As you know, Alex and I are taking turns. This chapter is written by her. It's really good, isn't it?

Chapter Four: Banished Warrior

Heavy rain pattered down on the dreary LeafClan camp. Foxpaw stood under the
shelter of an elm tree, his ginger fur fluffed up as he watched puddles form
in the mud. He sighed. The weather seemed to be imitating his feelings as
perfectly as anything today. Or maybe StarClan pitied him for that morning's
dreadful training exercise.

It had all started with Nightpaw tripped him flat on his face with that
battle technique Mighteye had demonstrated. Obviously both cats were against
him, and he hated it. Though some nagging thought told him it had been because
he let his disappointment get to him, he relished blaming Mighteye,
Nightpaw–even Rockpaw was a good target.

Around the clearing he could see eyes glinting from their dens, watching the
rain warily. Foxpaw made himself more comfortable in his crude shelter and
replayed the exercise in the sandy hollow: Nightpaw, tripping him again and
again every time he tried to nick Nightpaw off his paws. And then, of course,
for Dragonpaw, who was doing as poorly as he was, Mighteye decided it was
worth using his example as a way of how not to attacking enemy warriors.

Rosepaw had gibbered all the way back to camp later that afternoon, the sun
well hidden behind stormy gray clouds. She had been nearly as good as Nightpaw
and Whitepaw; both toms proved good in combat, and even stupid
Rockpaw–Foxpaw admitted grudgingly–was good. Dragonpaw did better then
him, and she didn't even try to raise a paw at the white apprentice.
Nightpaw had even gone as far as to insult him right in front of Mighteye. And
the stupid old flea-bag was too busy praising his own little Rockpaw to
notice! Foxpaw bit back a snarl as he thought grudgingly, And then you go and
blow up cursing at him! Mouse-brained, feather-headed, stupid—

"Foxpaw!" a loud voice called, and Foxpaw blinked his green eyes,
glancing up. Outside the fallen log he could see Bristlepelt glaring at him,
looking ill-tempered and cranky.

Foxpaw groaned, remembering the best part of his day: As punishment for
nearly jumping on Nightpaw and trying to pummel, him he was to clean out
soiled bedding, get new moss, go over her pelt with mouse-bile, and bring her
food (not that he had yet learned how to hunt, of course).

Dejectedly he sped out across the clearing and into the grassy space outside
the den. Bristlepelt was waiting for him with her paws tucked under her and
her black eyes glinting.

"Yes?" Foxpaw grunted.

"Show some respect, I've done my duties a hundred times more than you
ever will," she meowed smugly, flicking an ear. "Besides," she meowed
slyly, "seeing as how often I have the fortune of you caring for me, I
thought we'd be good old friends by now."

Foxpaw ducked his head to hide his mutinous glare.

"Right," she grunted, "I want you to go dump that"–she pointed to a
clump of rain-sodden moss–"behind the nursery and go catch me something. I
have a preference for birds, you know, the usual chaffinch, sparrow,
wagtail–"

"I can't hunt yet, it's only been two days." Foxpaw sighed.

"Oh?" Bristlepelt perked her white ears in fake surprise. "Terribly
sorry. Then go get me something from the fresh-kill pile."

Foxpaw hesitated, wondering wether to find some sort of loophole that was
weather-related, when the cranky elder snapped, "Now!" and he ran for it.
Her tongue was as sharp as any set of claws!

He skidded across the clearing, sending up sprays of water. His ginger fur
stuck against his small frame. Approaching the pile he now noticed a wet
bundle of tabby fur next to it, and he purred.

"Hi, Greentail," he mewed delightedly, shaking water droplets from his
fur.

"Nice way to give a greeting!" Greentail meowed, ducking away as droplets
splattered her fur, though her eyes brimmed with cheek. "StarClan, this is
too wet, even for MistClan."

"Any birds?" asked Foxpaw hopefully.

"One muddy sparrow," Greentail meowed, as the ginger tomcat selected it.
"Who's it for? Bristlepelt?"

His mouth full of feathers, Foxpaw nodded.

Greentail's eyes were sympathetic. "You know," she mewed suddenly,
looking mischievous, "all you have to do is stuff in a few poppy seeds, and
there you go, she'll be out faster than a rain on a fire. Oh, come on off
it," she meowed incredulously, seeing his disbelieving look, "I did that
when I was an apprentice, and I never had to lift a claw afterward. The elders
just slept on endlessly, which was a complete mystery to the medicine cat."

Foxpaw's chest soared. Could it really work?

"But wouldn't Fawnspots notice if I just walked into his den and took a
whole store of his herbs?" he pointed out dully.

"Ah." Greentail gave her ears a few quick strokes. "See, this is where
I come in. I'll lure him away so you have enough time to take some poppy
seeds and run for it."

"But—"

"FOXPAW!" came an impatient yowling from across the camp: it was
Bristlepelt.

"Now or never, apprentice," mewed Greentail swiftly.

Foxpaw flattened his ears, remembering the last time how Bristlepelt had
mocked him mercilessly while he scooped out bedding. "Shame I can't give
her a few deathberries while I'm at it."

Greentail grinned broadly. "Foxpaw!" she gasped in fake astonishment.
"She's a delicate, lazy, old codger of a Clan elder! Show some
respect!"

"Or maybe a little less," Foxpaw growled, tearing impatiently at the
ground with his claws, imagining that it was Bristlepelt's fur. "Get
going; hurry, please!" he added as another loud complaint rose into the
air.

Greentail gave him a fake bow of importance, "O, yes, great Clan leader,"
before nodding smartly and disappearing toward Fawnspot's den, calling
loudly, "Fawnspots! Can you look at something?"

He watched as the medicine cat and tabby warrior left the fern-enclosed
clearing, and as fast as flash Foxpaw pelted toward it.

He had never been inside the den before, only just outside the small
enclosure. Through the gloom of the rocky crevice he picked out the shape of
moss. That must be Fawnspot's nest. There were other sparse nests for what
must be patients, because the scent of sickness and cat was stale. He edged
along nicks in the stone and piles of neatly-stacked herbs, snuffling at
leaves and berries until he found what he was looking for: tiny, black seeds.
Licking his pad, Foxpaw gently plucked them on, shaking off extras. He limped
toward the bedraggled sparrow and tore into the breast, hiding five poppy
seeds beneath its plumage. Certain that they were well hidden, he grabbed its
wing-tip gingerly and peeked outside.

No sign of Fawnspots or Greentail. Time to go.

Foxpaw couldn't have felt less like a spy even if he tried, though a giddy
excitement overcame him, and he trembled. Flattening his fur, the ginger
tomcat stealthily padded over to Bristelpelt and laid the limp bird at her
paws, hiding his twitching whiskers.

"About time, too," she meowed ungratefully, snatching up the sparrow.
"Ugh! All water-logged and everything! How MistClan can stand it is beyond
me..."

The seeds seemed to be working (Foxpaw dared to hope) and within a few
minutes her ranting broke into tired snores.

Foxpaw gently back away, overcome with success. The only thing missing
was—

"Greentail, you cheeky she-cat! Mouse-doffer, immature warrior!"

Foxpaw's (and half a dozen others) heads turned to see Greentail dart into
camp, her fur smoothed with rain water, but otherwise brimming. Fawnspots
trotted after her, his fur bristling indignantly.

"Honestly, playing me up with that load of mouse-dung! There's a reason
you haven't gotten your own apprentices yet!"

Beyond the gorsetunnel he could see the brown-furred tom heave with
exasperation, his paws carrying him back into LeafClan's camp. The medicine
cat snorted, glancing pointedly at Greentail before disappearing into his
den.

Greentail let out a mrrow of laughter as she joined Foxpaw, her eyes
watering.

"What did you tell him?" Foxpaw meowed curiously, embolden by her
success.

Greentail drew herself up proudly. "That I was fathering another Clan
cat's kits, and wanted him to check in private. I'm pretty sure he knew I
was lying, but I had just downed three mice, so I might have looked plumper...
Don't flatten your ears, it worked, didn't it?" she meowed rather
bluntly, plopping down despite the constant tearful rain showers.

Foxpaw grimaced. "That's something pretty serious to lie about–"

"Don't get your fur in a twist," scoffed the brown she-cat, shaking her
head. "I've been doing worse since I was kit; my apprentice ceremony was
almost postponed, but Brownstar though otherwise...he thought a mentor to
discipline me was a brilliant idea. Anyway, don't follow my example, unless
you really want to keep dosing old she-cats with sleeping drugs until you're
my age."

Through the sheets of rain that wrecked the camp, Foxpaw saw Fawnspots nudge
Bristepelt, shake his head slowly, and pad back toward his own den again.

"Anyway!" grunted Greentail, heaving herself into a stretch, "I have to
get going soon! I'm due for the evening patrol with Scarface, Russeteye and,
ah, I believe a few of you apprentices."

The flame-coated kitten's ears drooped with disappointment. "Oh. Well,
see you, then."

"'Bye, Foxpaw!" Greentail purred, quickly touching noses with him
before charging through the much and mire. "Keep out of trouble!"

In spite of himself, Foxpaw grinned, and when he turned away he saw something
in the deserted clearing he hadn't expected to be there: Cleverpaw.

The small-framed tabby was oblivious to gusts of rain pounding his fur. He
merely shuddered, blinking after the spot where Fawnspot's hindquarters had
vanished into his den.

"Cleverpaw?" Foxpaw meowed, but his denmate remained solitary. "Hey,
Cleverpaw, you're going to catch a cold out in the rain!"

Cleverpaw, at the sound of his name, gave a startled jump and spun on his
heels, whipping around wildly. Upon seeing Foxpaw his long fur stopped
bristling. "Oh. It's you."

"Yeah, me," Foxpaw meowed with a pang of uncertainty. "Are you not
feeling well? I hope you realize that Fawnspots is here to look after you; you
only have to give him your say-so—"

"No!" Cleverpaw meowed in a much higher voice than usual; his eyes were
wide with some unmasked emotion that he couldn't read.

"It was just a thought!" Panic washed over Foxpaw. Was Cleverpaw really
sick?

"I'm not a kit anymore, and neither are you!" Cleverpaw hissed, lashing
his tail. "I'm fine! Fine! Why does everyone keep asking?"

With a final glance at the rocky shelter, Cleverpaw stalked away toward their
own nests, muttering darkly. Foxpaw opened his mouth to call an angry retort
after him, but he fell silent. What had riled Cleverpaw up so badly? The tabby
was normally undisturbed and relaxed; he never took a temper. Feeling lost, he
dragged his paws across the clearing and headed for the fern enclosure that
made their den. Padding inside, he carefully chose a nest away from Cleverpaw.
The only cats out of the rain were Cleverpaw, himself, and Sunpaw, dozing
sleepily in her nest.

His green eyes rested briefly on the pale she-cat for half a heartbeat. After
today's disastrous training, he wanted to be as far away as he could from
Nightpaw and Rosepaw.

Slowly he circled the moss clump until next to hers until he found a dry
spot; he tucked in and slumped into it with grateful exhaustion. Next to him,
Sunpaw mewled in her sleep and rolled onto her back. Side-by-side, he listened
to the rain as it began to ease. The sounds of the forest, a starling
chirruping, cats meowing to each other outside their den, became meaningless
noise as Foxpaw's eyes drooped.

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Four massive oaks rose into the sky. In a sheltered clearing, shaped by
ancient times long past, Foxpaw found himself in the middle of sweeping, tall
grass. He was confused. How did I get here? He racked his memory for any
recollection of coming to the hollow before settling down to sleep, but
nothing occurred to him. The tom lifted his head and glanced up. The leaves
were so leafy and inviting, flitting on warm breezes that tugged at his fur
playfully.

Green? Leafy? It's leaf-fall, not greenleaf! Foxpaw thought in
bewilderment. And when have the stars ever been so close? The frosty lights
looked like they barely reached the topmost branches of the great oaks he now
recognized as Fourtrees.

A leaf-crackle in the undergrowth made him freeze. Foxpaw exploded into a run
and just barely threw himself into the shelter of a bramble bush. Ducking his
ears, he peered out of the clump of leaves to see a pale gray outline crossing
the clearing and standing with its back toward the Great Rock. A familiar
scent hit the roof of his parted mouth.

Tsunamistar.

He crouched lower, not out of respect, but fear for being caught spying. From
across the tall grassy clearing came a rustle. His ears swivelled toward it.
Pawsteps? he wondered. It sounded distant and mute; suddenly, the noise become
louder, and a massive tomcat stepped out. His fur glittered with the tangle of
stars, and under a watery crescent-moon he looked halfway into the world of
StarClan, half hidden among shadows and darkness. Foxpaw's belly tightened.
He held his breath, not daring to call out.

His scent was foreign yet not unfamiliar, the tang of LeafClan riding a
breeze that tore clouds over the moon. Tattered, dappled moonlight washed the
clearing in silver light, striking Tsunamistar's broad shoulders. The two
cats stood apart a tail-length for a moment's pause, then touched noses like
old friends.

And with a feeling of dread, Foxpaw realized that the waking world was well
behind him now: This was StarClan's hunting grounds.

Am I dead?

"Do StarClan have a message for me?" his leader asked, her ice-chipped
eyes unmoving.

The brown cat nodded. "A time is fast-approaching where imminent battle may
be upon your Clan, and the forest."

Tsunamistar's fur bristled. "Can you explain this to me? What is the
danger?" she meowed softly, but the terror was still in her full-moon eyes.

The dead warrior's pelt rippled. "Water and wind are abroad, as is an
enemy I thought banished seasons ago. You must fear and carry so much on your
shoulders; it is a burden that I tell you to fear those who seem so innocent
and trusting."

Foxpaw's heart skipped a beat. He strained his senses harder, desperate to
hear more.

The old cat suddenly fixed his gaze past her shoulders and parted his jaws,
trembling. "When darkness, fire, and air collide, the earth, born in the
stars, shall shake the sky."

Tsunamistar was as still as the massive rock behind her, the wind picking up
and carrying over the ground the scent of ice and fire of the wild places of
the night. His words had the unmistakable ring of a prophecy.

The gray she-cat shuddered, her fur on end. "Please, tell me what you
mean!"

"I can tell you know more, for we have an audience," the old cat rasped,
his night-eyes glinting amber in the darkness. Dappled shadows shredded his
pelt; for a moment, his gaze crossed the heather-ringed hollow, and Foxpaw
swore that for several heartbeats too long they rested on where he hid.

He knows I'm here! Foxpaw panicked, turning and running into the trees. His
paws carried him into the thicket of trees, alive with forest-scents that hung
crisply in his fur. He didn't know where he was going, just that he had to
run, run as far as his legs would take him. Bunching his muscles, Foxpaw
prepared to leap a shallow log when the crunching of paws in the undergrowth
alerted him. He swivelled his ears back, afraid of what he would see, despite
the fact that those dreaming could not necessarily be hurt.

Before he could move a whirl of fur crashed into him. Foxpaw opened his
mouth, preparing to give off a noisy caterwaul when a thick bushel of tail fur
clamped over his mouth. Two soft paws pinned him, and Foxpaw was forced to
look up into a pair of familiar nettled, green eyes and squared muzzle.

"Rosepaw?"

The she-cat glared at him, though her ears twitched involuntarily. "These
woods," she hissed, "aren't safe! We shouldn't be here."

Gradually she sheathed her claws and scrambled off him, allowing Foxpaw a
gasp of air. Was this what that old cat meant when he said 'we have an
audience," besides him?

"How—?" he spluttered. Hesitantly, quite unsure if she was really here
or not, he padded toward her and gave her a quick jab in the ribs. Rosepaw
recoiled wth disgust.

"Ouch! What was that for?" she mewed crossly.

"S–Sorry," he stammered, relieved, "I just didn't—"

"Didn't think I could be here, too, did you?" Rosepaw meowed tartly,
flattening her ears. "Well, too bad, I am."

"What's going—" Foxpaw began, but before he could finish they heard
the sound of many cats' paws drumming against the forest floor. There came
deep, pattered meows that sounded anxious, and an alien scent wreathed around
them, almost sinister, far different from the presence of the Starclan
warrior's.

Danger inflamed his instincts, and Rosepaw, all disguise forgotten, yowled,
"Run!"

The two apprentices shot out through the ferns and grass, undergrowth
brushing their flanks as they propelled through the dark trees. Slivers of
starlight cris-crossed their path, marking unfamiliar trees as they plunged
deeper through the foliage. The moon had vanished into an eerily gloomy sky,
and soon Foxpaw found that he couldn't recognize the woods they bounded
through.

"Rosepaw," he panted, "we need to stop—it seems safe to—"

Rosepaw, her eyes wild with terror gradually, slid to a halt. The forest had
changed heavily. Large, leafy planted furled with mist and gloom, and
gathering among the roots of tree trunks were glowing mushrooms and fungi that
had a transparent, musky yellow-green glow. Ivy curled about rotting trees,
shaping a dark forest that was thick and pungent with odd scents.

Rosepaw shivered. "This place has never known warmth or sunshine," she
whispered hoarsely.

"The sun never rises here?" Foxpaw meowed, glancing up to stare at the
sky. It was an endless black void, as un-penetrable as Mothermouth's winding
tunnels. It was all cold.

There were no stars.

"How d-did we get he-here?" he asked, scanning the branches for any sign
of life.

Rosepaw, for once, couldn't find an answer to the question. "We've left
StarClan's territory far behind us."

"We need to go, we need to get out of here," the ginger apprentice
meowed. "Oh, can't we just wake up?"

Off in the distance he heard a sound that filled him with dread: an odd sort
of chanting, vibrating within him from tail-tip to nose. This forest seemed
sinister, hunted by things he didn't dare try to name, as if keeping them
unspoken of would banish their existence. But by how much? he wondered darkly,
unsheathing his claws into the peaty ground.

Rosepaw shifted her paws uneasily, scuttling up dead leaves. "You hear
that?"

"Cats," Foxpaw agreed softly. "Come on, whatever it"–he
swallowed–"is, we better move on before they can catch up."

"But how did we get here?" she wondered, sniffing the creaky wet-wood set
of an oak's bark. "However we managed to leave Fourtrees and wind up here,
it isn't a good place. There's no light."

Foxpaw couldn't hold back any longer. "Do you think we're dead?" he
blurted out, his voice coming out as a squeak.

Rosepaw hesitated for a heartbeat, then: "No, we're very much alive. My
heartbeat is going so wildly I thought it would burst from my chest."

"But how did we both–you know?" He had no words for how they had both
eavesdropped on their Clan leader and warrior ancestors.

Again, Rosepaw looked uncertain, even terrified. A dim light kindled in her
stormy green eyes, reliving Foxpaw's own fears.

"I don't know," she mewed. "But we weren't suppose to hear
that—" She stopped suddenly, her ears pricked. The odd mix of chanting-few
voices had grown slightly into a distant thunder of noise.

"Let's head this way; move it!" she hissed, glancing toward a dark
corner of leaves and brambles.

Foxpaw nodded, her urgent mew reawakening him somehow and giving him energy.
"Lead the way." Together, side-by-side, they bounded into the leafy
bushes, pushing through the darkness.

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Something was shaking Foxpaw hard. He snored heavily and muttered a curse.

"What? What's the matter? Is StoneClan invading or something?" he
grunted, batting away at the persistent paws with sleepiness.

"No," growled a voice, "but we do have a problem. Blackmask is
back."

Foxpaw's green eyes shot open as he gazed up into Nightpaw's stoic face.
The tabby shook his head and padded outside, his tabby fur outlined by the
light of a near-full moon. Sitting up, the ginger apprentice saw some
stragglers milling about the cramped den, shaking their fellows awake. Fangpaw
nudged Rosepaw until she staggered to her paws, and then slipped outside.

They found each other's eyes and stared, each mirroring the same
bewilderment and shock. Rosepaw stood, jerked with her head for him to hurry,
and followed Nightpaw outside.
Foxpaw glanced around. Sunpaw was gone, her nest cold and warm scent stale;
he could feel beads of hot sweat sticking beneath his facial fur, and
unwillingly he stretched, padding outside with anxiety prickling his pads.
Cold night air gushed over his face; the storm clouds had cleared.

The rest of the Clan was gathered at the center of camp in a ragged circle,
their fur bristling and hackles raised. He squeezed his way through the
company, rudely bumping into Palefur until he stood between Bugpaw and
Talonwing. Blackmask was limping forward from the gorsetunnel, exhausted and
wiry, and his companion wasn't much better off: a large, muscular tom with a
clumped, dirty rowan-red tabby fur and a white-marked faced and speckled
torso. Gray hairs tinged his tail-tip and around his muzzle, but he still
looked strong, a few more active moons before retirement, perhaps.

"Tsunamistar." Flowernose stepped forward, looking small among the older
cats. She had only been named a warrior two moons ago. "Who is this?"

The LeafClan leader stepped forward so that she stood almost nose-to-nose
with the loner. "This," she meowed, "is Toadstep, a former warrior of
LeafClan."

Murmuring broke out, and a few older cats—Russeteye and Moontree, for
example—called out greetings.

"Former?" meowed a suspicious voice, and without even turning his head to
see the speaker Foxpaw recognized Bristlepelt's scathing voice.

"So you're awake." Tsunamistar blinked calm blue eyes at the elder.

"Yes," she meowed, and fixed the loner with cool eyes. "I remember
watching you in the nursery," she grunted, "and then you were that spying
little apprentice, but still, Brownstar saw that you were made a senior
warrior." Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you come back now?"

"It was at my request," growled Tsunamistar, and at that moment Blackmask
heaved and slumped onto his side, panting heavily. Loyalheart darted forward
and sniffed his flank, glancing back into the sea of faces.

"Fawnspots!" she called, waiting to see the medicine cat come ambling
forward with a bundle of herbs between his teeth.

Tsunamistar waved her tail to silence the chorus of meowing. "All is
safe," she assured them with warmth and confidence. "Smokeheart,
Eveningsun, I would like you to take the moonhigh patrol. Everyone else,
return to your dens, please. Toadstep, Loyalheart, if you would—"

She beckoned them with her tail, and the three cats, with Fawnspots
supporting Blackmask, headed for the medicine cat's den. Foxpaw tried to
catch his leader's eye, but she stared straightforward with no disturbance
to punctuate her concerned expression.

The cats broke apart, some nodding approval, others looking uncertain. In a
disordered line the apprentices scuttled for their nests, Mighteye meowing
over their heads, "Come on, the lot of you, bright and early tomorrow!
Don't forget that tomorrow night is the Gathering!"

Foxpaw slumped into his nest beside Sunpaw, who fidgeted awkwardly and
squeaked, "'Night," before curling up to sleep. To his immense surprise,
however, Rosepaw padded over to join them, followed by a contemptuous-looking
Nightpaw.

The two cats didn't glance at each other: in fact, the only one who spoke
was Nightpaw, only to mutter, "Tomorrow's news, I suppose."

The apprentices nodded and called out sleepy meows before settling in. Only
Foxpaw remained awake, Sunpaw and Rosepaw flanking him on either side. That
dream was too real to not have happened. I didn't imagine it, he told
himself. Rosepaw was there, and so was Tsunamistar. And Blackmask was back.
What about Toadstep? And that prophecy? Questions he couldn't answer swarmed
like angry bees in his head, until finally he only managed, Where was that
starless place? before he fell into a dreamless sleep.