Hailwatcher's eyes flicker open; he finds himself alive, thankfully, but not quite in the right place.
Surrounding him is a deciduous forest with trees that stretch up toward the skies; above him, thunder rumbles and lightning dances through the air, obscured by dark clouds.
Trying to squint to focus the washed-out corners of his vision, Hailwatcher comes to the tentative conclusion that this may be a prophetic dream of sorts.
He rises to his paws and squints into the trees, unable to see details of the shadow-cloaked forest.
Something to him feels off- the trees stand crooked and the air holds a faint chill, though nothing else is disturbed by the cold.
The small gray tom's rudimentary train of thought is disrupted as he's thrown off his paws.
An earthquake vigorously shakes the ground; stones rattle and the sky itself seems to tremble.
A peculiar presence snakes its way around Hailwatcher's shoulders, weighing them down- he feels a presence resting on the very base of his neck.
"Thunder will shake the skies," a soft, raspy voice murmurs into the little gray tom's ear.
Overwhelmed and unsure of what to do, Hailwatcher remains still and begins dissecting this information in his mind, willing himself to think through this situation rationally.
The first thing he considers is the SkyClan-ThunderClan conflict; though not his battle to face directly, perhaps StarClan feels the need to warn him about it.
He begins to question the assumed good faith of StarClan's warnings, and wonders again if they simply like watching him suffer like everyone else seems to.
"Hello?" a tiny voice interjects.
Bewildered, Hailwatcher stifles a yelp as his vision goes black and he feels his consciousness jolt back into his body.
The small gray tom shifts forward, mumbling sleepily to himself.
The kit persists, however, beginning to tap Hailwatcher's forehead with a tiny paw.
"Hello? Are you awake?"
Hailwatcher reluctantly opens his eyes, his paw passing over a new scar on his nose bridge as he lifts it to rub his face.
Standing before him is Squirrelkit, Slightstar's little son; a bit further away, his sister Silverkit stares scrutinizingly at the herb shelf.
The medicine den stands undisturbed, seedlings rustling in the faint breeze.
Growing lichen clings to the rock walls, gradually creeping up toward the ceiling.
"I am now," Hailwatcher replies, trying to make himself sound happier than he is.
Hoping the kits' presence isn't a trap like Fallowpaw's and Acornpaw's ended up being, Hailwatcher sucks in a breath.
"What are you two doing in here?" he adds, twitching an ear.
"Amberfur said we could come say hi," Squirrelkit mews matter-of-factly, his little fluffy tail curled in an arc above him.
"She said you were the med-i-cine cat."
Forcing out a chuckle, Hailwatcher glances around, trying to hide his nervousness from Squirrelkit.
The vine curtain at the medicine den's entrance quivers slightly, indicating to Hailwatcher that the kits haven't had time to get into the herbs and eat anything.
Silverkit neglects to speak and simply gives Hailwatcher a withering, unsettlingly familiar stare through dull green eyes.
"...Yep, that's me," he mumbles to Squirrelkit at last, feeling uncomfortable.
"..Hailwatcher, the medicine cat."
"What do you do in here?" Silverkit pipes up, her tone vaguely monotonous in an endearing but still-unnvering attempt to mimic her father's cadence.
"I heal our Clanmates with these.." Hailwatcher mumbles, motioning to the herb shelf; he admonishes himself for being put off by Silverkit but tries not to look at her.
"You heal them with leaves?" Squirrelkit mews, awestruck.
"..Yes, I- suppose you could put it that way," the small gray tom replies quietly, trailing off into nothingness.
"That's interesting," Silverkit quips, going back to methodically examining each neatly stacked pile of herbs.
Sighing, Hailwatcher curls his feathered tail around his paws.
"Can you play with us?" Squirrelkit inquires, pawing at Hailwatcher's tail.
"Um..I don't feel good today..maybe another time, though," the young medicine cat mews, nudging Squirrelkit off him.
"Aw.."
Squirrelkit pouts, pressing up against Hailwatcher with a childish squeak.
"Pretty please?"
"I-" Hailwatcher sputters, uncomfortable at the physical contact.
"Why can't you play? Is it because you're sad?" the little ginger tom mews, tilting his head and glancing up at Hailwatcher.
"I.. hurt my shoulder a little while ago, when your- your father and I got attacked by- foxes," the young medicine cat replies, having to practically choke out the lie; putting extra emphasis on the mention of nonexistent foxes for a bit of bitter vindication, Hailwatcher draws back into himself with a sigh.
"Okay.." Squirrelkit sighs exaggeratedly, trudging back over toward his sister.
Silverkit sits down, curling his tail over her paws, and stares blankly at her brother as she smooths down her striped pelt.
The three cats sit in an awkward silence for a while and Squirrelkit begins to blow raspberries, his little tongue poking out of his mouth.
Silverkit grows increasingly irritated with the noise, ears twitching rapidly, and eventually turns to her brother, giving him an unimpressed look.
Hailwatcher observes Squirrelkit defiantly sticking his tongue out at his sister before he stops making noise.
The vine curtain rustles; Russetblaze pokes his head in, expression slightly pained.
"Silverkit? Squirrelkit?"
Letting out a whistling breath, Hailwatcher glances warily at the russet tabby.
"Yes?" Silverkit mews, pricking a tufted ear.
"Rosebush told me to come get you two. She said that it was time for you two to eat," Russetblaze responds softly.
"Yay! Food!" Squirrelkit bounces to his paws; Hailwatcher, feeling rather old all of a sudden, winces as the pain in his shoulder becomes more pronounced.
Silverkit calmly rises to her paws and trails after her brother as he scampers out of the medicine den.
"Bye, Hailwatcher!" Squirrelkit calls over his shoulder, though by the time Hailwatcher registers that something's been said to him both the kits are already gone.
Lingering behind is Russetblaze, who shoulders his way into the medicine den with a forced cough.
The russet tabby limps on his front paw, and some sharp object is nestled in his paw pad.
"..Hey," Hailwatcher mumbles, shrinking away as Russetblaze edges closer.
Noticing the little gray tom's trepidation, Russetblaze sighs.
"I won't hurt you, I swear,' he murmurs, lowering himself into a seated position.
"I just need to get my paw treated. Please."
Unconvinced, Hailwatcher leans forward and delicately pulls himself up; upon further inspection, he finds a thorn sticking out of Russetblaze's red, swollen paw pad.
"..Okay," he replies quietly, still skeptical and not attempting to hide it this time around.
Finding it useless to play off his fear, as it usually results in someone giving him something to be afraid of, Hailwatcher leans close to Russeblaze, grasping the thorn in his jaws, and pulls with an apologetic grimace.
Dragging himself over to the herb shelf, Hailwatcher tosses the thorn into an empty ivy leaf and pulls together a mixture of oak leaf, marigold, and chervil.
While chewing the herbs into a pulp, Hailwatcher warily glances around the medicine den.
Carefully spreading the herb poultice over Russetblaze's paw pad, the young medicine cat dresses it with cobwebs.
"..There you go.."
Russetblaze gives his paw a gentle shake and glances up at Hailwatcher, expression softening.
"That's better..thank you."
"Um..you're welcome..." the small gray tom mumbles, nervously looking the russet tabby up and down.
Hailwatcher realizes that he's expecting to be snapped at any second now, and proceeds to back away.
Looking troubled, Russetblaze tilts his head to the side.
"..Are you- what's wrong?" he mews softly, seeming to no longer need the answer to the first question.
Hailwatcher lowers himself to the ground, feeling his legs twitch erratically.
"...Well- you're being nice to me, and that's...different," he mumbles, letting the unspoken implication ring in the air.
Russetblaze hums in acknowledgement, a troubled expression flickering in his eyes.
"..I feel bad for you, if I'm honest. Slightstar- he's scary. And you're still a kid."
Suppressing the urge to ask why the russet tabby happens to be caught up in this mess to begin with, Hailwatcher nods slowly.
"...Alright."
Russetblaze's gaze lingers on the little gray tom for a moment before he looks away, slowly rising to his paws.
"..I'll be going now."
Hailwatcher nods, conflicted regarding how to feel.
"Bye. Be careful on your paw."
"I will," the russet tabby replies over his shoulder, ambling out of the medicine den with a flick of his fluffy tail.
Wavering at the medicine den's entrance, Hailwatcher half-heartedly wills his limbs to stop twitching.
Feeling obligated to inform Slightstar of the message despite having managed to avoid him for several days, he pulls himself up.
Hailwatcher pushes out of the den after a bout of hesitation, slipping past the stocked fresh-kill pile and a cluster of evergreen saplings, and glances around in search of Slightstar.
The evening sky tints his surroundings; pillars of crimson light shine down through the treetops.
He eventually sights the ShadowClan leader sitting outside of his den with his daughter beside him; he explains something to her in hushed, gentle tones.
Silverkit watches her father intently, eyes shining.
Hailwatcher grimaces, dread creeping into his movements.
Something feels off to him, but he hopes that Slightstar is at least a better father than he is a cat.
Tentatively approaching and letting some of the leaves in his fur come loose, the small gray tom tenses as Slightstar glances up at him with a vaguely irritated glimmer in his eyes.
"...Hello, Slightstar," the young medicine cat mumbles, forcing himself to move forward despite his mind pleading him to run away.
The ShadowClan leader raises a brow, bending down to nudge Silverkit to her paws.
"Run along and play now, Silverkit. It seems I must have a conversation with the medicine cat," he mews, cutting his eyes at Hailwatcher for a brief moment.
The small gray tom's hackles bristle.
"Yes, Papa," the little silver tabby mews back, casting a curious glance in Hailwatcher's direction before padding off toward the nursery.
As soon as Silverkit is out of earshot, Slightstar's expression contorts into an unsettling death glare.
"What do you want?" the silver tabby hisses with a sharp flick of his tail.
"I had a vision," the young medicine cat mumbles in reply, growing more regretful of his decision by the heartbeat.
"I was going to- tell you about it.."
The ShadowClan leader sighs harshly but seems intrigued; flicking an ear sharply in the direction of his den, the silver tabby rises to his paws.
"..Mm. Well, let's discuss in my den then, shall we?" Slightstar mews, sneering faintly at his medicine cat's distress.
Staring hesitantly into the dark depths of the leader's den, Hailwatcher nods and tries to hide the fact that he's trembling.
".Y-yes..alright," he stammers out, stepping cautiously into the hollowed-out area.
Hailwatcher stifles a whimper upon seeing the glimmer of dying light reflecting off the ShadowClan leader's outstretched claws as he enters.
Backing up against the wall, the little gray tom bristles and watches Slightstar inch closer.
"You'd better not be wasting my time with idiotic fabrications," hisses the ShadowClan leader, flexing his claws.
"I-I'm- I'm not, I promise," Hailwatcher mumbles, shrinking away.
Slightstar scoffs, seeming somewhat amused.
"Very well, then. Tell me what you saw."
"Well," the young medicine cat begins, backing up and tripping over a tree root, "-the dream started and I was in this forest.."
"It was a weird forest," he mumbles.
"The trees were a little crooked and it was cold.."
"Mhm," replies Slightstar absently; from the repetitive sounds filling the den, Hailwatcher infers that the ShadowClan leader is cleaning his fur.
"And then a voice..said that thunder would shake the skies..."
"..After that, Squirrelkit woke me up, and it was over."
"..I see," the silver tabby mews, his tone professional but menacing.
Hailwatcher waits nervously; an eerie silence hangs in the air.
The little gray tom taps a tree root with his paw, ears twitching in all directions.
Slightstar still doesn't respond, and the sounds of him cleaning his fur have faded. "...Slightstar?" Hailwatcher mews after a few moments.
"What?'' the ShadowClan leader snaps.
"...How are you enjoying being..a father?" the young medicine cat mumbles, hoping to skirt away from the irritated mood that Slightstar is beginning to showcase.
"Why are you asking me questions?" the silver tabby hisses; Hailwatcher hears claws scrape the ground and freezes.
"I am your medicine cat, sort of..I just wanted to know how you were doing," the small gray tom murmurs, cutting himself off before he can start to ramble.
Slightstar scoffs, amber eyes glimmering in the low light.
He lunges forward and knocks Hailwatcher over, pinning him to the ground and pressing on his throat.
"What you are to me is a pawn," he hisses into the gray tom's face.
"An irritating, cowardly, disposable pawn."
"I-" stammers Hailwatcher, struggling feebly to free himself.
"What's your purpose otherwise?" sneers Slightstar.
"You're incapable of saving anyone...Thornflight, Birchstorm, and that old fool included, and aside from that you're good for nothing."
"Convince yourself otherwise all you wish," the ShadowClan leader continues, "—but the truth remains. You're still breathing only because I'm not finished with you."
The corners of Hailwatcher's vision darken; the small gray tom tries to pull Slightstar's paw from his neck.
"Please-" he sputters, struggling.
The ShadowClan leader's unsheathed claws leave small cuts along his paws.
Inside his mind, desperate prayers to StarClan float around.
Slightstar presses down harder, and Hailwatcher chokes out a quiet, strained sob.
"And now you snivel, like the pitiful creature you are," the silver tabby mews, disdainfully spitting out the words before releasing the medicine cat from his grip.
"Get out of my sight."
Hailwatcher pulls himself to his paws, lurching forward with a quiet sob and a cough, and slips past Slightstar toward the mouth of the den; his trembling legs threaten to give out beneath him as he staggers back toward the medicine den.