Once night fell, I lay in my nest, staring through the den's bramble roof at the full moon above. Its pale light washed over the camp like silver water.
"It's not fair," I muttered.
Quiverpaw padded over and settled beside me, his fur brushing mine. "No new apprentice gets to go," he said calmly. "I still haven't been to one either."
Half the pride had already left for the Gathering. Now it was just the three of us—me, Quiverpaw, and Darkpaw—left behind in the apprentices' den. The others—Droppaw, Bluepaw, even Loudtail—were probably already on the path toward Stone Hollow.
Droppaw had promised he'd tell me everything when they got back. Bluepaw too. But still… it felt like I was being left behind.
I dug my claws into the moss under my paws. "But I was the one who heard Mudbelly. I was there."
Quiverpaw was silent for a moment. "Maybe that's why they didn't let you go."
I looked at him, confused.
"You're too close to it. It's not just a story to you. If something bad happens, you might say the wrong thing." He shrugged, then sighed. "Or maybe Sunstar's just trying to protect you."
I lowered my head to my paws. Maybe he was right. Maybe none of it mattered. I wasn't a real pride-born lion, anyway.
Still, I couldn't shake the thought that something important was going to happen tonight.
Quiverpaw eventually drifted off, his breathing soft and even beside me. Darkpaw hadn't said a word all evening—just curled near the den entrance, his eyes half-open, tail twitching now and then like he was dreaming with his eyes.
But I couldn't sleep.
The moon hung too brightly overhead, too full. Like it knew something the rest of us didn't.
I crept quietly to the entrance of the den and slipped out into the stillness of camp. The clearing felt strange without the usual bustle. Empty. Almost haunted. Only a few elders remained, along with Fernface, the night guard. He sat atop a low rock near the thorn entrance, his blue eyes sharp as they scanned the shadows.
He looked down as I passed, but didn't speak—just flicked an ear in silent greeting.
I padded to the edge of camp and sat near the fresh-kill pile. It was smaller than usual, picked clean by those who'd stayed behind. A cool breeze rustled the dry grass, and I tilted my head up toward the moonlit sky, my thoughts swirling like dust in the wind.
Only one drop into the water is enough to start a wave...
That dream still clung to the edges of my mind, whispering, warning.
I didn't want to sit in silence for too long. Something about the stillness made me restless. I turned and made my way to the elders' den.
Inside, Blackfoot lay awake while Deafear snored softly nearby, his flank rising and falling with each breath.
Blackfoot raised his head when he saw me. "What brings you here, cub?" he asked, voice raspy but kind.
I hesitated before sitting beside him. "I—I'm just curious… What is Moonpride? Do they really send messages to us?"
He studied me for a moment, then slowly sat up. "Moonpride, eh? That's a deep question for a lion your age."
I nodded, ears twitching uncertainly.
"Well," he began, "Moonpride is where we all go when we die. It's the home of our ancestors—queens, elders, warriors, apprentices, leaders, deputies, healers… even cubs. They watch over us, guide us, and whisper into the world when it needs them."
"Do they… really talk to us?" I asked.
"Yes," he said, voice solemn now. "But only to those who walk the code with honor. They send messages in dreams, signs, omens… usually to the healers. Sometimes to leaders too. But never without reason."
My heart beat a little faster. "But… could they speak to someone who isn't a healer? Or a leader?"
He blinked slowly at me, eyes narrowing in thought. "It's rare. But not impossible. If they do, it's because something important is coming. Something even a healer can't see."
I lowered my gaze. My claws scraped gently at the dirt beneath me.
He blinked slowly at me, eyes narrowing in thought. "It's rare. But not impossible. If they do, it's because something important is coming. Something even a healer can't see."
I lowered my gaze, my claws gently scraping at the dirt beneath me.
"Why are you asking?" he murmured, his tone curious but not pressing.
I looked up at him, startled. "Oh—nothing," I said quickly, forcing a small smile. Then I got to my paws and turned away. "I should get back to the den."
And before he could say more, I padded out of the elders' den, the weight of his words following close behind me.
Moonpride—what had it meant?
Was the drop me? Or Mudbelly? Or the words he spoke?
I let out a long breath and rested my head on my paws. Maybe if I'd been born in the Pride, this would all make more sense. Maybe I'd understand how lions were supposed to act—what was expected. But no matter how hard I tried, I always felt like I was guessing.
Soft pawsteps behind me made my ears twitch. I lifted my head.
It was Lilyfur, one of the elder lionesses, padding slowly from the Queen's den. Her belly was round—she wasn't far from birth. She blinked at me. "Can't sleep either?"
I shook my head.
She settled beside me with a quiet sigh. "The first full moon after your apprenticeship always feels the longest." Her eyes turned to the stars above. "You want to be there. You want to matter."
I didn't answer, but my flicking ears must've said enough.
Lilyfur went on, her voice low. "Gatherings aren't always as exciting as apprentices dream they'll be. Sometimes it's just posturing and promises no one intends to keep. But tonight…" she glanced at me, "with what you overheard—it might be different."
I turned to her. "Do you think there'll be a fight?"
"I hope not," she said, her tone quiet, but not uncertain. "But I've lived through many moons, Amberpaw. I've seen how even one careless word can turn peace into dust."
We sat together in silence as the moon crept higher, silver light bathing the clearing in a pale glow.
Eventually, Lilyfur stretched and yawned. "Try to rest, little one. Tomorrow will come faster if you sleep."
I nodded and watched her pad back into the Queen's den, her form disappearing into the shadows.
But I stayed where I was, my eyes locked on the stars.
Wondering if Moonpride was watching from up there—
and if they already knew what would happen next.
I must have fallen asleep after dragging myself back to the apprentice's den. The moss beneath me was still warm when a soft nudge stirred me.
A paw pressed against my side again, and I blinked open my eyes to see Droppaw standing over me, one paw raised.
"Oh, you're awake," he meowed. "Was about to paw you again."
I yawned and stretched my legs, still heavy with sleep. The sky outside was still dark, but the edges of the den glowed faintly. Dawn wasn't far off.
"You're back?" I mumbled, my voice scratchy with sleep.
"Yeah," he replied simply.
I sat up, blinking the blur from my eyes. "What happened?"
Droppaw's ears twitched. He glanced toward the entrance as if to make sure no one else was listening, then settled beside me with a low sigh.
Droppaw's ears twitched again. He glanced toward the entrance of the apprentice's den, then lowered his voice as he leaned in.
"It started normal. All the prides gathered at the Stone Circle. Rockpride came late, like always," he added with a flick of his ear. "Sunmoon and Ripplemoon greeted each other, but… you could feel it. Tension. Thick like fog."
I leaned closer, my tail curling tightly around my paws.
"Ripplemoon was the first to speak. he said something about… how Waterpride needed more space. That the fish in their rivers were thinning, and that the land around Moon Rock held better prey."
My heart skipped. "So he really did say that?"
He nodded grimly. "But he said it like a warning—not a challenge. Like he was daring someone to say no. Sunmoon stayed calm, but her claws were out the whole time. Windpride's leader didn't say much, just flicked his tail. Rockpride's leader said it wasn't their concern."
I frowned. "Did Sunmoon agree to anything?"
"No. She just said Moon Rock is Sunpride land, always has been. She didn't raise her voice—but her eyes…" He shivered a little. "She looked ready to leap across the stone and claw someone's ears off."
I could almost see it. Sunmoon, golden and tall, standing beneath the full moon with her fur bristling.
"And then," Droppaw continued, "Moonpride broke the silence. A shooting star passed right over the gathering."
I blinked. "Moonpride?"
"Yeah. That's how everyone took it, anyway. Ripplestar went quiet. And Sunmoon just said, 'The stars are watching. Let's not forget that.'"
A long silence settled between us. My fur prickled.
"The drop…" I whispered. "Maybe it's already fallen."
Droppaw tilted his head, blinking at me. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, ducking my head to lick at my chest fur. My ears burned. I shouldn't have said that out loud.
He let out a soft snort, shaking his head with a small laugh. "You're a strange one, Amberpaw."
It was only then I noticed how his mane had started to grow in—just faint tufts at the sides of his neck, but enough to make him look older than before. A flicker of envy danced in my chest before I pushed it down.
"Well, whatever it was," Droppaw murmured as he turned to his nest, "it's not over." He kneaded the moss a few times before curling up. "Sleep while you can."
I watched him for a moment, the weight of his words settling in my bones. The Gathering had ended, but something had shifted. Like the earth before a storm.
I lay down, pulling my tail tight against my side, and closed my eyes—though sleep didn't come easily.
The next time I woke up, sunlight was already spilling through the den's entrance, warming the moss beneath me. I stretched, blinking against the brightness, then padded outside.
Stormfoot was already waiting near the training hollow, her sharp eyes finding me the moment I stepped out. "Good, you're up. Training starts now."
I nodded quickly and leapt forward to join her. "Ouch!" I hissed as pain flared in my front paw. I landed awkwardly and immediately lifted it, shaking it in the air.
Stormfoot's ears pricked as she came over. "What's wrong?"
"My paw… it hurts," I muttered, trying not to wince too obviously.
She leaned in and gave it a quick inspection, her nose brushing lightly along the pad. Then she sighed, straightening. "Looks like it's a sprain. Go to Willowclaw."
My ears drooped. "But—"
"No buts, Amberpaw. You can't train if you can't walk properly." Her voice was firm, but not unkind. "Let Willowclaw look at it. You can train again once you're better."
I lowered my paw and limped away, frustration bubbling in my chest. First the Gathering, now this. Was I ever going to catch up with the others?
I limped toward the medicine den, ears angled back and tail dragging through the dust. The den was tucked beneath a jutting stone ledge, where herbs hung from cracks in the rock and the scent of thyme and marigold clung to the air.
Inside, the shadows were cool and smelled sharp, earthy. Willowclaw was already awake, sorting through a bundle of dried leaves with her white tail flicking in concentration. Her deer blue eyes flicked toward me as I entered.
"Amberpaw," she said, voice calm and low. "You're limping."
"Stormfoot said to come," I mumbled, lifting my paw again. "I landed weird this morning. It hurts when I put weight on it."
She padded over, her gaze sharp but gentle as she nudged my paw up with her nose, then ran one paw carefully over the pad and up my leg. I winced.
"Hmm. Nothing broken. Just strained," she muttered. "You've been running hard, haven't you?"
I hesitated, then nodded. I wasn't about to tell her I ran half the territory to fetch Firetail the day before. She probably already knew.
Willowclaw padded back to her herb pile and returned with a thick green leaf full of crushed herbs. "This poultice will help the swelling," she said. "Lie down and let me apply it. You'll need to rest for today—maybe two."
"Two days?" I blurted.
"Or more if you keep bouncing around on it like a frog in hot sand." Her voice was dry, but not unkind.
I sighed and laid down, letting her smear the cool paste across my paw. The sting faded fast, replaced by a soothing numbness.
"Stay here until it dries," she said. "And no sneaking out. I mean it, Amberpaw."
I rested my chin on the ground and watched her as she went back to her herbs. Outside, the camp stirred to life. Somewhere, I heard Quiverpaw laughing. I closed my eyes.
Two days. Maybe that was enough time to figure out if I really was the drop. Or if I was just another ripple in the wave.
I lay in the cool shade of the medicine den, my paw propped up on a bit of moss, when soft, fast pawsteps padded toward me.
"Amberpaw?" a small voice called.
I turned my head and blinked as Foxcub slipped inside, his wide amber eyes shining with curiosity. His semi-long fur was a brilliant, fiery red, ruffled and sticking out in every direction like he'd just tumbled through a thorn bush. The white of his belly and the tip of his tail stood out like moonlight against his russet coat.
I found myself staring a bit longer than I meant to.
"Oh," I murmured, "so that's why you're called Foxcub"
He sat down, puffing out his chest a little. "Yup! Nighttail says I look like a little fox when I sneak around." He grinned, then tilted his head. "Why are you in here? Did you get sick?"
"No, just hurt my paw," I answered, lifting it slightly for him to see. "It's not bad, but Willowclaw said I can't train today."
"Lucky," he huffed, flopping down beside me. "I wish I could train already."
"You say that now," I said, smirking, "but wait until you have to get up before the sun and run across the territory on an empty belly."
He giggled, curling his tail over his paws. "I'd still do it. I wanna be a warrior faster than anyone! Even Droppaw!"
I laughed softly. "That's a tall goal."
"I'll be the best," he said confidently. Then his voice lowered. "I'll protect the pride. I'll protect you too."
That made my ears flick, and I stared at him. He looked so serious now, eyes glowing like little flames.
"…Thanks, Foxcub," I said quietly, feeling a strange warmth in my chest.
He grinned again and leaned closer. "Don't tell Nighttail I snuck in here, okay?"
"I won't," I promised.
He stayed for a while, chatting about how he'd almost caught a beetle this morning and how he swore the elders' tails were longer than they should be. When Willowclaw finally poked her head in and gave him a look, he sprang to his paws and whispered, "Bye!" before darting out, tail flashing behind him like fire.
I lay back with a faint smile. The pain in my paw didn't feel quite so sharp anymore.
After Foxcub left and the den quieted again, I found myself staring at the wall of herbs, their soft smells mixing into something calming and strange. But my mind wasn't calm. It was chasing thoughts I couldn't shake—Moonpride… the drop… what was coming.
I turned my head slightly. "Willowclaw?"
The medicine lioness was sorting herbs a few tail-lengths away, her pale fur dusted with dried petals and leaf bits. She flicked an ear. "Yes, Amberpaw?"
"Can I ask you something… about dreams?"
She didn't look up. "You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer."
That didn't exactly reassure me, but I tried anyway. "When Moonpride sends dreams… do they always make sense?"
Willowclaw stilled for a breath, then resumed her work. "Rarely. Not at first."
"But they're important, right?"
"They can be," she admitted, then glanced at me, her gaze sharp. "Why?"
"I just… I had one. A voice. It said 'only one drop into the water is enough to start a wave.'"
That made her pause again—longer this time.
When she finally turned to face me, her eyes were unreadable. "Many cats have strange dreams, Amberpaw. Especially young ones. It doesn't always mean Moonpride sent them."
"But what if it was Moonpride?"
"Then you'd best hope the wave is gentle," she said curtly, turning back to her herbs.
I hesitated, then tried again. "Do you ever get dreams like that?"
"I did. A long time ago," she said, her tone clipped. "But I don't anymore. Moonpride speaks when they need to—not when we want them to."
Her voice had gone hard and cold, and the way she kept her back to me said the conversation was over.
I lowered my head to my paws, a little hurt. I hadn't meant to pry. But… how could I not ask?
The den felt quiet again. Too quiet.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it really had just been a dream.
But somewhere deep inside, I didn't believe that.
After a long silence, I mumbled, "Sorry… I didn't mean to annoy you."
There was a soft rustle. Willowclaw let out a sigh that wasn't quite tired, but not quite angry either. "You didn't."
I blinked. "I didn't?"
She turned halfway, her gaze not as sharp this time. "I've had too many lions ask about signs from Moonpride just because they had a dream about chasing a mouse into the clouds." Her tail flicked. "But yours… that wording. It's different."
I looked up, hopeful. "So you do think it meant something?"
Willowclaw walked over and sat beside me. Her scent was clean and earthy, like crushed herbs and moss. "Amberpaw, you've always had something… strange about you." She didn't say it in a mean way. Just like it was truth. "That's not bad. But strange things attract attention. From the living… and sometimes from beyond."
I stared at my paws. "I don't want attention."
"Too late," she said gently. "But that doesn't mean you're alone."
I looked up at her. She didn't smile—not really—but her eyes had softened, and that said more than words ever could.
"Amberpaw," she said quietly, "you can't tell anyone else about this. Not yet."
I nodded, the weight of her trust sitting heavy on my chest. But it wasn't a bad weight. It felt... warm.
Just as Willowclaw turned away, pawsteps sounded at the den entrance. Droppaw and Bluepaw padded in, each carrying prey between their jaws. The scent of fresh mouse and bird filled the air.
Droppaw set his catch in front of me, his ears flicking slightly. "Figured you'd still be here," he said with a half-smile.
Bluepaw gave his piece to Willowclaw with a polite dip of his head. She accepted it with a grateful flick of her ear.
The moment felt small—simple. But under it was something quiet and real.
For the first time in moons, I didn't feel like just an outsider or a burden. Maybe, just maybe... I was beginning to matter.
Suddenly, the quiet hum of the den was shattered.
"Willowclaw!" Whitetail burst through the entrance, her white fur bristling and eyes wide. "Lilyfur is about to give birth!"
Willowclaw instantly straightened, all softness gone from her eyes as she became the medicine lioness once more. Without hesitation, she turned and swept up a few carefully chosen herbs into a curled leaf, rolling it swiftly and gripping it in her jaws.
"Stay here," she ordered briskly through the bundle. Then, with the grace of a lion half her age, she bolted from the den.
I stared after her, heart pounding. The den felt colder without her. Lilyfur—kind, gentle Lilyfur—was about to become a mother.
"Think she'll be okay?" Droppaw asked softly, his ears flicking back.
"I… I hope so," I said, not sure who I was hoping for more—Lilyfur, or Willowclaw.
Bluepaw sat down beside us, tail curled neatly over his paws. "New life right after a full moon nigth," he murmured. "That has to mean something, right?"
I wasn't sure.
But I found myself staring at the den entrance, waiting, like a wave waiting to crash.