"Shellpaw! Carppaw! Sleetpaw! Quailpaw! Shellpaw! Carppaw! Sleetpaw! Quailpaw!" The whole clan roared with pride as the assembly of gray kits no longer stood near the top of the hill, chests puffed outwards in excitement. Only Carppaw hung close to his mentor's side, and it was obvious even from back where Mackerelfang stood that Cranewing was just as nervous as his apprentice himself.

Mackerelfang twitched with mild concern, trying to veil how uneasy the clamor of the cheering made him. Standing close to the back was usually a safe option, but he hadn't expected such a torrent of noise. Even the warrior ceremonies of the three apprentices a few moons prior hadn't produced such a furor. The chorus of cats was, to his ears, a kinder version of the caterwauls and screeching cries at the contests... well, he couldn't say home anymore, could he?

Dewstar yowled, "You're all dismissed. Have a good evening," to the assembled clan. The apprentices ran not to their mentors but straight back to their mother, and the startled warriors weaved back into the crowd. Mackerelfang kept a close eye on Frogcall as he stepped down from the perch where he'd been standing for the whole of the ceremony and worked his way through the clan to find his gray tabby friend near the back.

Mackerelfang perked up, like a flower receiving the scarce rays of dusk sun through the holes in the canopy. "What a ceremony, Frogcall. I can't believe you're getting your own apprentice."

Frogcall purred with delight. "Oh, yeah. Actually, I could see you through the crowd for most of it-" He tilted his head, "You looked a bit disappointed. Were you hoping to take on one of the tailbiters yourself?"

"I did want an apprentice." mused Mackerelfang, though he had other kits in mind.

"You don't want to mentor one of those little badgers." Frogcall shook his head. "I'm lucky to have Shellpaw, since he's one of the tamest of the bunch, but Quailpaw is a force of nature. I can't imagine her listening to anyone but Swanfeather. The others just follow her lead, so I've not a clue what disposition they'll have on their own."

Mackerelfang didn't reply, deciding that any sentiment he provided might be less than appropriate, but in his head he was glad he wouldn't have to figure it out. Most of the clan cats, he could stand, but those forsaken furballs, bouncing around like fish on a dock underpaw? Good riddance to the lot of them.

"They'll have a lot of work to do, too, with a new elder in the den."

Mackerelfang nodded. Pikeshadow was close to the edge of the gathered cats, standing next to his former apprentice, Leapingbranch. Despite how humiliating the ordeal would have been, their connection made him almost long that he'd been taken into the clan as an apprentice instead of a warrior.

It wasn't as if his work had suffered much for it. Mackerelfang had his own mentor and his own time of training, both long lost to him now. Thinking about it filled his nose with the scents of rotten wood, brine, and open cuts. That was the smell of all the rogues from his old home, but above all, it was his scent.

Mac- err, Mackerelfang- wondered if old Snapper was still alive. It stirred an odd mix of emotions within him, a nostalgia with a harsh edge to it, and it ended in quiet bitterness. If he was or wasn't, it wouldn't matter. Mackerelfang would never see him again.

"You alright?" asked Frogcall.

Mackerelfang mewed hastily, "They haven't assigned patrols yet, have they?"
"It's almost nightfall."

Mackerelfang shifted himself on his haunches.

"I'm going to go check up on my apprentice, go over our plans for tomorrow. Speaking of such, I should probably coordinate with the other mentors, too. Cranewing, Swanfeather, and Stormpath... well, with personalities like those, I should probably be worried about working with the mentors, not the apprentices!"

Mackerelfang got the impression that Frogcall was hoping for a reaction out of him besides dumbfounded silence but the dappled tom couldn't muster up a purr. He was beginning to reach that point where social interaction moved from tolerable to pain-inducing, and he didn't want to do something rash around one of the few friends he'd managed to make. "Sorry," Mackerelfang spoke up, surprising himself. "I was hunting all day. I think I just need to go lie down and sleep."

"No problem. See you around, then." With that, Frogcall departed in the direction of the apprentice den, leaving Mackerelfang in the midst of the halfway dispersed crowd. There was a distant hum from the last few crickets and beneath their calls, the distant lull of the running river. When combined with the slight movement of the trees, the effect was almost hypnotizing. The world was settling down to rest, and Mackerelfang had every intent to fall asleep with it.

"Mackerelfang." From behind him came a sharp meow. The tom puffed up and wheeled around, eyes narrowed to slits.

Ottersoul, looking eerily calm, was standing behind him. What is it now? Mackerelfang thought, though he dared not express such a sentiment out loud. "Yes, Ottersoul?" he replied.

"Come with me." Ottersoul told him, and began padding out of camp into the night air. She took him straight across the forest, only moving upwards to avoid the more strenuous walk of the hill. The land curved like the arch of a startled cat's back, and the thin strip at the top gave way to a much smaller downslope on the other side. Past that was forest, in theory onwards to some distant Twolegplace, but no one had ever gone that far. Some postulated that this land went on forever, with the only evidence to the contrary being Bluepetal.

Mackerelfang did not know if the Twolegplace stretched up here, but he remembered the bustle of Twoleg feet and the thrum of their voices through the wood. He remembered crouching below their world, eyes wide with kit-panic, familiar shapes clustered against their side as they waited for the Twolegs to sleep. The older cats were brave enough to live in both worlds: they owned the hazy nights and the tepid days. The kits, on the other paw, were forbidden to go out.

Mackerelfang couldn't recall a single clear memory of the Twolegs and their appearance. Perhaps that was for the best.

Ottersoul, displeased with Mackerelfang's easy pace, picked up into a brisk stride. Mackerelfang caught the drift and picked up as well, not quite into a run, but fast enough to be strenuous. His legs ached for the comfort of the den, and his pads were sore from earlier hunts. Ottersoul, who would likely brush off such trivial complaints, dived with the grace of a bird of prey back down their side of the slope. Slick leaves gave way below Mackerelfang as he tried to turn and he slid down, paws flailing, and balanced himself just a taillength from a nasty, gnarled tree.

Up ahead, the brown she-cat stood with her face to the earth, tasting the air. Mackerelfang joined her, but could smell nothing but recent rains and the sick undertaste of decay. The leaves had just begun falling, but the dampness had not been kind to the slick coat of last year's foliage, hidden just below their younger brethren.

"Are we here?" asked Mackerelfang.

"No, we're just taking in the night air." Ottersoul mewed, turning around with a comically indignant expression upon her dark face (and could that be a trace of humor in her voice?). She slid back into a more relaxed position, scraping away leaves from the earth to reveal a series of pawprints sunk deep into the earth. It was a purposeful track- whoever was here must've dug their paws in, like they were trying to be caught. "Of course this is it. Do you know these prints?"
"They're cat prints," replied Mackerelfang.

"Oh, you're a clever one. I meant, do you know who left them?"

"I can't identify a cat by their pawprints." Except perhaps old Snapper, after his accident, but it's easy to guess when the cat you're tracking has three paws instead of four. Now, among other amputees... I doubt I'd be so effective.

"With all the rain and foliage, we can't identify the scent, but I can tell you right now that these are not of our clan. While we're happy to have you, truly, if more of your... kin... come up into the area, we're going to be less than pleased." Ottersoul said, emphasizing we each and every town.

"If they did- and I severely doubt they would- I have nothing to do with them. I'm a clan cat now." Mackerelfang swore.

"We don't know that-" Mackerelfang loathed every we that wasn't, couldn't be us, "-we don't even know where you're from outside of 'the Pier', and why you left outside of 'things got tricky'."

"Dewstar granted me privacy. This is a new beginning, whatever I was doesn't matter anymore."

"That was his decision. This is mine."

"You don't have the authority to override his calls." Mackerelfang said, daring fate. He followed, Why does it have to be other cats from the Pier? This might not even be rogue tracks."

To Mackerelfang's relief, this stopped Ottersoul short. The she-cat mewed, "You are aware what the alternative is, aren't you?"

He shook his head.

"It's them. It's years of war, more broken families, and starting this whole thing over again. I know you haven't been here long enough to know what the war between the two clans has done to them both, but just know that these hills have ran red more than their fair share of times. If need be, I'll fight for my clan, but I'd prefer that this is just some stray cat from a group too far away to pose any real threat."

"So you'd lie about the origin of the tracks?"

Ottersoul looked old as the trees up above as she sighed, her shoulders sagging like the branches of an old tree. "I will not lie. I just want to believe."

"I was exiled." Mackerelfang said, feeling each of the three words like a burr buried deep into his paw, and he wasn't sure if he was taking it out or embedding it further as he said them.

Ottersoul's mew was curious, but cautious. She walked a layer of fine ice and she knew it. "Why?"

It was too late to turn back now. The deputy would hound him down until the end of his days, or worse, she'd cast him out for the lack of the truth just as she would for giving it. "I threw my brother into the river."

Ottersoul drew back in revulsion, her ears back and her disgusted expression highlighted by the moonglow. Incredulous, she cried, "You killed your own brother? That's why they cast you out?"

"No, I was exiled for not finishing the job."