[Phoenix]

Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Of all the things he had thought he would do as he made his way down the dark, narrow path to the Moon Tree, counting his paw steps was not one of them. It was something kits did, when they took their first steps from the shelter of the nursery or when boredom had become too overwhelming and pacing posed a better option than resting there all day. By the time they became apprentices, they had all but kicked the habit, leaving it behind for the next generation of kits to pick up. Counting steps was not something warriors did, for they needed no practice with their numbers; to do so when he was about to become a leader had been unthinkable. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. It had never crossed his mind, for the act had simply become immature. Yet here he was, walking and counting in the eerie darkness of the cave. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of the cave that set him on edge and caused his mind to search for something with which it could occupy itself. With whiskers brushing the rough sides of the cave, damp with condensation, and the faint rush of a breeze traveling through the tunnel, occasionally letting out a ghostly sound, he found it easy to believe the sheer alien quality to everything as the origin of his discomfort. RainClan territory, while wet, had no caves that were illuminated solely by what little light had followed him down the narrow crack. Nowhere along the river banks were there shadows as thick and solid as these, where the mind could easily see imagined enemies, lurking and waiting to strike. A shiver ran down his spine, and his steps faltered slightly. The cave walls were jagged, closing in on him from all sides, and the space in which he walked was far too narrow. If something happened, he had no room to move. No room to turn and flee or to prepare to fight. His breathing became slightly ragged, and he forced the thought from his mind; it evaded his attempt, moving to merely linger toward the back of his consciousness, ever present. As he moved deeper along the path, the air was losing its familiarity, for the pleasant smell of new-leaf had given way to the stale, stagnant cave air. It even smelled damp.

This was far from how he had imagined the tunnel when gazing at it from the outside. The opening, no doubt weathered by the elements, was not nearly as narrow as the path became farther in. In ambitious dreams as an apprentice, he had imagined an easy path, even and smooth, and he would march down it, head held high and brimming with the joy in the knowledge that he had achieved what every other cat had dreamed of accomplishing. His golden fur would shine in the moonlight, well groomed, and he would meet StarClan and gain his nine lives with the regality of a king, destined to claim his spot on the throne. The pride of his youthful dreams was there, somewhere beneath the discomfort prominent in his mind. Disbelief had clung to a part of his consciousness as well. Deadstar, of course, was on the forefront of his mind, their leader’s recent passing still an open wound despite the significant change it meant for his own life.

He was to lead RainClan, and as it had every other time he thought that statement, awe struck hard and fast, overwhelmingly so. To think that he, out of all of RainClan’s eligible warriors, was the one hand-picked by StarClan. It was as humbling a thought as it was daunting, and one that made him work to strive to live up to the expectations of their ancestors – whatever they may be. That idea, in particular kept him moving forward, kept the numbers increasing in his mind as he counted his steps.

Twenty-nine. Thirty. He would be a pathetic leader if he allowed himself to be intimidated by a mere cave. As if challenging his defiant refusal to turn tail and run, a gust of wind rushed through the cave, and the whole cavern seemed to let out a shrill cry, eerily resembling that of a feline as he realized death was upon him. His traitorous mind whispered scenarios to him. If the walls collapsed… If the cave was blocked behind him by some unforeseen event, leaving him trapped… That could be him. It could be his panicked yowl the next leader-to-be heard as he received the nine lives that were supposed to be his. A shiver coursed down his spine, travelling all the way to the tip of his tail.

Shaken by the howl that had chilled him to the bone, he did not notice the change until the rocks at his paws suddenly became clearer and more visible. It was the next breath he took that alerted him to the sudden crispness of fresh air, and with a jolt, he noticed that what was once a narrow path had widened so that he could walk without his shoulders brushing the damp sides. Though not enough to truly put a strain on anyone, the ground had become inclined as well, sloping steadily upward as it lead toward, presumably, the surface. A narrow stream of water clung to the side of the path, its trickling breaking the eerie silence that had previously only been shattered by the occasional draft of wind. Unconsciously his strides became more confident as he took strength from the tiny bit of familiarity in an unfamiliar world. For a moment, as he stepped into the moonlit cavern housing the legendary Moon Tree, he looked the leader that he was about to become, with head held high and eyes glinting with determination.

And then it was gone with the next step. The tiny bit of comfort that he had derived from the sound of the stream did not last long, soon vanishing completely as something that could only be described as whispers – belonging to StarClan cats, dead cats – met his ears. Golden eyes flicked briefly to the ceiling of the hollow, where a hole in what was once solid stone let in enough moonlight to force him to blink and let his eyes adjust. It was the centerpiece, however, that soon drew his attention, as it doubtlessly had every other feline who had walked that narrow, winding path. Blindingly bright and glistening as though it was the sun, not the moon, which shone upon it, the Moon Tree was indescribable. The definition of otherworldly, its bark had somehow maintained the color of freshly fallen snow, an untouched, pure alabaster hue. With branches adorned with ice instead of leaves, it appeared strikingly out of place; as if someone had plucked it from a leaf-bare scene and discarded it in this prosaic cavern which seemed inexplicably dull in comparison. Equally pale, the roots disappeared into the rock, carving paths through what seemed otherwise unbreakable, a stark white against the dark stone.

As awestruck as the Moon Tree left him – the sight of it had caused him to halt, jaw falling slightly open as any trace of apprehension fled his mind – the tom’s anxiety was quick to return as the whispers around him grew in volume, seeming almost insistent. All of the wonder that had spread through his veins left as his sole being focused on the voices in his ears, their murmured words rivaling that of the tattoo of his rapidly pounding heart. Fighting the panic clawing at the edges of his mind at the undeniable proof of the supernatural, he searched wildly for a logical explanation. It was the wind, blowing in through the hole in the roof of the hollow; of course, but his fur remained untouched and unruffled, as he stood there, legs locked. Even as it came to the front of his consciousness, the fur along his side prickled and shifted, as if another feline had just brushed past him. Startled, he skittered to the side like the nervous deer that occasionally came to the riverside to drink. Wide eyes, having lost any hint of that noble leader they held upon stepping into the cavern, gazed around the hollow, peering into the pitch black shadows for any trace of another cat, even when sense told him that he would have known if he had been joined by a different feline. But he was not alone, not anymore. He was surrounded, encircled by cats of a different world than he, trapped like a rabbit with nowhere to run. These were dead cats around him, spirits of those who had died. The word rang in his ears, resounding, and his breaths became even shallower.

Almost as if sensing his trepidation, the sighing voices seemed to gain a soothing quality to them. The words they muttered were impossible to make out, but he found himself calming just enough to regain control over his scattered thoughts. He took a deep breath, wishing that it did not come out as shaken as it had. Swallowing, he mentally braced himself and took another step closer; for only a fraction of a moment he hesitated before taking a few more, afraid his nerve would soon fail him. This close to StarClan – or to something supernatural – it seemed impossible to lie to himself. The whispers grew in volume, though one was just as indistinguishable from the next. His heart raced, as if, he realized, it wanted to condense all of the heart beats he would have in his lifetime to the span of these moments. Another shiver, more violent than the past ones, coursed through his body, and eyes blinked rapidly, never resting on one spot for too long.

Wondering if he was becoming slightly hysterical, he noted that if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch the bark with his nose. What looked like ice from a distance actually was ice, he realized up close, and the part of his mind that had started a habit of noting pointless facts wondered if it resembled ice in more ways than one, if it was as cold and unforgiving as ice, too. In a sudden motion, spurred perhaps by a sudden desire to find the answer to one of his questions, he lurched forward, nose bumping rather harshly into a tree which, despite looking quite otherworldly and mystical, was in reality exceedingly solid. Barely registering the pain as something crashed over him upon contact with the glistening surface, he only had time to note, amid his panicked thoughts, that the tree was, in fact, very cold, before the world turned black.

- - -

I’m dead.

It took a few moments before awareness returned, and before he remembered that he had fully functional limbs under his control, he felt simply there, drifting idly in whatever existence he was in. For a few blissful moments, he simply was.

And then remembrance came crashing down upon him and he was buffeted to and fro by a tidal wave of powerful emotions, all fighting for his attention. The simplicity of being was swiped away by an unforgiving paw, and even as he reacquainted himself with his body and chaotic thoughts, panic ate at him once more. Dulled slightly by some supernatural force, it had to have been reigned in and controlled; else his heart would have stalled at the sight that met his eyes.

StarClan, for that was where he remembered he was supposed to end up, was not nearly as starry as one would think given the name. Predominately dark, it was as if he had never left the narrow passage in the cave. Though the sense of claustrophobia had diminished, shadows swirled around him, only visible due to the slightly different quality to them that set them apart from the solid background. But even as he peered at the solid wall of dark, it seemed to shift, morphing briefly into a shape that resembled something before, just as he realized what it was about to form, transforming into something else entirely. After a few moments studying this intriguing pattern, he realized with a jolt that the indistinguishable darkness surrounding him was in fact forming features.

Ever so slowly, a swirling shadow would settle like mist upon a stone, motionless but not – the specters within would remain in motion, unable to settle, but they would be confined to the shape of the object it was meant to resemble. As he became more aware of this fascinating process, it seemed to increase in speed. Eyes keenly picked out what seemed to be a tree line, familiar though he could not quite remember why. Above him, spots of light broke through the shadowy darkness, gradually growing brighter and chasing away the inky black. Soon enough, he recognized the Silver Pelt and the twinkling lights as stars, defiantly beating back the swirling gloom that threatened to overcome it. Panic was far from his mind as he watched the entire process, and idly he wondered when the terror coursing through his veins had given way to the complete and utter fascination he felt at watching this performance. It was not until he saw the tall, arching spires that he realized where he was, and only then did he realize that it should have been obvious from the start: StarClan’s Claws.

Even as he watched, the shadows beneath him formed the Great Rock, and he noticed with detached interest that while he appeared as though he were standing on its rough crown, the surface beneath his paws felt smooth, rather than uneven and imperfect. He could not flatten the fur prickling along his spine at the sheer alien quality to the whole sensation. Around him, the landscape had solidified into an uncanny replica of StarClan’s Claws, and the once-dim stars now shone as radiant and resplendent as ever – even more so than in reality. A full moon cast its silvery rays upon the scene, and where it was large enough to block out the stars in reality, it did not do so in this landscape, adding a touch of the mystical to the whole scene.

When it finally seemed as though the shadows had stilled and solidified into the surroundings, nine broke free from the rest, moving at a comfortable pace. Growing more defined with every step they took, these shadows soon took the forms of cats, pelts slowly becoming starry like every story described. Even though he could see their fur patterns through the stars, they were faint and hard to make out; only the eyes remained clear, a pair of glowing orbs floating eerily in a mass of semi-transparent stars.

The varying body size first alerted him as to who these cats were, three of whom were smaller than the rest, and despite having prepared himself with the knowledge that, since he was visiting StarClan he would see those dear to him, the sight of those long gone rattled him. Golden eyes raked the crowd of familiar faces, all of whom watched him with neutral expressions; even the youngest, who at four moons had never had such a controlled look cross their small features. His father, his sisters, Loudbreath – they all stood there, so close. It had been so long since he had last seen any of them, and he longed to step forward, to brush against them and breathe in their familiar scent. An ache formed in his heart as he forced himself to stand still. No one had told him that receiving his lives would be painful.

”Welcome, Sandstripe.” As one, they spoke, their voices blending together into a single sound, resounding through him. ”Are you ready to receive your nine lives?”

And if he wasn’t? If he said no, he was not ready to receive his nine lives? Suddenly, posed with a question that was undoubtedly intended to be rhetorical – for who would come this far only to decline? – the sheer enormity of the task and responsibility he was about to shoulder struck him once more. He would be the one in charge of the decisions regarding RainClan’s well-being. Just him. He could ask for help, for support, but in the end, it would be his decision alone that would affect the lives of all those beneath him in the hierarchy. He would be the one to blame if anything went wrong, if he led his clan into ruin. Was he ready to carry that responsibility?

Swallowing, he nodded, voice caught in his throat.

The first cat who stepped forward was one with whom he had known for so little time that the figure might as well have been part of a dream; despite the four moons he had known the tom, nothing could have driven the image of his father from his memory, imprinted as it had been in his young mind. Unable to prevent a smile from crossing his features, the warrior watched as the other tabby tom drew farther away from the group. Only when he saw Reedfur stand before him, tabby stripes faint against the stars, which glistened in the same way freshly fallen dew sparkled in the sunlight at dawn, did the golden feline realize how his perception of his father had been altered from a kit’s perspective. He remembered the striped tom as a fun, excitable warrior, infinitely tall and even though his mother might not have thought him the most responsible parent, the kit in him wanted nothing more than to run up to his father and curl up beside him.

”Hey, kiddo.” Reedfur’s voice was exactly as he remembered it, with his contagious energy barely contained in the warm tones, and he spoke those two words as if no time had passed, as if he were still a kit in RainClan’s nursery, bounding up to greet a father who had just returned from a patrol. He opened his mouth to respond in a similar greeting, but the words stuck in his throat; only after some effort did he manage a hoarse, broken, ”Father.” How was he to greet a cat whom he had loved and trusted with his life, only to have that trust shattered when Reedfur made that reckless decision that crushed his family?

Emotions swirled in his father’s dark eyes, a combination of regret and pride, visible when the tom stepped up to him. Not without some difficultly, Reedfur rested his nose atop his son’s head. In a strong voice far more sober than he ever remembered it, the striped tom murmured, ”With this life, I give you good judgment, so you may know when to take risks and not hesitate in doing so if the situation requires it. Don’t live in fear of repeating my mistakes.” Here, the spark in his eyes diminished somewhat, and as he stared down at his father’s paws, the golden warrior noted that the smile had fallen from his features.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sensation that flooded him the instant the brown, tabby tom’s voice had drifted away. His heart raced with the rush of surviving a near-death experience and living to tell the tale, and his breath came shallow with the thrill of breaking the rules, of the liberating feeling of being able to do whatever he wanted. Glee bubbled up within him, as strong as it was light, overwhelming in the face of a successful plan. And then, just as he thought he could handle the crashing waves of emotion, it all burst. Fear, primal and instinctive, charged in, and the tattoo of his heart sped up in response to a reaction from the other end of the spectrum. Instinct bade him to run, even as his legs locked in place. Someone was in danger – he had to rescue them! Relief, for the briefest of moments, before alarm, followed by panic, flashed through him. Despair of the strongest kind, belonging only to one who was abandoned in, perhaps, his time of greatest need, weighed heavily on his shoulders, and sides throbbing with non-existent wounds, he finally fled. Powerful sensations mingled and mixed in his consciousness: the bitter disappointment of a plan gone totally wrong, a fun adventure ending in tragedy, and incredible guilt and disgust at himself.

Gasping for breath, the younger tom raised golden eyes to meet the darker pair, a troubled look shining in their yellow depths. Silence fell as they studied each other, father and son watching the other, truly seeing the other, for the first time. Quietly, as if speaking above a soft whisper would destroy the fragile sympathy that had just passed between them, the warm voice added so only his son would hear, ”Learn from them.” Before he could summon the words to respond, his father backed away, rejoining the crowd of starry felines. Longing eyes watched his retreat, simultaneously eager to and reluctant to spend more time with the brown tabby who had wreaked so much havoc on his life.

A small shape split from the crowd, and the sight of Tinykit tore at his heartstrings. His younger sister, who had taken after his mother in size and appearance, had paid in the worst way possible for her innocent naivety and the instinctive trust they had all placed in their father. Attacked from the side by the mother beaver, she had died instantaneously, but the knowledge provided him with little comfort. In spite of the recent understanding he had gained of his father, rage flickered through him as he lowered himself to look his sister in the eye. Here was the little one whom Reedfur was supposed to have protected, whom he had promised to defend, even if doing so meant joining the ranks of StarClan. Bitterness seeped into his consciousness at his father’s failure, joining that heart-wrenching emotion so similar to despair.

When she touched noses with her older brother, however, the small she-cat seemed unbothered by the troubled thoughts that plagued the warrior as she smiled up at him, blissfully unaware. ”With this life, I give you acceptance.” Wisdom beyond her moons laced the young kit’s voice, hinting that she had long since made peace with the event that still troubled him. ”A life lived in the past is not a life worth living; learn to let go.”

The first few serene moments of tranquility lulled him into thinking that perhaps this life would be less taxing to receive than the rest. There was the expected peace of mind that came with moving on, its touch comforting and healing. Then, suddenly, a fierce fondness burned through him, incinerating the peacefulness that had clouded his consciousness. Biting and powerful, determination entered the mix soon after, and for what, exactly, he could not say – to not lose a friend over a petty quarrel, perhaps, or to overcome a traumatic experience, climb above and beyond all expectations and defeat the demons within.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the sensation vanished and the following absence of feeling left him empty and hollow. His mind strayed back to his father. Clearly, Tinykit had made amends with the tom who had led her to her premature end, and it seemed that she wanted him to do the same. Golden eyes watched as the small form drifted away, wondering when his litter sister had matured so much, or, perhaps, if she had always been thoughtful and he simply had not realized it before. She would have made RainClan proud.

Even though it did not come as a surprise when Heronkit stepped forward, the sight of his younger sister did little to soothe his raw heart. Perhaps there was a reason only select few wandered among StarClan in their dreams; meeting loved ones who had passed on tore open wounds that had scabbed over with time, leaving them bleeding and tender as if the death had occurred only a few days back. As he gazed at his sister and took in the signs of health that had been absent for the last day of her life, he could not deny the guilt that weighed heavily on his heart. In a way, he had also participated in Heronkit's death, for he had dared her to get close to the beaver dam, which in turn had disturbed the beavers that might have otherwise remained dormant. "I'm sorry." It came out ragged, and where he might have detested the way his voice broke in any other situation, it was ridiculously easy to lose the irritation in the waves of desperate guilt. He willed her to understand.

At the small nod she gave him, he felt the tension leave his body. Striped shoulders relaxed and a soft sigh escaped his maw. "With this life, I give you curiosity," Heronkit meowed, ears flicking and nose twitching as if there were a secret or some new wealth of knowledge that she could discover. He remembered that much about his sister, the way her eyes would light up at the prospect of exploring new areas. "There is always more that can be learned; it's just up to you to ask questions and figure it out."

He had braced in preparation for the rush of feeling that he knew would come once her nose made contact with his. A fierce desire for information dominated his consciousness, forcing other underlying sensations into the background. He wanted to know, to learn everything - and there was so much of it to discover. Urgency made itself known, for they all had limited time in the clans, and that seemed like it would not be enough for him to figure out the secrets of the world. Curiosity insisted that he investigate every strange smell or odd sound. Fear or worry at what he might find were nonexistent, his self-preservation instinct among those that were muted. These overwhelming emotions, unbeatable and insistent, were what had driven Heronkit to move closer to the beaver dam, and his foolish dare had only acted as a further incentive.

In the wake of his enlightenment, his sister gave him a brief smile before turning and bounding back to stand beside Tinykit. There, she turned and faced him once more, eyes as life-like as ever. He took in the sight of the three of them, his father and two sisters, perfectly at peace with themselves, their fates and each other. Something in his heart changed, as though a chapter he had been unaware of prolonging had finally been ended and he could fully turn the page instead of just glancing forward.

With a playful glint in her eyes, Cloverpaw grinned at him as she parted from the crowd. The part of him that was not completely overwhelmed by the entire ceremony had registered faint surprise at the sight of the apprentice who had drowned when he was still a kit. With their interactions limited, they had never formed a particularly strong friendship, but the absent-minded but well-meaning she-cat had always been pleasant company when she stopped by the nursery. He remembered how devastated her sister, Cinderpaw now Cinderfoot, had been at the sight of the small body, soaked to the bone. "With this life, I give you remembrance of carefree days," Cloverpaw spoke, leaning forward slightly as though they were planning a prank to pull on some unsuspecting elders. Her eyes shone brightly, and she seemed untroubled by the thoughts of her own death that traveled through his mind. "Take a step back from the stresses of leading a clan and relax, and most importantly, never forget what it's like to be young."

And suddenly, everything was lifted from his shoulders. The burden of guilt or worry for his clan - all of it vanished as if it were never there. The world had a glow to it that it had lacked in far too long, and he was filled with the elation that came only on a day when everything was perfect. High in the sky, the sun warmed his back, and sparkling rivers teemed with fish. He felt a faint desire to grow up, a distant urgency and apprehension at what was to come, but he was comforted with the knowledge that he did not have to grow up yet. There was still time, and the day was perfect, and he wanted to do nothing but lounge in the pleasant sunlight. He was completely relaxed, his mind blissfully at peace.

Then it was gone, ebbing away, and with a start, he opened his eyes, completely unaware that they had closed. Cloverpaw drew back, and a very familiar she-cat. Loudbreath, an elder whom he had befriended as an apprentice, stepped forward, appearing healthy as ever. Her fur shone with a youthfulness and her stride had a new spring in it that was more befitting of a feline of her personality than the hobbling limp that had characterized her movement during her old age. His last memory of her was of the two of them resting side-by-side, she on her deathbed and he nearing his prime, her familiar voice quiet, interrupted only by the rasping breaths for which she had been renamed, as she recounted tales of her apprenticeship and friends long gone. He had left to the sound of her even breaths, having waited until she fell asleep, and then left for his own nest. When he had returned, she was gone, her life extinguished even as she slept on, oblivious in its gentle embrace.

"You turned out handsomer than I thought you'd be," She greeted him, a touch of fondness in her voice. He snorted. "With this life, I hope to instill in you a lesson I have attempted to teach before: reconciliation with the knowledge that no one can avoid death." A chill traveled down his spine and the joy at seeing his old friend once more evaporated, leaving him with a cold feeling as though it had never existed. Ignoring the less than friendly look that had entered his gaze, she pressed on with the same stubbornness she had shown in life. "Accept the inevitable, and carry on for the rest of your days with peace in your heart. Don't try to fight a battle that can't be won."

She rested her chin on his head, then, and for the fleetest moment before sensation rushed in, fear twisted his heart at what would come. All of a sudden, he was old, his body frail and his breathing weak as he took his final breaths, but he was also young, similarly helpless as he felt unforgiving jaws close in around his consciousness. Something enveloped him, smothering him in layers and layers, inescapable even as he tore at it in a panic. His lungs strained for air, the intense burning rivaled only by his empty stomach that ached and begged for something to fill it. Claws ripped at his sides and warmth – blood, he realized with a jolt – spread over him as the thudding of his heart grew in volume until it became deafening. Just as he thought the combined feelings would overwhelm him, it all stopped, giving way to a conspicuous emptiness. He felt nothing, sensed nothing. It was as if everything around him had disappeared, and he was all that was left in an existence of nothingness. At that thought, everything and nothing at all seemed to close in around him and become thicker - inescapable. Was this death?

By the time he had stopped trembling enough from the aftershock of that life, Loudbreath had rejoined the ranks of StarClan cats standing before him. In her place stood a young tom whose death had been a result of a beaver incident eerily similar to that which had taken the lives of his sisters. Appleclaw had received his warrior name as he died, fading in and out of consciousness in the medicine cat's den. Here, however, the feverish look in his eyes had vanished and the combined stench of herbs and infection was nonexistent; this was the young tom before he and his friends had gone exploring. His first apprentice, Rabbitleap, would have found comfort in seeing her brother standing before him, that perpetual smile stretching across his features. "With this life," He started, taking a step forward before continuing, "I give you the ability to take criticism well. Take what may be intended to wound and learn from it."

When their noses touched, he felt his blood rush to his face in embarrassment as he flushed and fought the desire to shrink back. Unbidden, he reminded himself that nothing was personal, but he still could not bring himself to meet anyone's gaze. Mortification caused his fur to prickle as if someone had just pointed out a particularly stupid oversight, joined by an urge to defend his actions. Then, seeming to sense the way he wanted to hide under a rock and never come out, it all disappeared. In its place a quiet confidence was born, and the embarrassment that once seemed overpowering became manageable, easier to brush aside. He could focus on how to prevent the same situation from happening again.

Bramblefang stepped forward next, his tabby pelt as meticulously groomed as ever. The broad-shouldered senior warrior had fallen through a patch of thin ice on the river while trying to rescue a pair of kits who had managed to escape their mother’s watchful eye, and even though he had hardly known the older tom, he had been just as devastated as the rest of the clan at the loss of such a noble tom. In the deep voice he remembered, the StarClan tom intoned, ”With this life, I give you compassion. Use it to help others in need, even at the risk of your own life.” Without hesitating, he smoothly stepped forward, resting his chin on his shoulder.

The amount of pain he felt in his heart surprised him, for he had expected the warmth and love similar to what he had felt with Cloverpaw’s life. It was a world full of harsh realities, and as much as he wanted to, he could not offer assistance to everyone who needed it; it was for those who were out of his reach that his heart was pained. There was the fierce, selfless desire to help others in need that had driven the tom out on the ice, even though he was perfectly aware of the surface’s fragility and weakness, and the prospect sitting on the sidelines, watching but safe, had never sat well with him. An underlying urgency caught his attention, as if time was running out and he needed to act now to save lives. He felt ice cracking beneath his paws, and terror flash through him, his instinct causing him to throw himself forward. At the last minute, clarity filled his horrified mind, and before he slipped into the cold, he felt peace fill him – the kits were safe, and that was all that mattered.

Golden eyes stared at the senior warrior with a newfound respect, their gaze far steadier than he felt. Bramblefang returned the look with a slight nod and moved back, where RainClan’s most recent deputy took his place. It was rare that a clan lost both their leader and deputy at the same time, but the flood that had claimed both Amberblaze’s and Deadstar’s lives had been far from a minor event. At the sight of the familiar she-cat, he could not help but remember the waves of water that had crashed through the territory, washing away everything they could reach. A shiver traveled down his spine, and as the she-cat stopped before him, he ducked his head in a respectful nod.

”Amberblaze.” He received a slight inclination of the head and a faint smile in return. The tawny she-cat, who had gained the clan’s respect through her maturity and sensibility at such a young age, offered no pleasantries but continued firmly, ”With this life, I give you trust in yourself.” It made sense coming from her, he thought, unable to deny the flicker of amusement at how fitting it was that she give him this life. Amberblaze had also set a good example for kits with the way she had trusted others, always preferring to give them the benefit of doubt instead of leaping to conclusions. Debatably, the outlook was a naïve one, but it was a quality he had always appreciated about their young deputy, even if it was one that he did not share. ”There will always be those who disagree with you and your actions; learn when to stop and listen to them and when to simply trust your instincts. And however you act, do so with conviction.”

First and foremost, defiance flooded him as she reached up and touched his nose, and his heart thudded with a refusal to back down and give in to those who simply wanted to see him rattled and doubt himself. Even as he named the sensation, he felt it ebb away, soon replaced by the solid confidence and peace of mind that came with utter certainty that he was making the right decision. There was the delicacy of trust, somehow portrayed in the slight worry that fractured what would otherwise have been a solid wall of certainty that the other would follow through with his or her word. The warm fondness that resulted from his faith in others rushed in soon after, serving to further convince him that he could place confidence in those around him.

And then it was gone, and he turned to the last cat, recognizable by his twisted jaw if nothing else. Gold eyes met their duller counterparts, and it struck a chord in the striped tom to see the large midnight feline before him return his nod with an equally deep gesture, one of equals. Before him was the tom whose legacy he would have to live up to, who had supplied him with a sense of continuity for most of his life; even if he had never gotten to know Deadstar as a cat, he could hardly remember a time when the black feline had not been leader. The thought that such a steady figure was now gone, standing before him with stars in his pelt, sent the same jolt through him that he had felt when they had collected the leader’s lifeless, soaked body from the banks of the river. Never had their infallible leader looked so mortal than he had laying there, unmoving.

The twisted jaw moved and calm words spilled out, mirroring those that the rest had spoken to him. ”With this life, I give you composure, so that you may lead the clan through all of the trials and tribulations of harsh times with the same grace with which you will lead them through the good. Use it to provide support for RainClan, for if the leader falls, who else can they place their confidence in? He hardly felt the pressure of the other tom’s chin on his head before his last life burnt through him with a ferocity rivaling all the rest.

An all-consuming need to keep his expression even, to consider the situation with a seemingly impossible calm at all costs overwhelmed all other thoughts. Lives depended on his ability to keep a level head, and the awareness of such a fact returned wave after wave. Others watched his actions, unknowingly took cues from how he reacted to various events and let it affect how they responded in turn. The difference between a calm leader and an agitated one could mean the difference between a panicking group of cats and those under control and capable of thought. He would accept defeat and criticism with the poise that he expected his warriors to display when placed in the same situation, for he could hardly ask them to do so if he would rant and rage himself. There was quiet pride in the rush of emotion that came with this life, both in himself and in his clan.

Straightening up and raising his chin, he let the dying sensation of that quiet pride linger in his mind, holding onto it and storing it away. That was the pride of a leader when he gazed over his clan’s upturned faces every time he called a clan meeting or addressed them atop Great Rock during Gatherings. It made him proud to be a part of RainClan.

”I hail you by your new name, Sandstar.” In the time he had taken to bask in the remaining traces of such subtle dignity, Deadstar had rejoined the row of felines before him, and as one, they stepped forward. Their voices had the same unnatural quality of simultaneously belonging to many cats and a single cat as they had at the start of the ceremony, but that hardly distracted him from the sound of his new name. That which had simply been a farfetched dream, spawned and only seriously considered as a kit, had somehow, miraculously come true. Sandstar, leader of RainClan. ”Your old life is no more. You have now received the nine lives of a leader, and StarClan grants you the guardianship of RainClan.” Golden eyes, bright with emotion and anticipation, stared at the cats before him, resting momentarily on each one. The words resounded through him, and he felt them with every fiber of his being. ”Defend it well; care for young and old; honor your ancestors and the traditions of the warrior code; live each life with pride and dignity.”

I will.

As though he were back in camp, surrounded by peers of flesh and bone rather than those with stars in their fur, they chanted his new name, their voices rising together and mingling in the air. ”Sandstar! Sandstar! Sandstar!” Unable to do anything else, he merely stood back and let the sensations wash over him in turn, briefly examining each before discarding it for the next. Strength and pride raced through his veins, and for the first time since Swanfeather had made the announcement that had changed his life forever, he truly felt like a leader.

Even as they cheered, their fur became less vivid. The stars dimmed, fading before him as if the night was ending and they were being chased away by the sunlight of a new day. As he watched, frozen in place by conflicting emotions, exuberant at his own ceremony but stricken with the knowledge that they were leaving, their solid forms became outlines, barely visible in the swirling black mist that had started to leak from their containers. Golden eyes found the departing figures of his sisters and his father, Loudbreath, Appleclaw. There was so much he wanted to tell them, to ask them. There hadn’t been enough time. He had just seen them again, just been reunited only to be torn from them again. It hurt.

As if sensing his agitation, one of the small forms of his sisters – Tinykit, he realized – turned and looked back at him. A broad smile crossed her face and she waved her tail once at him. Just as the swirling shadows swallowed her up, he caught one last glimpse of her, turning and bounding to catch up with Heronkit and Reedfur, who had stopped to wait for her. The significance was clear to him as he remembered the life she had given: acceptance. He had his own life to live and now a clan to lead and they were at peace with StarClan. And, even if they were no longer with him physically, they were still there, for they would never truly leave him.

- - -

It was full of a serenity born of that reassurance that he woke, crumpled in an undignified heap, at the roots of the Moon Tree.

With stiff muscles that complained with the motion, he rose to his paws, stretching and reacquainting himself with his sore body. After flexing his claws and rubbing his sore nose, he looked around, and upon seeing the cavern in a new light, he realized that it did not appear as ominous as it had before the ceremony. Through the hole in the ceiling above his head, the streaks of pink across a lightening sky alerted him to the dawning of a new day. He flicked an ear and started across the hollow, understanding that he could not linger long. There was a clan that waited for their new leader.

Even though the walls still closed in on him and the air just as stale as before, the walk back through the tunnel did not seem as long as it had on the trip there. Before he knew it, the crack in the stone appeared in front of him, beckoning to him with promises of fresh air and new beginnings. Without his consent, his paws stalled, drawing him to a halt in the shadows just inside the entrance, still out of sight of the patrol of cats he knew were waiting for him. There, he took a moment to compose himself, closing his eyes as he worked to collect his thoughts. RainClan needed a leader capable of reasoning, not one whose mind was still clouded by memories of his entire ceremony.

He took a breath and opened his eyes, golden gaze falling on the opening. He was ready. Straightening his shoulders and raising his head, Sandstar stepped through the opening and welcomed the next chapter of his life with every bit of dignity befitting of the next leader of RainClan.



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