Chapter Text
For the first time, Thornclaw seemed repentant.
They talked late into the night the way they had when they were first courting, in the days after his return. His eyes glowed like blue fire in the starshine as he spoke passionately about the mistake he had made in leaving her—and in letting her feel passed over in favour of Hollytuft. She drank deep on his words, greedily and recklessly letting the reassurance of his love wash over her.
Thornclaw’s apologies and explanations affirmed what she had always known: that she understood him, and meant something special to him, and he loved her, and he needed her.
And yet, the words sounded different when they were spoken aloud. Examined in light, they sublimated like dew.
She had no interest in any other explanation, though. The only acceptable reality was the one Thornclaw fed to her; Hollytuft had always admired him, he had found it a harmless affection, and they had crossed a line—and he was so, so sorry.
All the same, when she visited Stemleaf’s grave, she did it alone. Her father was still gone, and now Spotfur had joined with Bristlefrost and cats from SkyClan to seek out the Sisters. There was no one left to take the long journey to the outer border with her.
His grave was dappled with late green-leaf sunlight. The bilberries and bluebells nestled in the grass like bits of sky that had fallen to earth, peeping out from between lanky yellow wildflowers. Wind whistled in grass that grew tall as reeds, joining the birdsong in the trees. The clotting smell of rotting crab-apples permeated the earth.
Alone, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining Stemleaf rotting the same way.
StarClan was gone, and whatever was left under the earth was all she had left of her son. Her mind knew it was a repugnant, heretical impulse, but her paws scraped at the earth in a half-formed desire to unbury him. To find whatever scraps she still had, to touch her nose to his fur one more time.
Every day, she woke knowing that her recollections of her son had become a little cloudier, that she had forgotten one more detail from every cherished memory. In every moment, she was the closest to her son that she would ever be again, and then that moment was gone, and he was a little more gone too.
She wished Thornclaw would share more of his memories of Stemleaf with her.
She studied the earth and the split-open crab-apples that the squirrels had ransacked. They looked like little broken hearts, their two halves barely hanging on to one another.
Whatever grief Thornclaw felt for his son, he kept it somewhere unaccessible to her. She could understand that, couldn’t she? Grief was universal—but so excruciatingly personal, too. There were pieces of Stemleaf she didn’t feel as though she could share with anyone, even if she wanted to. She couldn’t put words to that particular way he angled his head in confusion, how he cleaned his face so daintily, how he paused after he made a joke to make sure it was okay for him to laugh too.
But we were supposed to be a team, that old, stubborn part piped up when she consoled herself over Thornclaw’s distance. We were supposed to share things with each other that we couldn’t share with any other cat.
That was what she had imagined, anyway, when she was four moons old and idolising the relationships of Brackenfur and Sorreltail, Berrynose and Honeyfern, Birchfall and Whitewing. She would get a partner in every sense, when she grew up. There would be a tom who loved her, not just out of kinship or loyalty, but because she was special to him. He would choose her.
And he had.
Hadn’t he?
She turned away from Stemleaf’s grave and took the sunlight-speckled trail back to camp. Thornclaw would confide in her. She just had to give him time.
Through the trees, a sturdy gray tom faced the camp tunnel. His feathery tail skimmed the earth, lashing with anxiety.
Graystripe? Blossomfall’s tail rose and she opened her jaws to call to him but—
The tom turned. A stranger, cream-chested and green-eyed.
The fur along her spine rose, responding to her still-entrenched fear of Darktail’s Kin, but the big gray tom didn’t seem aggressive, only anxious. How had he gotten so deep in their territory without any cat stopping him?
“Who are you?” she growled.
He smelled of hay and marshland, and he looked… Well, he looked like Mousewhisker. Her mouth dropped open.
“I’m—”
“Mousewhisker’s father,” she blurted.
The old tom frowned at her. “Do you know my son?” His green gaze—so familiar—sharpened with suspicion. “Are you his mate?”
Blossomfall sputtered. “Don’t be ridiculous! We’re Clanmates. Just Clanmates.”
“ Clan mates,” he echoed. His tone suggested the syllable ‘mate’ was enough to throw her honesty into question.
“Friends,” Blossomfall amended. “Anyway—why are you here?” How had this tom caught her on the back foot? He was intruding.
“I need ThunderClan’s help,” he said, grinding out the words as if ‘help’ were even more foreign to him than ‘Clanmate’.
Typical loner, she thought. She squinted at him, wondering what could have gone so wrong that it would drive a proud old tom to come begging for the Clan’s help.
More importantly, did Mousewhisker know he was here? A shiver of worry for her Clanmate ran down her spine. The truth of their kinship lived on every hair of the barn cat’s fur; there was no hiding it.
As if her thought has summoned him, Mousewhisker’s scent washed over her and then the tom appeared through the tunnel.
“Smoky,” Mousewhisker said. Wariness lingered in his eyes, but his voice was neither hostile nor surprised. “Squirrelflight says you can come into the camp to talk to Daisy.”
So he’s here for his former mate, Blossomfall guessed. She couldn’t decide if it was romantic or pathetic. But there’s no chance Daisy will go back to the horseplace. She caught herself, thinking of what Mousewhisker had told her the other night. Is there? If she feels like ThunderClan isn’t where she belongs, will she be coaxed back by the father of her kits? But she’d be isolated there, and far from her son…
The old tom dipped his head to his son, looking equally wary, then got to his paws and followed Mousewhisker through the tunnel. Blossomfall watched his fluffy gray tail-tip vanish through the bracken.
I don’t even know why Mousewhisker’s father is here, Blossomfall scolded herself. He may need Daisy’s help for something else. I’m certainly not going to find out by loitering out here.
She slunk into camp after the two toms, struck by how, beneath the scents of ThunderClan and the horseplace, they smelled the same. Mousewhisker, she was certain, would not leave ThunderClan. Even with so much of his kin walking with StarClan, he was a ThunderClan warrior through and through. He was still mentoring Baypaw, he had friends—Poppyfrost, Dewnose, Cinderheart, her.
The first thing Blossomfall spotted when she poked her head into the ThunderClan camp was Smoky nuzzling Daisy’s shoulder. She cringed, seeing the stiffness in Daisy’s posture, even as the queen pressed her muzzle to Smoky’s cheek in return. A moment later, Smoky raised his head to speak.
“I came to ask Daisy for help,” he announced, his gruffness overriden by obvious anxiety. “My mate, Coriander, has started kitting, back at the horseplace, and she’s having so much trouble! I’m really worried about her, and Daisy once told me that in the Clans there are cats who can help with problems like that.”
Blossomfall stared at Smoky, aghast. Not only had Mousewhisker’s father suddenly reappeared, then; Mousewhisker was about to have half-siblings. Pity and fear for Coriander rushed through Blossomfall as she imagined the queen struggling through a difficult birth, now completely alone. Jayfeather hadn’t been the most patient with her, but she had Briarlight and Daisy to help her through it too.
Squirrelflight will send a warrior escort, she knew. I could go with them.
She caught Mousewhisker’s eye, seeing her worry for Coriander reflected in his eyes. I’m not a medicine cat, but I managed my four kits, and maybe Jayfeather or Alderheart could benefit from help during the birth…
“I’d like to go,” Daisy volunteered, stepping forward to stand at Smoky’s shoulder. “And we can spare a medicine cat, can’t we?”
“I could never refuse a queen in need of help,” Squirrelflight said, her eyes clouding with an unvoiced memory. “You may go, Daisy. I’ll send Alderheart with you, and a couple of warriors in case you run into trouble.”
Blossomfall’s heart lifted and she tried to catch Squirrelflight’s gaze as it roved over the Clan for a couple of suitable choices.
“Thank you, Squirrelflight.” Gratitude warmed Daisy’s voice. “Could Mousewhisker be one of the warriors you send with us?”
Blossomfall couldn’t help a grimace, watching as Mousewhisker cast an uneasy look at Smoky, then averted his eyes again. I’m sure Daisy just wants them to get to know each other, but… Reconciliation with a parent was a thorny, awkward thing, and usually didn’t benefit from an active birth happening in the background.
Squirrelflight had already agreed. Blossomfall hesitated, watching Smoky, Daisy, and Mousewhisker; would it be inappropriate for her to insert herself into this? Or would Mousewhisker appreciate some cat at his back, who might be able to provide a buffer?
“And maybe Sorrelstripe?” Daisy continued. “We’ll need an extra set of paws to help Coriander, and Sorrelstripe birthed a litter not that long ago. She’s experienced in raising kits, and she’ll be gentle.”
Blossomfall’s heart sank. It was true; Sorrelstripe had kitted Myrtlepaw and Baypaw more recently than Blossomfall’s own litter had been born. But calling Sorrelstripe experienced was a stretch, wasn’t it? She was surprised at the pangs of jealousy Daisy’s judgement instilled in her, but she couldn’t deny she craved approval from the older queen. She was a good mother too, wasn’t she? She had experience raising kits, didn’t she? Couldn’t she be gentle, too?
Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. This is about Coriander, not you.
Squirrelflight sent Mousewhisker to go find Sorrelstripe, and the tom was gone before Blossomfall decided if she should intercept him and offer her own presence. Squirrelflight herself headed for the medicine den.
It can’t hurt to offer, Blossomfall decided, and hurried after Squirrelflight.
She waited by the ferns that screened the entrance to the den, then when Squirrelflight re-emerged, Blossomfall practically jumped on her.
“I can accompany the patrol to the horseplace,” she offered before Squirrelflight could turn her surprised look into words. “I’ve got the same experience as Sorrelstripe, and I’m sure Alderheart would benefit from an extra set of paws.”
She tried not to actively round her eyes like a kit at Squirrelflight, but only just stopped short.
Squirrelflight gave her an apologetic smile. “It’s good of you to offer, but I think they’ll travel faster with a smaller patrol.”
Blossomfall opened and closed her mouth, then said, “I suppose you’re right.”
Squirrelflight searched her gaze for another moment, but when Blossomfall said nothing more, Squirrelflight nodded and brushed past her. Blossomfall turned to watch the leader pad back toward Smoky and Daisy. Her tail lowered to sweep the dirt despondently.
I hope Mousewhisker will be okay, she thought, and so will Coriander…
Mousewhisker himself was crossing the clearing with Sorrelstripe on his tail. He glanced over his shoulder, too briefly for Blossomfall to be certain he was looking for her—then he was gone. Alderheart, Sorrelstripe, Daisy, and Smoky passed through the tunnel after him.
Blossomfall sighed.
Mousewhisker would be fine. He was a senior warrior at this point, well and truly able to take care of himself. He didn’t need her. (She wasn’t special to him. He didn’t love her. And so on.) They simply understood each other, and perhaps she hadn’t been lying to Smoky when she said they were friends.
This absurd, meaningless crush had to go. How many potential friendships had she wrecked through her endless mooning? She had been too shy to speak to Toadstep for moons; she’d hardly known him before she’d decided that it would be too embarrassing. As for Ivypool, well, she’d panicked so hard when she realized she had a hint of feelings for another she-cat that she’d treated Ivypool, Ivypaw, so terribly that she still crumpled up in shame thinking about it.
And then there was the Dark Forest, she thought. The glow of Ivypool’s blue eyes hung in her memory. They were bright against the forest stained so dark and reddish—like the bark of the skeletal trees was caked in rust, like the oily waters were thickened with blood.
Purdy’s stories of floating blue wisps that led cats astray in the deep woods came to her mind. He’d told her and Bumblekit and Briarkit about the flickers of light through the trees—tricks played on desperate minds—leading deeper into inescapable bramble thickets, or dark and bottomless pools.
She’d seen Ivypool’s eyes through scuffle of brutal sparring, reflecting no starlight at all, and silently pinned her hopes on Ivypool leading them out. At the bottom of those bottomless pools, there would be salvation. In the end, Ivypool had led them out, hadn’t she?
“Blossomfall?”
Blossomfall jumped at Ivypool’s gruff voice.
“You were staring at me like a spooked rabbit,” Ivypool said.
How long had Ivypool been standing right in front of her?
“Sorry,” Blossomfall said. “I was just… thinking.”
Ivypool nodded slowly, giving her a peculiar look. When it was obvious Blossomfall didn’t intend to elaborate, Ivypool said, “Fernsong and I were just about to go for a hunt. You’re welcome to join.”
“I’d love to,” Blossomfall replied out of automatic politeness.
If she were honest, she really would not love to. The memories of her tense relationship with Ivypool during their apprenticeships floated on the surface of her mind like pond scum. More than that, she felt an unbidden shiver of attraction to the other she-cat again, being in such close proximity right after reflecting on their history together, and she had no desire to further rekindle it. Especially not while patrolling with Fernsong.
Perhaps she should invite Thornclaw along.
Perhaps not, she thought, watching Fernsong bound over to join them, like a fluffier, happy-go-lucky copy of his father, Lionblaze. Anyway, Ivypool hadn’t invited Thornclaw too, only Blossomfall. She was perfectly capable of doing things without him. Hadn’t his absence in the past quarter-moon been proof enough of that?
“Blossomfall’s joining us?” Fernsong asked, and Blossomfall braced for his look of disappointment. It didn’t arrive; his sunny smile only broadened as he regarded her.
“She looked bored,” Ivypool replied, entirely deadpan, and Blossomfall stifled a mrrow of amusement.
“Oh, thanks,” she said sarcastically instead and Fernsong purred.
“Let’s go, then!”
Blossomfall had to admit it was a useful distraction. It only occurred to her then, as she left camp with Ivypool and Fernsong, that Coriander was somewhere in the horseplace giving birth that very moment, with Mousewhisker and his patrol on their way to help her. As she turned her focus to sifting through the scents of the mid-morning forest, the anxiety softened its grip on her mind.
Pollen and nectar, dusted on green-leaf blossoms, hung sweet and fresh in the air. The mouth-watering scent of the vole burrow not far from camp floated along the wind, crossed with a recent scent of a red squirrel.
“I’m going to follow that squirrel,” Ivypool murmured. “I think there’s a starling grazing over that way.”
Blossomfall pricked her ears, following where Ivypool had signalled with her tail. Fernsong followed, creeping around the other side of the juniper bush. Its bristly fronds fanned out over the soft earth, dappling the sunlight. Sure enough, a plump starling pecked at the shrivelled purple berries scattered on the grass. Blossomfall admired the emerald sheen of its feathers, the slight purple ripple reflected in its slender neck. The white speckling along its back reminded her of her own pelt.
Fernsong crouched low as the starling continued its feast, blind to the two cats cutting off its escape route. Blossomfall crept over the grass, sinking her paws silently between the blades.
She flicked her ear to Fernsong, pointing him to where the juniper bush’s branches thinned out. He wove around the bush, following her silent instruction, his eyes fixed on the bird as it hopped around a puddle of sunlight. A pang of nostalgia for teaching Hollytuft to stalk birds struck Blossomfall’s heart; Fernsong had the same stocky build and sleek pelt as his littermate. In the shadows, she could see the ressemblance so clearly.
Together, they moved closer and closer, as fluid as adders, until the starling had no escape, no matter how fast it might take off. Blossomfall halted, waiting for Fernsong to pounce, then realised he was watching her, deferring to her the priority for the kill.
She leapt. Her paw, as fast as a diving hawk, snapped the starling’s neck.
The birds in the treetops continued their song, oblivious to the fate of their kin on the forest floor.
“Wow!” Fernsong exclaimed, bounding out of the juniper bush to admire the fresh-kill. “I’ve never seen someone catch a bird so neatly.”
Blossomfall blinked at him, taken aback by how genuine the admiration seemed. “Oh. Er, thank you. I find birds much easier to hunt than ground-prey, to be honest—you never know which way a mouse will run, but you can always be certain a bird will try to go up.”
Fernsong purred like it was the cleverest thing he’d ever heard, even though Blossomfall was rambling. At least he didn’t take offence to being spoken to like he was an apprentice.
She dipped her head to him. “You make a great hunting partner.”
“That’s what Ivypool always says.” Fernsong winked. “But she’s biased.”
“Regardless, it was good of you to let me make the kill,” Blossomfall added, intent on giving him credit even if it felt awkward to say.
He shrugged. “All that juniper was in my way. I’m sure Jayfeather will thank us for saving the juniper berries from the scourge of the starlings, though.”
Blossomfall blinked, then smiled in agreement.
“Do you suppose eating a starling that fed on juniper would cure a belly-ache?” Fernsong’s nose wrinkled. “I think that’s what juniper is for, anyway. But you’ve got to assume that the juniper is still inside the starling. I remember Jayfeather used to mix herbs with mouse-blood to feed to me and my littermates when we got whitecough. I think it’s sort of the same, isn’t it?”
Blossomfall only half-listened, focused on the scents wafting towards them from upwind. The copse of beech trees seemed to have caught the attention of a few squirrels.
“If you fancy trickier prey, I can smell squirrels in the beeches,” Blossomfall murmured, indicating with her tail.
While Blossomfall suspected Fernsong had a bit of thistle-fluff crowding his brain, he still showed admirable enthusiasm for the hunt. They headed for the beeches together, descending a gully and crossing a trickling stream that wove between the beeches’ roots like silver thread.
Hunting in green-leaf was almost insultingly easy; Blossomfall imagined it must be that way in StarClan, in perpetuity. Thinking of StarClan made her think of Stemleaf, though—lost in limbo, not able to walk with either his living kin or his ancestors. When she looked on their considerable fresh-kill pile, she felt a hollow ache of sadness.
Ivypool rejoined them, her hunt having proved euqally fruitful. Two squirrels dangled by their fluffy tails from her jaws, her blue eyes sparkling with satisfaction in the sunlight.
“At this rate, there’ll be no more squirrels left in ThunderClan’s woods,” Fernsong purred, looking pleased with their pile.
“That’s the fattest starling I’ve ever seen,” Ivypool remarked, turning it over with her slender paw. Mischief lit her gaze. “Besides Starlingwing of ShadowClan.”
Fernsong cocked his head. “Who?”
Blossomfall exchanged a look with Ivypool, seeing sadness flicker in her eyes as they remembered the toll of the Great Battle.
“He died,” Blossomfall murmured, “fighting for the Clans in the Great Battle.”
Fernsong quieted too, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the fallen tom.
Ivypool gave a wry smile. “Back when ShadowClan was holding me hostage, he was so dedicated to his job of guarding me. Even Blackstar went easier on me than Starlingwing. Of course, he was Starlingpaw at the time. I’m sure he wanted to prove himself, the same way we all did.”
“When ShadowClan held you hostage?” Fernsong exclaimed.
Ivypool purred. The three of them traded stories as they padded back to camp, speaking through muffled mouthfuls of fresh-kill. Fernsong’s stories of his apprenticeship with Hollytuft and Sorrelstripe were innocent tales of misadventures—Blossomfall recognised that Ivypool was holding back when she spoke of her own tumultuous apprenticeship.
She saw no obvious gulf between the two cats when she regarded Ivypool and Fernsong, in spite of their superficial differences. Ivypool was lithe, compactly muscled, and her shoulder-blades rose and fell beneath her silver and white pelt with a grace that suggested agility. Fernsong, meanwhile, had a thick golden tabby pelt that rounded his heavy frame like a halo of personal sunlight. He padded along with blind confidence, picking his way through ThunderClan’s underbrush with the ease of a tom who had never been given cause to question his place in their Clan. While Ivypool’s naturally stern expression insinuated maturity, and Fernsong carried himself like he was still an apprentice, they looked to Blossomfall as if they were two halves of a whole.
As Fernsong bounded ahead to bring in the fresh-kill, Blossomfall paused outside the tunnel, casting her gaze back into the forest in hopes she might spot Mousewhisker and his patrol returning.
Ivypool stopped too, sitting and wrapping her skinny tail over her paws. “Are you worried about Daisy and Smoky?”
Blossomfall sighed, looking back at her. “Is it that obvious?”
“You stared at the patrol as they left like they were rogues dragging your nest out of the warriors’ den to toss it down a valley,” Ivypool replied.
The colourful image made Blossomfall snort despite herself. “I’d hoped Squirrelflight might choose me to go with them, that’s all.” She hesitated, wondering if Mousewhisker would be upset if she told Ivypool about what Mousewhisker had shared with her. “We had spoken recently about… well, Graystripe leaving, and Mousewhisker was talking about Smoky, and… I hope he’s doing okay, that’s all.”
Ivypool’s gaze softened and Blossomfall shifted like ants were crawling through her fur. “That’s sweet of you.”
“Yeah, well,” Blossomfall said gruffly.
“I wondered how you were doing after Graystripe left,” Ivypool murmured. “Especially when…” She trailed off.
“Thornclaw left too,” Blossomfall finished. “I know. But he came back.”
Ivypool looked skeptical. “Yes, he did.”
“I’m sure Graystripe will, too,” she sighed. “I just wish he hadn’t gone out on his own like that. He was a capable warrior, I know, but you’re not supposed to go off gallivanting on quests as an elder, with no cat to take care of you.” She glanced at Ivypool. “But maybe Flipclaw went with him. Graystripe always said Flippaw was the best of his littermates at cracking fleas.”
Ivypool let out a mrrow of amusement. “My heart bursts with pride to hear it.”
“They were close, that’s all,” Blossomfall rephrased, joining in with Ivypool’s purrs. “It’s a relief to hope he isn’t alone out there.”
Ivypool quieted, nodding. “Flipclaw is so young… and after all that hare-brained medicine cat nonsense, I wish he would just slow down and take some time to settle into being a warrior. And now, with Bristlefrost on her warrior quest…”
Without pausing to think if it would be inappropriate, Blossomfall leaned forward and nuzzled Ivypool’s shoulder. “Bristlefrost is so capable. I know she’ll be okay. She’ll be the pride of ThunderClan, one day.”
Ivypool’s posture remained stiff, but Blossomfall was gratified to hear a kind of dark amusement in her denmate’s voice as Ivypool replied, “I would say she’s already more than proved herself. We haven’t had such a young deputy since Firestar.”
The shadow of Ashfur’s reign in ThunderClan loomed over them; Blossomfall felt it, cold in her paws and tail-tip. “That’s true.” She fell silent, then admitted, “After the Great Battle, I thought we might have some peace. And then there was the Great Storm, and Darktail’s Kin, and all the trouble with SkyClan coming to the lake… And now Squirrelflight’s old flame has come along to ruin every cat’s life because he can’t get over himself.”
Ivypool groaned. “Toms.”
It was such an absurd understatement that Blossomfall breathed out a laugh. They both knew how petty grievances could spring up like weeds, growing ever more thick and strangling, until old grudges became fresh graves.
She had missed Ivypool’s particular brand of dark humour. It made her wonder what she had missed out on with Toadstep, when he was still alive—what she might lose now, with Mousewhisker, if she obsessed over the possibility of impropriety in her relationship with Thornclaw.
Perhaps things were made easier by the fact that Ivypool was with Fernsong now.
“Don’t let Fernsong hear you,” she commented.
Ivypool rolled her eyes. “He’ll live. He moans my ears off about his father’s inflated ego, now that Lionblaze is our acting-deputy.”
Blossomfall imagined being the kit of Lionblaze, and shuddered. “I suppose it must be strange for him to hear all about Ashfur, when he never really knew him.”
Ivypool shot her a look. “To be fair, we didn’t know Ashfur either.”
“True.” Blossomfall pondered that.
Ashfur’s absence had been a ghost in ThunderClan when she was growing up. The nursery queens had gossiped in hushed tones about his murder; Squirrelflight and Leafpool had been social outcasts, their pawsteps dogged by rumours. Though she couldn’t form a strong image of the warrior in her mind, she felt as though she’d known him. He and Thornclaw had been friends, after all, hadn’t they? Perhaps his stories had populated her recollection with false memories.
“Even so,” she said, “we grew up in a Clan that knew him. The Clan that Fernsong grew up in… I feel like Ashfur was fading from memory, and then all of a sudden he came back.”
Ivypool shrugs, her gaze shadowed. “The cats of StarClan and the Dark Forest disappear when no cat cares to remember them. I wonder if Ashfur felt he was losing his foothold, and needed to imprint his terrible legacy deeper in our history.”
And now he has condemned my son to wander alone. Perhaps forever.
Blossomfall shivered. “When you put it like that, we should all count ourselves lucky that we didn’t spend more time with Ashfur.”
Ivypool’s gaze skimmed the leaves overhead, her pupils slitting in the bright sun. Blossomfall watched her, trying not to stare too obviously. There was nothing wrong with looking at her Clanmates, but she felt a tingle of guilt all the same. Were these the same excuses Thornclaw made to himself when he was alone with Hollytuft? Ivypool’s whiskers were white as sunlit snow.
“I believe I fell in love with Fernsong because he’d never known the cruelty of the Dark Forest,” Ivypool mused. “He grew up in peace times. He didn’t have that hardness, of having to grow up too fast, fearing for your life every time you closed your eyes to fall asleep.”
Blossomfall’s heart twisted. Like me. Like you.
“But I suppose we all learn life’s hardest lessons eventually.” Ivypool fell silent, then snorted. “I sound like an elder. Great StarClan, I’m getting old before my time.” She shot Blossomfall a sideways glance. “You understand, don’t you?”
Blossomfall wondered if she did. She couldn’t imagine Thornclaw speaking of her so tenderly—she hadn’t grown up in peace. She’d formed brittle layers around her heart, like river shells, protecting whatever softness she had left from the harsh open air.
Perhaps Thornclaw loved her because she had never known Ashfur. But that was a reach, she knew. Ashfur had never been Thornclaw’s villain.
“Maybe,” Blossomfall said. She gazed up at the sun filtering through the branches. “I’m glad you found Fernsong.”
I miss Hollytuft, she realised, pain shooting through her heart. I miss the moons after the Great Storm, when it seemed like nothing could hurt ThunderClan ever again.
“Thanks for coming hunting,” Ivypool purred, nudging her muzzle against Blossomfall, and stood to follow her mate into the camp.
Blossomfall watched her go, her chest aching like she’d been winded. I miss you, she thought, looking into the sunlit camp. I miss all of you.