Mackerelfang and Stormpath shared Chicoryfur's haunted expression as they stared ahead down the river, at the ever-twisting path. After all, all three of them knew that they were chasing ghosts.

It was a somber mood for a search and rescue party.

It was Stormpath who first asked the terrible question: "Should we turn?"

Chicoryfur shook her head. "We can't."

"If we go any further, we'll make it down to the piers," said Mackerelfang. Chicoryfur turned, confused, and the tabby tom clarified, "Joking. The piers would be the full length of our territory down from here."

"Right," Chicoryfur said. She walked on, her pads aching and raw from the full day's walk, and now the sun was coming back down the other side of the sky, too. The air was bereft of warmth and moisture, as it had been in the aftermath of the last storm, and it seemed clear that there would be no more, now- leaffall had set on in earnest. The trees were shedding their once-vibrant plumage, like sickly birds, leaving only brown bone underneath. They clattered unhelpfully, shivering in their sad skins, as the three warriors passed.

"They might not have come this way at all." Stormpath continued. "We honestly don't know that they came this far down the riverbanks. We've not scented a trace of them since we passed the Bend. You know what that means, don't you?"

"I'm not going to answer that." Chicoryfur hissed, ears slicked back against her neck.

"Well, it might be the one question that needs answering right about now. We know that the RyeClan cats have been growing hostile on the border. Is it too hard to put the signs together?"

"Is it too hard to hope that RyeClan is better than that? Is it too much to ask for some semblance of decency of our fellow warriors?" asked Chicoryfur.

"That's what they expect of us. They think we're yellow-bellied otters because we have more than furze inside our heads and it takes us more than a few insults to begin firing off at each other."

"Are we yellow-bellied otters?"

"Of course not."

"Then shut your mouth. My apprentice has more sense than you, Stormpath."

"Clearly not, seeing as he ran into the forest and got abducted by RyeClan!"

Chicoryfur turned on the tom with all her mother's ire. "You know what? We're turning. We're turning right now and I want you to explain to Dewstar yourself that you think we should march across the river and demand our apprentices back from a group of cats we don't know stole them, violating the Olive Branch treaty and potentially inciting retaliation!" She was now nose to nose with Stormpath, who recoiled as if she'd bit him on the tail. "Any objections?"

Mackerelfang slunk back as well. The tabby tom's eyes were wide as those of owls, and his tail was lowered in fear.

"Good." Chicoryfur said. "We might be able to get back to camp by moonhigh. It'll be much comfier than sleeping in the forest, that much is certain."

"That was the plan?" Mackerelfang asked.

"Sure."

"We were going to spend multiple days on this mission?"

"It's not as if they want us back, anyways, after what we've done. Losing our own apprentices! It's a wonder we're only being sent on useless quests far into the middle of nowhere." Stormpath exclaimed, bitterness edging his mew.

"What do you mean?" Mackerelfang prodded.
Chicoryfur swept past the toms on the way back, ascending the sloping river towards the higher ground. The dead leaves crinkled in distaste beneath her paws. "Oh, don't take it personally. We're not wanted back. You're just disposable."

Mackerelfang fell in line behind her and Stormpath, and together, the weary warriors traversed the land together. Below them, the river rolled over the stones below and the sun continued to creep down towards RyeClan's territory. The brilliant colors of the trees with their foliage still about them seemed to glow through the trees overhead, which when combined with the way the wind was pushing them about, made them both notably beautiful and notably distracting. The trio of cats walked through the shadow of these giants, letting the forest speak for them, and still the sun trickled down.

Chicoryfur could feel it brush her whiskers. It was not altogether an unpleasant sensation, but she was also picking up the rustle of prey underpaw, which was more so. She hadn't eaten a thing in stars knows how long... since midday, perhaps? Maybe longer. Travelling to moonhigh would be more draining still, but there were standards to set and ice in her heart. Her aunt, Ottersoul, would know.

Ottersoul... The name brought on the tingling sensation of guilt. The deputy had likely stuck up for her when it came time to assign mentors, and she had utterly betrayed that trust.

She wondered if Birchpaw was thinking of his own relatives, wherever he was. His mother was not of clan blood, but he had to care about his sister's welfare, didn't he? Perhaps he would return for her. Perhaps he had been stolen. Chicoryfur wasn't sure if she should feel guilty, or furious, or merely exhausted. There had been more than enough of all three in the past few days.

After a long breadth of silence, Stormpath offered, "We don't have to tell them we turned back because we fought. We'd be just as honest if we admitted that we couldn't find them."

Chicoryfur said nothing in response. Mackerelfang's stomach snarled like a rabid dog, but he was equally silent.

Eventually, thank the stars, the sights grew familiar. Chicoryfur recognized the outskirts of the territory, marked by defined upslope in the landscape and extension of the shoreline, which began to fold in on itself to mark the familiar 'shallows' the clan was so known for. There'd be significantly less chance of an ambush here, as well. While it hadn't been much of a concern before, the safety and scents of the territory fit around her like a comfortable old nest.

The Bend passed by with the last light of the sun, far sooner than Chicoryfur had expected, but there was an ominous red sheen cast over the river. There were claw marks on many of the trees, sand was scuffed, and still the water calmly receded from the banks.

Bend duty would be over by now, on a normal day, but Chicoryfur thought she could see faces in the woods.

"What happened here...?" she asked, a chill spreading through her veins.

Mackerelfang picked up the pace, and the other two followed, and before they knew it, unbidden, they'd broken out into a bounding sprint. Fear seized their limbs and jerked them forwards until they flew across the shallows, through the river, their paws colored in water that still seemed to shine with blood-red light long after the sun was gone.

Never had Chicoryfur been so happy to see the camp, and better yet, nothing was out of place. Nothing but the trail of blood across the entrance between the apprentice and warrior's den, that was.

"No one's dead, right?" Chicoryfur asked the silent camp. "Please. Nobody be dead."

Several warriors emerged in various stages of panic, and Almondscratch ran up to her and nuzzled her. Chicoryfur fell into her brother's fur, awash with relief. "We're fine." Almondscratch said, "But we were worried about you. When Bluepetal was attacked, we all thought that something might have happened to the patrol as well."

"They attacked our medicine cat?" Chicoryfur asked. It was as if the leaves below her had fallen out, leaving her thrashing in an inky darkness like the grip of the river itself, dragging her to death.

Dewstar emerged from the medicine den, a sheepish expression across his face. Compounded with his age, he looked nothing short of feeble. "Earlier, I denied Bluepetal the right to go after Birchpaw. I told her that RyeClan could not be responsible for the disappearance of the apprentices," Dewstar looked towards the den, from which the soft groans of pain could be heard. "I was wrong."

Stormpath hissed furiously, "They attacked her?!"

Dewstar dipped his head. "She couldn't get a word in edgewise."

Martentuft, who had been sitting in camp sharing tongues with Leapingbranch, rose to his paws. "That doesn't mean they stole our apprentices."

"No, but they still attacked an innocent cat. We'd best be on our guard... Ottersoul has advised that I arrange a meeting with Owlstar, to discuss the current state of affairs, but can we even trust them to keep their word on meeting times, or not to ambush us while we speak? They've already attacked a medicine cat. What else is off limits?"

"Dewstar, these are hungry warriors you're discussing strategy with. Go back to your den, we'll talk there." Ottersoul said, shooing the leader out of the way. "What are you looking at? You shouldn't have come back without your apprentices."
"I don't have an apprentice." muttered Mackerelfang.

"Our apprentices are likely halfway across RyeClan territory, or you know, dead. We've done everything we could, Ottersoul." Stormpath huffed, "Now can we get some food? Not to be obnoxious, but my patrol and I are starving."

Ottersoul, who was mere whisker-twitches away from a spitting fit, replied cooly, "That's not happening. There's no prey."

"What do you mean, there's no prey?"

"She means there's no prey." Martentuft clarified.

Stormpath sighed, "Someone go beat up Cranewing over it, then. That tom could catch enough to feed the clan in a single fall of the sun."

"Cut that out." Mackerelfang said.

"Cranewing did hunt all day. He barely caught enough to feed everyone, and we figured you'd catch something while you were out. We hadn't expected hunting to be hard as it was. We're likely much further into leafbare than we'd originally thought." Martentuft added, shivering beneath his massive coat as the winds howled overhead. This time, they shook the trees, angry with the lack of tribute left on the sparse branches.

"It'll be a bitter one," Chicoryfur said, staring upwards, though she wished upon every star overhead that she was wrong.

The clan couldn't handle any more catastrophes.