Hello, I am -wolfsschatten and I posted this story on Wattpad, DeviantART and Belletristica. If you read it anywhere else, it's stolen! (Looking at you, novelhd and doc truyen! You dirty thieves!)

Read the original here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/-wolfsschatten

or here: https://belletristica.com/de/users/13320-leafbare-has-come#profile

or here: https://www.deviantart.com/xwolfsschatten/art/Warrior-Cats-A-Crescent-Moon-Night-939600932

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It's the first time I dip my toes into the waters of the international warriors-fandom! :D

I translated one of my old short stories. English isn't my native language, so I hope it doesn't read too wonky. Enjoy :3

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Whenever Wolfsong closed her eyes, she saw it again: the six rocks of the stone-circle had cast long shadows in the blood-red light of the sinking sun. The sacred place of the Great Assembly, the heart of the forest. Up to here, the rogues had already pushed the clans back.

"You have fought valiantly for many moons, Cats of the Forest. The Sharpclaws respect bravery, so we will spare your lives. If you leave within three days, we will let you go in peace. If not, we will exterminate you," Attila's voice had been as cold as ice and as cutting as the wind in leaf-bare when he had made his offer to the clans.

Now the ultimatum had passed. The six rocks shimmered white in the moonlight, a starry sea of cat eyes washing around them. The wind blew through the treetops, rustling the leaves, and the clear night smelled of the frost that had silenced the last crickets. The song of greenleaf was over. The silence screamed.

Wolfsong felt her apprentice Blazepaw press against her, trembling. He was eight moons old. Eight moons young. At his age, Wolfsong had killed for the first time. Encouragingly, she flicked her tail against his shoulder, then let her gaze wander over the crowd of warriors present. Defenders of their homeland. Six clans, united as one, as in the legends of the ancient times. Wolfsong's comrade-in-arms, Shadowchant, nodded to her as their eyes met. Determination burned in her littermate Silverrain's green eyes, but her claws, kneading the earth, gave away her tension. Wolfsong's ear twitched - a rustle!

A large, red tabby emerged from the darkness. Attila! He leapt elegantly from the lowest branch of an elm tree, stopping just a few cat-lengths in front of the clans and appraising them before a disdainful smile flitted across his face and made his whiskers twitch. Confident of victory. The moonlight ran cold down the sharp teeth that adorned his collar. A flick of his tail was the silent signal, whereupon the shadows of the forest suddenly came to life.

Rogues rushed at the forest-cats from all sides, like an avalanche rolling in. Within a breath, the silence had given way to deafening battle noise. Snarling, a shaggy she-cat pounced on Wolfsong. She shifted her weight to her hind legs, intercepted the rogue and dug her claws into her flanks, wrestling her down. But before Wolfsong could sink her teeth into her unprotected throat, the weight of a powerful tomcat hit her from the side with such force that she was swept off her paws. The impact squeezed the air from her lungs, but pain was a part of a warrior's life - it did not paralyze her. 

She sank her claws into his front legs and mauled his belly with her hind paws. When he tried to bite her neck, her teeth tore open his sensitive nose. Cursing, he backed away, giving her a heartbeat of space - enough time to wriggle out of his grip and leap back onto her paws. She sprang forward like a viper, tasting the first blood of this battle. 

Snarling, the two combatants rolled across the ground, leaving behind scraps of fur and red-speckled foliage. When they separated moments later, both had deep scratches. Their flanks rose and fell quickly and violently. Wolfsong's silver-gray eyes burned with the spirit of a warrior, but the fire in her opponent's amber eyes was far from extinguished either. 

He indicated a blow with his right, but the warrior recognized his feint. She dove under the blow with a battle cry, ramming the tom with all her might and knocking him off balance with this unexpected counterattack. But before she could follow up, she saw a shadow in the corner of her eye. She ducked to avoid the sneak-attack of a black she-cat, but in doing so, she gave the stumbling cat in front of her the opportunity to regain his footing. Now Wolfsong was facing two opponents. Her pupils jumped back and forth between the small black she-cat and the massive white tom. While Wolfsong dodged his clawed blows, the small she-cat bit her ear. Quick-witted, the warrior dropped down on top of her, knowing that she was bigger and heavier. She heard the rogue gasp for air, keeping the tom - lying on her side - at a distance with whirling claws, when suddenly someone pulled her by the tail. Pain shot up her spine. Reflexively, Wolfsong kicked the tabby cat behind her in the face, causing his jaw to drop open. Freed, she braced herself, yowling angrily, "Three against one? Cowards!"

"Tell it to the stars," the white tom laughed maliciously, dragging his claws across her face. Those were his last words, as unfazed, Wolfsong leapt toward him and slammed her fang into his throat. The force of the impact jerked his head back, and the warrior heard gristle crack between her teeth. Lifeless, the rogue collapsed. Wolfsong spat out and blinked strained. Blood from her torn ear and from the wounds on her forehead ran into her eyes, blinding her. So she didn't see the blow coming that tore open her flank. 

She wheeled around, her claws meeting resistance, and finally the red mist that had shrouded her vision cleared. The black female might have been small and skinny, but her agility made her a dangerous opponent. Therefore, Wolfsong was relieved when her brother-in-arms, Shadowchant, snarled and stepped to her side, preventing the other opponent from falling into her back. Thus, she could devote all her concentration to the she-cat, who nimbly dodged her paw strikes again and again. 

After the warrior had managed to knock her to the ground one more time, the rogue finally gave up and fled into the darkness between the trees from which she had emerged, while Shadowchant struck down the tabby tom. But the small victory gave them both no respite, for suddenly something reached Wolfsong's ears that froze her heart. It was not the deep rumble of a warrior, not a powerful battle cry, nor the angry groan of an injured warrior, but the shrill screech of a wounded cat who knew he was going to die. It was Blazepaw.

Shadowchant saw the terror in Wolfsong's face and understood immediately. She dashed ahead, he followed. For endless heartbeats they fought their way through the turmoil of battle like through deep mire, wrestling down those cats who stood in their way, until they finally reached the two rogues, who were laughing and tearing at Blazepaw's body like crows at a carcass - and there was just as little he could do against them. 

Shadowchant grabbed one of them by the scruff of the neck and flung him off, Wolfsong dragged the other off her apprentice. Snarling, she let the dirty stray feel her claws, whereupon he wheeled around and snapped at her face. Clicking, his teeth met - hers, on the other hand, found their target. With his throat torn open, the rogue collapsed, dying before he could even close his eyelids. Wolfsong paused above him for a few heartbeats. The battlefield spun around her as she rose. As she walked toward Blazepaw, she faltered briefly, but then caught herself again. She couldn't allow any weakness now; her apprentice needed her. 

Wolfsong's fur bristled as she bent over Blazepaw, who was curled up whimpering in the bloodstained leaves, ears flat against his head, eyes wide and frantic with fear. Round blackness with a thin rim of gold. Solar eclipse.

"Please," he gasped in a thin voice, breathless, "Don't. Don't. Please don't."

Wolfsong ran a tender stroke over his dirty cheek, "Shhh, Blazepaw, don't be afraid, I'm with you!"

"Wolfsong," he sighed weakly, "I don't want to die..."

He turned his face to her, but his gaze appeared unfocused, clouded by the first shadows of death. Insistently meowing the words she too wanted to believe herself, the warrior nudged his shoulder, "You'll be fine, Blazepaw! Come on, we'll take you to Dawfeather. Can you get up?"

With quivering flanks and shaking paws, he tried to stand up, but his legs buckled out from under him.

"I'll carry you," Shadowchant volunteered, crouching down beside the apprentice so Wolfsong could hoist him onto his broad shoulders. At first she tried to lift Blazepaw up by his neck fur, but found only a red ruin there. Desperately, she searched for a spot on the apprentice's battered body that wasn't injured. Finally, she pulled him by the tail onto the back of her comrade-in-arms. Slowly, he pushed himself up, but then froze in his movement.

"Wolfsong, watch out!" shouted Shadowchant, pointing behind her, but it was too late. Wolfsong fell. Sharp pain. The ugly grimace of a rogue, his bared fang shooting down on her - that was the last thing she saw before the mercy of darkness descended upon her. The song of greenleaf was over, the sound of battle silenced. Wolfsong fell further into the darkness. Nightfall. The crescent moon stood high in the cloudless sky, in which countless stars twinkled - the silver-fleece. The mountain-forest lay in silence below. Not the tense silence of the gathering storm, not the sepulchral silence after battle, but peace. For the first time in Wolfsong's life, there was peace here. 

She stood up and ran in wide leaps towards camp to tell her clan the good news, to tell her cats that they no longer had to be afraid, that they could finally sleep without worry and that their kittens could grow up in peace. But as she stepped through the bramble-tunnel, she stumbled. The camp was busy, but it was not StormClan that populated it. Cats shared prey and tongues; kittens tussled. They all had stars in their fur. The realization hit Wolfsong like a slap in the face. I am dead. I'm with StarClan.

"Wolfsong," a she-cat's warm voice rang out, "you've grown so much!"

The warrior looked into the face of a brown tabby with midnight blue eyes. Tigerlily. Her mother. The memory was distant and blurred, but she recognized her by her scent. Wolfsong pressed her nose into her soft fur, too overwhelmed to speak. As her mother ran her tongue over her forehead, the warm security she had never felt again after leaving the nursery enveloped her.

"Look, Stonefang, our daughter has become such a strong warrior," she purred proudly, addressing a gray tabby. He smiled, his silver-gray eyes flashing mischievously, "I expected nothing less!"

Wolfsong had never met her father face to face, for he had been killed in battle while she was still at the teat - too young to remember. Now, as she faced him, she realized she had his eyes. Lovingly, he nudged her, "It was wonderful to meet you. Thank you for your visit. But now you must return to Dawfeather before he worries too much about you. Say hello to your sisters for us and tell Mountainstar thank you for protecting and raising you as if you were his own flesh and blood. Now follow the crescent moon, daughter. It will guide you back to life."

Before Wolfsong could say anything back, her parents and all the starcats around her faded away. Darkness returned and a cold breeze brought with it the smell of snow. Snowfall. The flakes danced in the darkness, the light of the crescent moon alone pointing the way back to the druid's den for Wolfsong.

Leafbare had come. Cold clung to Wolfsong's fur, making her shiver pathetically, while thirst burned in her throat. The warrior opened her eyelids a crack, but immediately squeezed them shut again, blinded by the bright light. She groaned, every muscle in her body aching. The air was filled with the smell of blood and herbs.

"StarClan be thanked!" a tomcat's voice rang out, dark and soft, "Wolfsong, are you awake?"

Dawfeather? Instead of an answer, only a hoarse croak came from her raw throat.

"Drink," the druid commanded, putting something wet to her lips, "You've lost a lot of blood."

Wolfsong scented the earthy fragrance of moss, wetting her palate with the taste of the forest as she was drinking greedily. Blinking, she opened her eyes, looked around. In each nest of the druid's den lay a cat, in some even two. At this sight, Wolfsong was not surprised that Dawfeather looked exhausted and aged. His long black fur was ruffled, his muzzle silver-gray, his pale-yellow eyes dark and tired. With heavy steps he trotted deeper into the den, into the darkness behind the moss curtain. Wolfsong, meanwhile, searched the sick-nests with her gaze and growing apprehension. Then Dawfeather returned with a packet of herbs in his mouth and shoved it under her nose, "Here, this will help your healing. Take some poppy seeds for the pain, too."

"Hardly back from StarClan you already get stuffed with bitter greens," Wolfsong joked between bites, "Maybe I should pass out again quickly before you think of more."

Dawfeather smiled tiredly, "The poppy seeds take care of that. I always fetch some of them if my patients complain too much."

Wolfsong smirked, but her smile died in the same heartbeat.

"Blazepaw isn't here," she noted anxiously.

Dawfeather shook his head, placing his paw on hers. "He didn't make it. His wounds were too severe."

Wolfsong lowered her gaze, biting her lower lip. He was eight moons old. Had been. Eight moons young. She should not have let this happen. She ... should have ... protected him. She ... her head sank onto the soft nesting material, heavy with poppy seeds and exhaustion. Warm darkness enveloped her - forever, please. Dreamless and merciful.

When Wolfsong awoke again, she was greeted by the soft pink light of a young leaf-fall morning. From her nest, she could see that StormClan's camp lay in thick fog. She listened to Jayflight's soft snoring and the hoarse call of a raven in the distance as she waited for the sun to rise and for Dawfeather to leave his sleeping place behind the moss curtain to tend to the wounded with water and herbs. As far as her wounds would allow, Wolfsong cleaned her blue-gray fur and carefully nibbled out the crusts of blood and soil. The dream images that had spared her during the night now forced themselves relentlessly into her consciousness. The solar eclipse in Blazepaw's eyes. His shrieking cries would echo in her soul for a long time, she felt. So many cats had lost their lives in the last few moons, not a few due to her fang. Though Wolfsong had already seen the starcats, too, she was still here now. Breathing. Alive. Why was she able to return while Blazepaw remained dead? There was a rustling behind the moss curtain, which parted a little later when Dawfeather stepped through it. The black tom with the gray ruff arched his back, then stretched and opened his mouth in a huge yawn so that Wolfsong could see even his back teeth.

"Good morning," he meowed to her in a hushed voice, careful not to wake the sleeping cats. She returned the greeting, blinking both eyes at him.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired in a whisper.

Like a pathetic piece of crow food that couldn't protect her apprentice.

"A little better," Wolfsong replied.

"Pain?"

"A tad."

"I'll bring you something for that in a minute. Let me see how your wounds are doing," the druid purred softly, carefully inspecting the scratches on her forehead.

Wolfsong asked, "How can you tell if a wound is healing well or is infected?"

"An infected wound hurts throbbing," he explained, "It's hot, swollen, and red. But yours look fine. They are dry and don't smell. I'll get you something to drink now, and then you can get up for a minute, all right?"

The warrior nodded. "Thank you, Dawfeather."

The sun dispelled the mist as it rose higher, flooding the druid's den with golden light. The treetops were already turning a deep crimson like the river of cat's blood that was shed within the past few moons. Wolfsong's clanmates had fallen like leaves. The golden foliage churned and soaked with Blazepaw's blood. The silence rang in Wolfsong's ears. She gritted her teeth and turned around in her nest, commanding herself to doze on and enjoy the last warmth of leaffall before the frost claws of leafbare finally preyed on the mountain forest. Then suddenly voices woke her from her slumber.

"Wolfsong!" meowed her littermate Fogshine as she ran toward her with her tail raised steeply, "I'm glad you're feeling better! We've been worried sick about you!"

Silverrain entered the druid's den after the dark gray she-cat. Limping and with a few scratches, but otherwise unharmed, and with a fat blackbird in her mouth. "Here, you must be starving already!"

Wolfsong purred, "Thank you so much! I'm glad to see you well! Will you tell me about the battle? Since we obviously weren't exterminated, I'm going to assume we won. But what exactly happened?"

"At first it looked really bad," Silverrain told her, her voice almost rolling over at this and her green eyes blazing, "But the fortunes of war turned abruptly after Battlecry got Attila. Imagine that! A warrior from our clan finished off the terrible Attila! Then when those dishonorable rogues saw that their leader was dead, they scattered like a flock of sparrows."

"Silverrain always knew Battlecry was a very special cat," Fogshine teased. Wolfsong snorted abruptly, a piece of prey falling out of her mouth. Silverrain's ears turned bright red, her mouth dropped open in indignation, but then she had to laugh herself. Stonefang's mischievous smile, Wolfsong noticed. She paused, wistfulness creeping back into her heart. She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.

"What's bothering you?" inquired Fogshine, her head tilted, "Are you in pain?"

Wolfsong sighed and shook her head.

"Is it ... because of Blazepaw?" asked Silverrain cautiously.

Sharp pain. Regret struck the deepest wounds. Eight moons young. Wolfsong bit her lower lip and dug her claws into the nesting material. The claws that had hurt so many cats.

"This is my fault," she blamed herself, her voice sounding dull and hollow, lifeless, "I shouldn't have let him go into that battle. He was only eight moons old."

She had been eight moons old when she had first killed. Tenderly, Silverrain began to groom her. Wolfsong pressed her face into her littermate's silver-gray fur.

"I...," Wolfsong searched for words, "I didn't think. I didn't question it."

"Don't blame yourself so much," Fogshine meowed, "His littermate Firepaw fought in that battle, too."

"You can be proud of your apprentice, Sister," Silverrain looked her firmly in the eye, "Blazepaw died for his Clan - the death of a warrior. There is no greater honor. I also persuaded Mountainstar to give him a warrior name for it - now he's called Blazeheart. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Nice," echoed Wolfsong faintly. It's just too bad he won't have any benefit of being a warrior now. No one will ever call him by his new name. He'll never put a partridge on the fresh-prey pile and hear "Well done, Blazeheart" in return. Wolfsong stifled the anger that welled up inside her. Silverrain had meant well, had wanted to comfort her. There was no doubt that she believed her words herself. But to Wolfsong's ears it sounded cynical. The silence stretched for endless heartbeats, oppressive as the air before a thunderstorm. Wolfsong ran her tongue over her chest fur. Embarrassed, knowing that what she was about to say sounded completely insane, "I died in that battle."

Fogshine flicked her tail against her shoulder, "But Wolfsong! Now you're getting carried away."

"No, I mean, I've been to StarClan. Really!" she meowed quickly, "That's where I met our parents, and Father told me to greet you and follow the Crescent Moon."

Fogschine frowned, skepticism in her gaze. Silverrain, on the other hand, looked at Wolfsong from round eyes, mouth open - wondering like a kitten listening to the stories of the elders.

"And," Silverrain whispered almost reverently, "are you touched by the stars now, too?"

"Too?" asked Wolfsong.

Her litter sister gasped, "Uh - like the legendary Falconstar!? You know the stories!"

Fogshine shook her head, wrinkling her nose, "It's just a story you tell the kittens. Nothing more than that."

"No, it's the truth!" hissed Silverrain.

Wolfsong blinked placatingly and purred, "Well, I don't feel any different now than I did before, so I don't think I got any powerful gift. But it was nice to meet our parents. Mother is even prettier than I remembered her. And Silverrain - you have Father's smile. He grins just as mischievously!"

The deafening noise of battle. The metallic taste of blood. The acrid stench of fear and death. The shadows of the forest had come to life, and they pounced on her, on her clan that Wolfsong could not protect. The shrieking screams. Coldly, the light of the crescent moon ran down Attila's spiked collar. His fang shot down upon her. The melody of battle died away. Wolfsong awoke panting in a churned-up nest, her pawpads wet with sweat. Darkness enveloped her, rustling leaves in the distance. Nightmares. Wolfsong groomed herself and purred softly to calm herself, but the night terrors stuck to her fur like honey and the images did not fade away. The battle continued to rage in her mind. Blazepaw - Blazeheart writhed screeching in his blood, eyes wide, mad with pain and fear. There is no greater honor.

The sunruns flowed into each other. The days: food, herbs, boredom. Nightmares at night. Then all over again. Slowly the nests of the druid's den emptied and Dawfeather had more time to talk: "This is chervil. Its juice helps with infected wounds and relieves pain. A mush made from horsetail serves the same purpose - you can smear it on your injuries, but you can also take it to stimulate blood formation and healing. Yes, in your herbal package I have therefore packed field horsetail, after all, you have lost a lot of blood."

Wolfsong listened fascinated and sniffed at the plant with the small white flowers. Chervil smelled sweet, lovely. She liked that.

"Have a look at Jayflight's wounds," Dawfeather instructed her, "What do you see and what does it mean?"

"Don't say anything wrong now!" joked the gaunt, blue-gray tom with the graying muzzle, who was not only Deputy but also Wolfsong's great-uncle.

Her whiskers twitched in amusement. She judged, "They are dry, clean and scabbed over. So, they are not infected and are healing well."

The druid nodded in agreement, a purr rumbling in his gray throat, "Very good. What would be signs of inflammation then?"

"Swelling, redness, throbbing pain," she enumerated, "and heat."

"You're a really fast learner. Impressive," Dawfeather praised her. He tucked his bushy tail neatly over his paws and eyed Wolfsong thoughtfully out of his pale-yellow eyes.

"You know, Wolfsong," he began, "Now that Ashpaw is no longer here, I've got my paws full, plus I'll need a new successor soon - after all, I'm not the youngest anymore, and I notice that my work is getting more tedious with each moon."

Sadness shifted over Wolfsong's mind like a cloud in front of the sun. It was true, Dawfeather had already lost an apprentice, too. Also at the hands of the ghastly rogues who hadn't cared that the young tom had only been a harmless healer in search of herbs. She pushed the thought away and focused again on Dawfeather's dark voice.

"Actually, I had pinned my hopes on Lightsoul's litter, but I'd rather not have to wait to see if one of her kittens might show an interest in healing. You seem to have not only the necessary skills, but also the enthusiasm for it. It doesn't happen very often that an adult warrior takes the druids' path, but it is possible, and it does happen. So, I ask you: Would you like to become my apprentice?"

Wolfsong licked her muzzle, pondering as she let her gaze wander through the druid's den. The moss nests, the dried herbs that gave off a heavy, spicy scent. Tending wounds, watching over the sick, bringing them medicine and water. Even at night. Did she want to choose this life? The life of a medicine cat? She remembered her apprentice days. Training together and hunting with her litter sisters - three hearts, one soul. All the work, the diligence, the pride when she had gotten her warrior name.

"You're taking one of our best warriors away from us right now," Jayflight pointed out, not without reproach in his gruff voice. Wolfsong thought of how the battle had raged around her. The blood that had run into her eyes, down her face, everywhere. Her claws had brutally torn the skin of other cats, her fang had given many a gruesome death. She looked firmly into Jayflight's blue eyes, her voice calm and unruffled: "I have fought many battles and killed many enemies so that StormClan can live in peace again. The war is over now and I am tired of fighting. I do not regret my past, but my future belongs to healing. In this way, too, I am doing the clan a vital service."

Wolfsong turned to the long-haired black tom, bowing her head to him, "I would be honored to be your apprentice, Dawfeather."

He smiled. Jayflight nodded, "Very well, I understand. If that is your path, Wolfsong, then I will not block it. A clan without a druid cannot survive for long, that is true. I would have liked to see you in my place as deputy when I move to the elders' den, though. You would have made a great Jarl. You have a few moons left if you change your mind. I won't step down until after leafbare."

"Thank you, Jayflight," purred Wolfsong, "But I'm sure."

Sleepless, Wolfsong lay in her nest. In this night, too. Yesterday it had been nightmares, today the thoughts. Shadowchant had accepted it, but he had been hurt, Wolfsong had seen that. His pain was hers, too.

"What will become of us? We were going to start a family when the war was over," he had lamented, his tufted ears set, uncomprehending sadness in the amber-gold eyes Wolfsong had always loved to be lost in. Time-lost nights of hunting together. They had often talked until sunrise. Wolfsong had rubbed her cheek against his, perhaps for the last time. It would have been a lie if she had claimed it was easy for her. Her heart was as broken as his. She loved Shadowchant, would always love him. But a druid was not allowed to have a mate, not allowed to have kittens - her whole life was now dedicated to her duty. The thoughts of a druid were only allowed to turn around the herbs, in her heart only the stars were allowed to shine. Wolfsong rested her chin on her battle-scarred forelegs and let herself sink into the dark battlefield of her dreams. Her enemies had already bared their claws and teeth. They were waiting for their thousandth fight with her - for their thousandth death. Did Wolfsong have too much violence in her mind to see the stars in her dreams?

In the morning, hoarfrost covered the mountain forest, glistening on grasses and the edges of golden-red leaves. Frozen in cold. The snow on the glacier and the ancestral peak moved further down the valley from sunrun to sunrun, had already reached the pine trees. Here in the mountains, the leaffall lasted only a short time, chased away by the ice wind. Leaning in the entrance to the druid's den, Wolfsong looked out into the camp and watched as the night guards were just dismissed and disappeared into the warrior's den. For many, the night watch was a disliked task, but Wolfsong had loved the quiet of the sleeping forest. Whispered conversations or listening to the silence. Until the first light appeared on the horizon, flooding the forest with gold. Wolfsong wondered if word of her decision had already spread. She straightened her shoulders and went off to fetch water for the last of the wounded, making Dawfeather's job a little easier. The tall she-cat's breath formed clouds in the cold, and she only now realized that her blue-gray fur had already turned into a dense leafbare-pelt.

After tending to the wounded, Wolfsong curled up in her nest again, exhausted from the nightmares and still weakened from her injuries. Once again, she was awakened by her littersisters, who brought her prey at sun-high.

"We already miss you sorely, Wolfsong. When will you be able to return to the warrior den?" inquired Fogshine, her expression clouded with worry. Wolfsong lowered her eyes in distress, her heart fluttering like a caught sparrow, but she had to tell them the truth: "I won't be returning to the warrior's den."

Shocked, her littermates snapped their eyes open. Silverrain stammered, her tail twitching nervously, "What, why? Were your wounds that bad?"

"No, no," Wolfsong reassured her, "I'll be completely fine. It's not that. Rather, I've decided to let Dawfeather train me as a druid."

"You're not serious," Fogshine shook her head in disbelief, "You're kidding, right?"

Wolfsong jutted her chin forward and mewed, "No, I'm serious."

Silverrain's gaze turned icy, her voice cutting like the ice wind, "You can't do this to us! Leafbare is approaching fast and we have lost many warriors. We need every paw to keep the kits from starving. Aside from that - even as a kitten, you wanted nothing more than to protect the clan. The long training, the many battles to become a warrior. You could be Jarl one day - do you really want to just throw all that away?"

Wolfsong flattened her ears.

"I know, but I don't want to fight anymore. My paws have hurt too many cats already. Now I'd rather ease pain, heal disease, and save lives. Because even as a healer, I protect my clan - just in a different way," she meowed.

Silverrain paced back and forth, her tail lashing furiously, then she suddenly stopped and took a deep breath. Her tone was calmer now, but still tense, "Listen, Wolfsong. I know the battle was cruel and bloody, but you can't throw it all away because of that. Druid - that doesn't suit you. You are a warrior - a brave and powerful warrior. Please, come back to us, don't abandon us."

"I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind. My future belongs to healing," said Wolfsong.

Her littersister hissed, "You're such a selfish mouse brain!" then stormed out of the druid's den. Wolfsong watched her go, her guilty conscience bubbling up inside her. What if she was right? What if Wolfsong was getting caught up in something? Helplessly she looked at Fogshine, who was frantically running her tongue through her solid dark gray fur.

"Don't worry, Wolfsong," she purred, pressing her nose to her cheek, "I was shocked at first, too, but Silverrain will get over it. You know her."

"I hope so," she sighed, kneading the nesting material under her paws, "Why does it make Silverrain so angry that I entered the path of the druids? Sure, I'll miss having my nest next to yours too, but I'm not out of the world after all!"

Fogshine eyed Wolfsong's scars and conspiratorially lowered her voice, "You know that she is very afraid of being abandoned. However, I don't think you realize how much Silverrain has always admired you. You were the way she always wanted to be. You were the first of us to catch prey. The first to get her warrior name and an apprentice. Soon you were one of the strongest warriors in the clan. Mountainstar's and Jayflight's choice for the new deputy would have fallen on you, that's an open secret. Silverrain wished for all of this, and you get it - and refuse it, wasting your talent."

Wolfsong's mouth dropped open, her ear twitched. Appeasingly, Fogshine blinked, "Don't worry, I don't think that way. If being a druid is your calling, then follow it. But Silverrain has always been very ambitious, always wanted to aim high."

"But that's not my fault!" grumbled Wolfsong, "She might as well be happy that the rank of deputy is now free for her."

Fogshine stroked her shoulder, "That sits deeper - and, between you and me, 'Silverstar' will never happen and she knows that. But just be patient. Give it some time and she'll come around. Like I said, you know her."

"I don't know," Wolfsong sighed, "I hope so."

Wolfsong's fears proved to be true. Over the course of the following days, she met only icy silence from Silverrain. In the presence of her litter sister, Wolfsong's doubts always echoed loudest in her consciousness. The question of whether she was chasing the wrong prey. Whether she really had the skills to become a druid. But when she gathered herbs with Dawfeather and treated the sick, she felt it was right. That the druid's den was her home. New moon came and passed. While Wolfsong learned the art of healing, time flew by. Finally, the sunset came, when Dawfeather invited her to accompany him to the druid's gathering.

The last time the mountain forest had been bathed in the silver light of the crescent moon, the world had held its breath. A battle had raged among the white rocks of the stone circle. Cats fought, cats died. At that time, the mighty warrior Wolfsong would never have dreamed that one moon later she would be standing in front of the Ancestors' Gate as an apprentice druid. She paused and looked up at the crescent moon that stood high in the sky on that starry night. Her mate, a future as a mother and Jarl, the deep friendship with her litter sister... She had sacrificed much, but it felt right. On a crescent moon night, she had fallen as a warrior. On a crescent moon night, she had been reborn as a druid. Wolfsong breathed. Alive.

~*~