bluestar listened closely. And then she heard it.

Voices. Not far away. Among the trees.

“Mistyfoot?” It was a male voice. “Where are you?”

Another voice responded, further back. Warriors. A RiverClan patrol.

“No… not now,” Bluestar whispered, looking desperately at her daughter.

She stayed still for a moment.

And made a decision.

Quickly, she caught Mistyfoot’s tail between her teeth, very carefully, and began to drag her off the path.

Her daughter’s body slid with difficulty among the roots and low branches. Bluestar stopped every few steps to adjust her, making sure not to hit the injured paw. She breathed heavily, not only from the effort, but from fear.

Rabies didn’t heal on its own. But Cinderpelt… Cinderpelt would know what to do. Cinderpelt would save her.

The bushes rustled a few meters away. Bluestar stopped, frozen, her body trembling.

“Did you see her cross here?”

“No, but her scent comes from that direction. Hurry.”

Bluestar remained crouched behind a fallen trunk, Mistyfoot’s body still under her protection. Her daughter’s breathing was slower now, but heavy. Fever. Pain.

The scent of RiverClan passed nearby… and then veered off. The voices faded away.

Bluestar waited a moment longer. Then she looked up. The border with ThunderClan was not far.

“Let’s go,” she murmured, as if Mistyfoot could hear her. “You’ll get better. Cinderpelt will help you. Just hold on a little longer.”

She resumed her march.

The mud made the path difficult, but her claws clung tightly. Each step was a mix of fear, guilt, and determination.

The border finally appeared among the trees, marked by a group of lichen-covered stones. Bluestar crossed without stopping, her daughter in tow, and entered the Thunder forest, where the trees were denser and the scent of the Clan was stronger.

An owl hooted from above.

Mistyfoot still wasn’t speaking.

Bluestar’s heart beat like a drum.

“You’re not going to die,” she whispered, her voice tense, hoarse. “Not now. Not after what happened. Not after saving me.”

She no longer thought like a leader.

Not like a warrior.

Only like a mother.

She reached the clearing after a time that seemed like an entire moon. The brambles of the ThunderClan camp were silent. It was midnight. No one was expecting her.

“Cinderpelt!” she shouted urgently. “Cinderpelt, come out now!”

The movement was immediate. Several cats came out of their dens, alerted by her tone.

A figure ran out from the side of the camp.

“Bluestar? What’s—?” Cinderpelt stopped short at the sight of Mistyfoot’s body.

“She has rabies,” Bluestar said immediately. “A fox bit her. She has a fever. She’s unconscious.”

Cinderpelt crouched down, quickly touching the warrior’s forehead. She sniffed her, opened her muzzle to check her gums, and nodded.

“Take her to my den. Now!”

Bluestar didn’t wait for a second order.