Outside, the camp stirred as more warriors came to investigate. I watched as a slender tom with a soft, light brown pelt—matted in places from his constant nerves—stumbled forward. His hazel eyes were wide with fear, and to my horror, blood ran down his hind leg, dark and sticky against his fur.
"Quiverpaw, what happened?" Rainstorm asked, stepping forward, his voice tight with concern.
Quiverpaw opened his mouth, but the words stuck. His eyes darted, unseeing, his chest heaving.
Then he whispered, voice cracking like dry leaves, "R-Redfur… is dead."
The words hit like thunder. The clearing fell into stunned silence.
Quiverpaw swayed—then collapsed onto the ground.
"Get Willowclaw!" Stormfoot called urgently, rushing to the apprentice's side and pressing his shoulder gently against the young tom's. But Quiverpaw didn't respond. His eyes had shut, his breath shallow, his body still with shock.
My heart pounded, ears ringing. Redfur… dead? A warrior, gone?
Before I could process it, Willowclaw burst from the medicine den, a bundle clutched in her jaws—her strange healing tool, the one she called "Spider-verse." She knelt beside Quiverpaw without hesitation, her brow furrowed as she pressed the device to his wounded leg, muttering to herself in focus.
A hush fell over the camp as two more warriors entered the clearing.
One carried a limp shape across his broad shoulders.
Redfur.
His thick russet coat was matted with blood, his limbs hanging lifelessly. Behind him walked Whiteclaw, his pale pelt gleaming, his blue eyes clouded with grief—but his stride, as always, was steady. His presence commanded silence and respect.
The warriors stepped aside as the fallen warrior was laid gently in the center of camp.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
Redfur had laughed with the apprentices just days ago. I remembered the gleam in his eyes when he spoke of his first battle. Now he lay still and silent, his life stolen by rogues.
All around me, warriors gathered—some grieving, others stiff with rage. The golden-furred tom who had carried Redfur looked down at his fallen clanmate, his jaw tight.
"They're testing us," he growled. "Looking for weaknesses. We need to strike back."
"No," Whiteclaw said, his voice low but firm. "Not yet. Not while we're wounded."
"But they'll come again!" the golden warrior snapped.
"And we'll be ready," Whiteclaw replied, his gaze flicking to where Sunstar's den lay empty.
I stood frozen in place, Foxkit trembling beside me. All I could think was how quickly everything had changed. One moment we were chasing mossballs, the next we were staring death in the face.
The nursery felt a world away now.
Sunpride was under attack.
And in that moment, I realized something I hadn't before.
I was no longer just a loner clinging to fading memories. I was Ambercub of Sunpride.
And the path ahead of me was darker—and more dangerous—than I had ever imagined.
Droppaw padded over, his tail low and ears tilted forward. "Redfur was a good deputy," he murmured quietly, his voice heavy with respect.
"What's going to happen now?" I asked, my gaze drifting to the golden lion who had gently laid Redfur's body down. More lions were beginning to gather around him, their heads bowed in grief.
"Now?" Droppaw replied, his voice softer. "Now they say goodbye."
He flicked his tail toward the growing circle of mourners.
"Shall we join them?" I asked, ears pricked, whiskers twitching with both curiosity and nerves.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Only those closest to him do that."
I glanced once more at the circle—warriors, elders, and those Redfur had trained beside. Their silence was deeper than any words could ever be.
"Come on," Droppaw added, gently nudging my shoulder. "Let's check on Quiverpaw."
We padded across the clearing, careful to give space to the grieving circle around Redfur's body. My paws felt heavy with the weight of everything that had happened, but Droppaw kept walking, his steps sure, guiding me toward the medicine den.
Inside, the air was thick with herbs—sharp and earthy. Willowclaw was murmuring softly as she worked, her paws swift and practiced. Quiverpaw lay on a moss nest near the back, his eyes barely open, his hindleg wrapped in cobweb and soft leaves. His ears twitched at every sound, and when he saw us enter, his eyes widened.
"I—I'm sorry," he stammered instantly, his voice a shaky breath. "I should've fought harder. I—I tried, really, I did—"
"Easy, Quiverpaw," Droppaw said gently, padding closer. "You don't have to apologize."
"But I let him die!" Quiverpaw's voice cracked, his claws digging into the moss. "Redfur—he told me to run. If I'd stayed—if I'd just been braver—maybe…"
He trailed off, shoulders trembling. I stepped closer, my heart tightening. He didn't look like a warrior. He looked like a scared cub trying to wear a mane too big for his head.
"You survived," I said, quietly but firmly. "And you came back to warn everyone. That takes courage."
He blinked at me, startled, then looked down, ears folding back. "I'm not like the others. I mess up too much. I—I don't think I was meant to be a warrior."
Droppaw sat beside him, brushing his tail lightly against Quiverpaw's side. "Redfur thought you were. He believed in you enough to fight beside you. That means something."
There was a long pause. Quiverpaw didn't speak again, but he didn't cry either. He just stared at his injured leg, eyes glassy with thought.
I didn't know what to say after that. But as we sat there—me, Droppaw, and the frightened apprentice—I realized that sometimes just staying beside someone was enough.
Willowclaw's tail lashed behind her as she hissed, "How am I supposed to work with all these cubs under my paws? Go away—don't disturb my patient!"
Droppaw flinched and nudged me back with his shoulder. "Come on," he muttered. We backed out quickly, the sharp scent of herbs still clinging to my nose.
Once we were outside, I looked up at him. "You said Redfur was the deputy?" I asked, ears pricked with curiosity. "Who's going to be deputy now?"
Before Droppaw could answer, a sleek, silver-grey lion approached with quiet confidence. His short, shimmering coat gleamed in the sunlight, darkening slightly along his spine like a storm cloud rolling in. His paws and muzzle were pale, almost white, and his deep blue eyes—so calm, so sharp—met mine with an unreadable expression.
"That answer is for Sunmoon to give before moonhigh," he said with a flick of his tail. "But only those old enough to catch their own prey can attend the pride meeting. You'll have to wait until after."
I studied him. He had a few shallow claw marks along his flank and one near his shoulder, but no serious wounds. He'd fought against the rogues. He was strong. Observant.
He sat down gracefully, licking a paw as though we weren't standing in the middle of a pride shaken by death.
"My name is Bluepaw," he said, casually.
"I'm Amb—" I began.
"Ambercub," he interrupted smoothly. "Everyone knows you. The cub who stood up to Whiteclaw." His tone wasn't mocking, but it wasn't praise, either. Just… fact. "But don't let it go to your head. He's a young warrior—barely a moon since his naming."
Droppaw's ears flattened, and he muttered, "Can't let her be happy and a bit high in the skies, huh?"
Bluepaw didn't flinch. His voice was calm, but his eyes were thoughtful. "Let her now, and she'll think she can do anything. A moment of thought," he said, meeting my gaze, "can save a lifetime of regret."
His words sat heavy in the air.
I looked at him for a moment, unsure if I liked him or not. He was sharp as a thorn, and cool like river water—but there was truth in his words.
Still, something inside me stirred. Not defiance, exactly. Just the sense that I would prove myself in my own way… when the time came.
Night had fallen.
I lay curled in Whitetail's nest, but sleep refused to come. Foxcub was nestled against Moontail, the rise and fall of his tiny flanks steady with sleep. All the other cubs were resting too, their soft breaths filling the nursery like waves against the shore. But even as I pressed my nose into Whitetail's warm fur, trying to lose myself in her steady heartbeat and the familiar scent that was purely hers… I couldn't.
My eyes remained wide open.
My thoughts kept spinning — Redfur's death, Quiverpaw's wounds, the look on Droppaw's face, the weight in Bluepaw's voice. It had only been two days since everything changed, but it already felt like moons.
Then I heard it.
Sunmoon's voice, clear and commanding, rang out through the camp. Even tired, it carried strength.
"All lions old enough to catch their own prey, gather near the Highrock for a pride meeting!"
The nursery stirred instantly. Queens shifted around me, heads lifting, fur bristling with alertness. Nighttail silently rose, careful not to wake Foxcub, and padded toward the entrance. Whitetail followed, and then the others. None of them spoke.
Their paws disappeared into the darkness, the night swallowing their shadows.
Outside, I could hear the pride gathering — pawsteps crunching against the dry dirt, murmurs passing like wind through tall grass. I knew Droppaw and Bluepaw were out there. I wasn't allowed.
But that didn't stop me.
I crept from the nest, careful not to wake anyone. Just a little peek, I told myself, my paws light against the mossy floor.
I slipped toward the nursery entrance, heart pounding in my chest, and poked my head out—only to meet Mouseheart's narrowed eyes. She stood just outside, her tail curled tightly around her swollen belly, her expression sharp as a thorn.
One look was all it took.
I ducked back inside without a word and slunk back to Whitetail's nest, heat crawling up my neck. The pride meeting would go on without me. But my ears stayed pricked, straining for every word I could catch.
Somehow, I must've fallen asleep.
Because the next time I opened my eyes, soft dawnlight was seeping through the thorn bush above the nursery. The camp was still quiet, the sky painted in shades of gold and pale blue. Around me, everyone had returned—curled in their nests, breathing slowly. My tail flicked once.
I rose to my paws and padded softly toward the entrance of the nursery.
"Where do you think you're going?"
The voice made me jump. I turned quickly and found myself facing a stunning lioness whose beauty was hard to look away from. Her long, silky gray fur flowed like water with every graceful movement, and silver touched her muzzle and chest, making her seem almost ghostlike in the early morning light. Her eyes—sharp and bright green—held a quiet strength behind their softness. Her body was slender but firm, long-legged and elegant. Her belly was round with cubs—Lilyfur.
"Outside," I answered honestly.
She gave me a look. "And does Whitetail know that?"
I lowered my head. "No... but I'll be fast, I promise!"
Lilyfur let out a soft purr, licking her swollen belly with a calm patience that made her seem older than the sun itself.
"Go on, little mouse. I'll tell her when she wakes up," she mewed, amusement in her eyes.
I purred back gratefully and scampered outside, paws light on the dry camp floor. The camp was still mostly asleep, only the soft sound of lions breathing filled the air.
I looked around, drawn instinctively toward the apprentice den. But just as I took a step, a group of three lions entered the camp through the main tunnel.
I knew them.
Bluepaw, Stormfoot with his pale gray fur, and Ravenscar—his dark coat rippling with black stripes like shadows slashed through charcoal. I still remembered the first time I'd seen Ravenscar. He hadn't even spoken to me, but his eyes had said enough.
Bluepaw spotted me and whispered something to Stormfoot before padding over, tail flicking casually.
"Early riser," he said.
I didn't answer his greeting. My mind was focused. "Who's the new deputy?"
His whiskers twitched with amusement. "Firetail. Experienced warrior, trained two apprentices already. Best choice Sunstar could've made."
I nodded, absorbing the news. Firetail. I didn't know him well, but I'd seen him around—strong, patient, with a quiet presence that made others listen.
Bluepaw studied me for a moment, his blue eyes thoughtful. "Curiosity will take you far," he said, "but don't let it outpace your paws."
I wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but I liked the sound of it.
I looked at Bluepaw, then glanced past him to where Stormfoot and Ravenscar stood speaking with another lion. He was a striking tom—short fur patterned with a tortoiseshell mix of black, orange, and earthy brown. His sleek coat looked like fire scorched into stone, and behind him swayed a beautiful, dark red tail.
That must be Firetail, I thought, studying the way the others listened to him with respect.
I turned my attention back to Bluepaw.
"Why were you out?" I asked, tilting my head curiously.
He looked down at me, a faint gleam in his deep blue eyes.
"Morning patrol. Get used to hearing that," he said with a smirk. "Once you're an apprentice, you'll have plenty of those—especially when the ground's cold and you'd rather stay in your nest."
I blinked, half-excited, half-dreading that future.
"Where's Droppaw?" I asked next, glancing around.
Bluepaw let out a soft chuckle.
"Probably still sleeping. He hates waking up early. If you ever want to annoy him, just nudge him before sunrise and run."
I purred in amusement at the thought, imagining Droppaw's grumpy expression. But it felt... safe somehow, hearing about patrols and sleepy apprentices. Even after the terror of rogues and losing Redfur, life in the pride went on.
I looked back over at Firetail, standing tall beside Stormfoot and Ravenscar, his tail flicking as he listened carefully.
"Does... does the deputy pick the patrols?" I asked, voice softer this time.
Bluepaw nodded.
"Sometimes. It depends. But yeah, Firetail'll be in charge of organizing a lot of stuff now. He's a good choice. He's smart, and he doesn't panic when things go wrong."
I stared at the tortoiseshell warrior a moment longer. I wondered what it would feel like to be trusted like that—to help lead, to protect.
Someday, I thought. Someday I'll prove I can be that strong too.
I sat down beside Bluepaw, my tail curling neatly around my paws as I glanced up at him again.
"What does a deputy even do all day?" I asked. "Do they just tell others what to do?"
Bluepaw snorted.
"It's not just bossing everyone around," he said, amused. "They lead patrols, handle problems, help the leader, make decisions in battle—basically, they make sure the whole pride doesn't fall apart when the leader's busy."
I blinked, impressed.
"That sounds like a lot."
"It is," came a deep, warm voice behind us.
I stiffened and turned, finding myself face-to-face with the very lion we'd just been talking about—Firetail.
Up close, he looked even bigger than I expected, his fur sleek and full of quiet power. His red tail flicked as he studied me with thoughtful golden eyes. There was no harshness in his gaze—only calm observation.
"Asking questions, are you?" he said, his tone neither scolding nor mocking—just interested.
"Y-yes," I said, suddenly nervous but standing a little taller. "I want to learn."
A hint of a smile curved his muzzle.
"That's good. Curiosity is the beginning of strength. Don't stop asking questions, Amberkit. But also know when to listen."
I nodded quickly.
"I will! I want to be a good apprentice. No—no, I want to be a great warrior one day!"
Bluepaw purred softly beside me, but Firetail's expression turned more serious.
"Then keep your ears open, your claws sharp, and your heart steady." His gaze briefly flicked toward Stormfoot and Ravenscar, who were watching with interest. "And remember—strength isn't only about fighting. It's about knowing when to act, and when to wait."
I stared up at him, paws tingling.
"Thank you, Firetail," I said quietly.
He nodded once, then turned back to the warriors waiting for him, his presence as solid and sure as the earth underpaw.
"Wow," I whispered, watching him go. "He's really… cool."
Bluepaw chuckled.
"Yeah. He is. But just wait—when you're an apprentice, he'll make you run your paws off on dawn patrol."
I wrinkled my nose and giggled, tail flicking playfully.
A sleek lioness padded over from the warriors' den, her paws making no sound on the packed earth. Her dark gray fur clung close to her lean frame, shadow-like and smooth. She moved with the quiet confidence of a seasoned hunter, though I noticed the scar on her hind leg made her step just a little differently—like she was always ready to shift her weight.
Her bright blue eyes locked onto Bluepaw.
"Treefoot," Bluepaw said respectfully, dipping his head.
The lioness dipped her head in return, her tone calm but firm.
"Bluepaw. Meet me at the training place after you've eaten. We'll work on tracking today."
"Yes, Treefoot," Bluepaw meowed, ears pricking.
I blinked up at her in awe. This was Bluepaw's mentor? She looked like she'd claw the stars out of the sky if they got in her way.
Treefoot's gaze slid to me, sharp and assessing.
"You're Ambercub."
I straightened, heart skipping.
"Yes! How did you—?"
"I make it my business to know the cubs who ask questions like they're building their own battle plan." Her eyes glinted with amusement.
My ears heated up, but I smiled anyway.
"I just want to be ready when I'm old enough," I admitted.
She gave a quiet purr, almost too soft to catch.
"Good. Curiosity and observation are tools. Use them right, and they'll make you dangerous in all the right ways."
With that, she flicked her tail and turned away, her silhouette melting back into the morning shadows as quietly as she had arrived.
"She's amazing," I whispered, watching her disappear.
Bluepaw snorted.
"She's terrifying. But yeah… she's also amazing."
As the sun set and the pride began to settle, a hush fell over the camp like a warm blanket. I curled up in the nest beside Whitetail, her soft breaths steady and comforting against my ear. The sky outside turned golden, then dusky pink, and finally faded into shadow.
"Only one moon to go," I whispered to myself, my voice barely louder than the wind rustling the thorn wall. I watched the last light sink behind the distant cliffs.
One moon.
Just one more moon, and I'd never be just a cub again.