The forest was too quiet.
Even Stormfern noticed. His ears twitched as he padded besides Alderpaw, tail low, eyes sharp. They were only supposed to be out for a scent check - nothing serious, a short patrol along the northeast trail where the trees leaned thin and the soil turned to slate.
But every lead was holding its breath.
“Something’s off,” he murmured.
Alderpaw felt it too - an itch in her spine, a tension in the wind.
She nodded, but said nothing.
Stormfern moved ahead, creeping up the slope towards a half-frozen stream. Alderpaw hung back, nose raised, catching the scent of something sharp and wrong - blood, stale and fresh. And another smell: strong, not Clan. Not prey.
Rogue.
She opened her mouth to call out - too late.
A shape of gray and black, fangs bared, claws flashing.
Stormfern barely turned before the rogue slammed into him, sending him sprawling against the rocks. His shoulder struck a sharp edge with a crunch that echoed off the trees. He let out a bark of pain - then a snarl, rolling and kicking to fend off his attacker.
But the rogue was larger. Younger. Wild-eyed.
Stormfern’s claws met fur, but he was slowed. Wounded.
The rogue reared, claws unsheathed, going in for the kill-
And Alderpaw couldn’t move.
She was no longer in the forest.
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She was back in the clearing.
The sun was low, cold light stretching over snow. Sleetkit was laughing, hopping over puddles. Bramblekit had just shoved her playfully and darted off ahead.
A blur in the brush- Claws flashing- Fangs-
“Run!” Bramblekit shouted, spinning. Sleetkit turned, squealing with fear - too slow-
A body slammed into him. A crack like a branch snapped under weight. Blood in the snow. Too much. Too red. Sleetkit didn’t move.
Bramblekit screamed and leapt back for him, her tiny claws sinking into the rogue’s face - She fought. She fought.
But they were bigger. They tore her from him. She disappeared beneath them. One scream. One-
And then silence.
Alderkit had stood there, frozen. Her legs shocked. Her voice lost. She had watched it all.
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Now, moons later, the blood was fresh again.
Stormfern was crumpled near the stone.
His legs scrabbled uselessly at the earth. The rogue raised a paw, claws gleaming. Ready to finish it.
Alderpaw’s breath came in a rush.
Her body trembled - like before - but not with fear.
No. Not again. Not ever again.
She moved.
With a roar that tore her throat raw, Alderpaw launched forward, hitting the rogue with every ounce of force in her limbs. Her claws sank into his flank. Her jaws snapped dangerously close to his ear.
The rogue yowled in surprise, spinning on her, slashing wildly.
He caught her shoulder - a burning streak of pain - but she didn’t slow.
She struck low, sweeping his hind legs. Bit deep into his scruff. She fought with no grace, no elegance.
She fought like grief made flesh.
The rogue broke first, staggering back, his eye swelling from a blow she didn’t even remember landing. He turned, limped, and vanished into the brush like a ghost fleeing dawn.
She didn’t chase him.
Alderpaw stood still for a breath, her chest heaving. Her claws trembled. Not from fear, but from the echo of memory. She looked down.
Stormfern lay half-curled near the rock, blood on his flank, one eye open and blinking.
“You alright?” she rasped, crouching beside him.
He coughed, then chuckled hoarsely. “Well. Look at that. You can be loud.”
She didn’t laugh.
He reached up weakly with a paw. “I was… I didn’t see him.”
“I did,” Alderpaw said. Her voice shook, but her body didn’t.
She pressed against him, helping him rise. “Let’s get you back.”
Stormfern leaned into her. “You saved me.”
Alderpaw didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were distant, turned towards the forest, where snow still clung to the hollow log just past the thistle wall.
“They died because I froze,” she whispered.
“I didn’t freeze this time.”
Stormfern didn’t speak.
Behind them, leaves rustled - but it was only Barkclaw. He had followed the patrol’s trail after hearing the scuffle. His eyes scanned the scene, then fixed on Alderpaw - bloodied, panting, unbowed.
He said nothing. Just nodding once.
Like a warrior recognizing another.
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The night, Stormfern rested in the medicine den, his wound cleaned and poulticed. Alderpaw sat outside alone, her gaze on the moonlight clearing. Barkclaw joined her quietly.
“They would’ve been proud,” he said.
Alderpaw didn’t look at him.
“They weren’t warriors,” she replied. “They never got the change.”
“No,” Barkclaw said softly. “But you carry them with you. Every strike. Every breath.”
Alderpaw closed her eyes.
And for just a moment, she let herself feel the warmth of their pelts beside her. Not in pain. Not in blood. Just there.
She opened her eyes again. And the stone was back.
“I won’t lose anyone else.”
Barkclaw nodded, his voice full of something older than grief. “Then the forest has gained its shield.”
