The warriors sure were busy, these days. Swanfeather could not recall a time when there was such a fierce hustle in her own stint as a full-fledged member of the clan. No, she remembered softer days, running down to the riverfront camp in leafbare and daring her fellow young warriors to leap in to show their valor, and naps. She had partaken in some extraordinary naps within her time.

She reflected on this with a soft purr, her kits suckling at her side. They were insistent on taking up most of her life but she couldn't begrudge them a second of it. She felt her tail flick upwards as she drew close to them, immense with gratitude, and a purr sounded from her throat and echoed in theirs. It was the same sound that her first litter had made, so much so that she could almost imagine her former children close to her.

See? she thought. The world hasn't changed at all.

Husksong entered the den at last, and Swanfeather's tail lashed. It had taken him long enough. He looked comically confused and lost, his wide eyes and short legs contrasting the broadness of his shoulders and his grainy, dark-pointed fur. "H-hello, Swanfeather." he mewed.

"Are you well?" his mate asked.

"I sh-should be asking you that," he responded, eyes glinting with warmth. "You've been the busy one, that's for sure."

"Of course I've been fine. Look at how well tended to they are." She gestured to the kits, who displayed their vigor by mewling and twisting at her side. Cricketkit opened her emerald green eyes and gazed out at the world, staring down her father as if they were already well acquainted. The two of them marvelled in the moment, then looked to each other, shocked by the miracle that they had brought into the world, and Swanfeather continued between washing her kit's head with her coarse tongue, "I'm a perfectly responsible queen."

"You're a lucky queen. You get the wh-whoooole nursery to yourself." He touched her nose to his in only the way Husksong could, partnered a light brush against her fur that made her feel freezing and burning at once, shivering sensation across her body.

As he pulled away, she could see sadness in his dark eyes. They had grown so old since she met him, when he had been a scared kit and she was the only one who could snap him from his fearful dazes. She could, see, too, that the small tom was trembling like Cranewing. His legs were laced with scars and he looked half-starved, like her sister.

"It's going to be alright." she said. "I know they're working you hard, but I think my sister and I need to have a talk about the work schedules."

"But RyeC-C-Clan-" he said, finally spitting out the last half of the word like poison.

"Are a bunch of war-mongering, rabbit-chasing buzzardbreaths who couldn't lay a paw on us if they tried. Even if they were a force to be reckoned with, don't you think we'd have a better chance if our warriors were well-nourished and happy? All these dawn to dusk patrols and extended fighting sessions for the apprentices are just sapping morale." She couldn't resist extra gusto as she said this, it was a speech full of jargon worthy of Ottersoul. Not that the brown she-cat would be proud of her for it (or for anything), but Swanfeather could stand to talk to her about that, too.

"You sound certain." Husksong said.

"It's my job to be certain." Her eyes were bright with confidence. "Could you watch them, just for a moment? I usually have Chicoryfur or Bluepetal care for them when I get food, but the latter is... well."

"I'd s-say she's about the opposite of 'well'." said Husksong, sadly. "I'll watch them."

Swanfeather emerged into mid-day, where warriors waited in the shade of the trees. The cold winds of the camp never failed to shock Swanfeather, accustomed as she was to the dreamy warmth of the nursery. Her fur tossed by wind, she walked amongst them, looking through patches of light and shadow for her sibling. She approached Mackerelfang at last, who was sitting alone, looking forlornly at his fish.

"Have you seen Ottersoul?" she asked.

Mackerelfang flinched. Holding the fish tightly between his paws, he asked, "Who hasn't seen Ottersoul? I think she's deploying some warriors right now, just out of camp."

Deploying? Oh, stars... where's Dewstar in all this? When I get my paws on both of them- She blinked, and mewed, "Thanks, Mackerelfang."

The tom's eyes widened with concern. "No... problem?"

Swanfeather stalked off across the clearing and found her sister instructing several of the younger warriors (kit-fur just gone from most of their faces) on Bend patrol. "If you see them and you are outnumbered, you send one cat back. If you are even in number or you outnumber them, you strike. Is that clear? Do not, under any circumstances, allow them to get past the banks. If they do, run like the beasts of the depths are on your tails."

"Better yet, forget the nursery tales and run like your clan depends on it." Frogcall, the oldest of the group, suggested.

A few of the others snickered at this. "Run," Ottersoul said, and with a flick of her tail, they were gone. She turned about, pride glittering in her tired eyes, and came face to face with her sister. "What do you want? Do you need me to see your kits again? If you haven't noticed, the clan is under siege."

"We need to have a talk." Swanfeather said, but all her words were leaving her mouth like smoke. She looked into her sister's dark eyes, struggling for her own voice, but her sister's cold disappointment was like river water in her mouth. "You're overworking them," she finished.

Ottersoul blurted, "Swanfeather, I don't have time for this!"

"You don't have time for anyone! No one has any time for anything because you're trying to work the clan as hard as you work yourself, and it's making everyone miserable. Can't see you're not helping?"

Ottersoul's snout curled in on itself, and Swanfeather looked as her sister seemed to become, before her eyes, a rabid dog. Ottersoul nearly lunged at her and then, with one inhale, relaxed. The savage pain in her eyes was still there, bubbling beneath the surface, but her sister mewed coldly, "I am the only cat who can save this clan, Swanfeather. If that means a few feelings are hurt, so be it. A few hours of sleep? What is that next to lives, sister? Now, get out of the way."

"You're not listening to me at all."

"Get out of the way."

Swanfeather stepped aside, and as her sister departed, she thought, fondly, of moments snatched from memory, of quiet days by the river when they were young and ambitious. Ottersoul had never lost that blazing fire inside of her that foolish kits kept so close to themselves, instead, it had grown stronger with age, and now it was an inferno unlike anything the clans had ever seen.

"Sibling issues?" asked Mackerelfang, approaching her side.

"Sibling issues."

"Ah. Sorry, I'm afraid I wouldn't... know." Mackerelfang said, looking even more guilty than when they had talked earlier. What was the matter with this cat?

Seized by conviction, Swanfeather mewed, "You know, you're kind of a bad liar."

If his tone before hadn't given it away, his startled expression when she guessed correctly did. "Oh- I mean- I- I-"

"Your past is your own business." Swanfeather said, glumly.

"Thanks," Mackerelfang said. "I think you might be the only cat in this clan who thinks that."

Swanfeather purred. "With the war, it's unlikely you'll be prodded about it anymore."

"I'd rather have no war, if we're going to be entirely honest." Mackerelfang admitted.

"You and me both." responded the she-cat, and she slipped back into the nursery. Husksong was curled around the kits, and as she entered, they switched places, but Husksong stared out at the camp where Ottersoul surely lay in wait and looked desolate.

"I'm not as strong as them. I don't know how much longer I c-can do this for." Husksong admitted.

"Then don't." replied Swanfeather, sharply. "Just don't."

Her kits huddled closer to her side, eager to be reunited with their mother, and Swanfeather felt herself shake like the stray leaf-fall breezes that occasionally penetrated the lacking defenses of the nursery. Husksong lay beside them again and they were a family again, just for the moment, in the half-empty nursery.