Rumour Chatter

Duskstalk passed away from the freshkill pile, a frog held between her jaws, looking for a quiet place to settle down and unwind from the day she’d had with a bit of food. 

Most of the day had been busy for the dark-furred molly, starting out with a place on the early morning patrol team, the cold chill of morning dew still clinging to the grass and shrubs and the ground beneath her paws hard with the lingering night chill as she and the others walked the tenuous borders, ensuring the other clans hadn’t tried to steep over the areas they’d agreed upon. 

After she returned from the patrol, Duskstalk barely had a moment to herself before her apprentice was bounding over to her, demanding to go out on a lesson. 

Batpaw was far too energetic at the best of times, and just after returning from a patrol and before she’d had to chance to get something in her stomach was not the best of times. 

Really her apprentice did try her patience at times. 

… or quite often if she was to be honest. 

Regardless, despite his whining and pouting Duskstalk did manage to convince the young cat to at least wait until she’d eaten before making demands of her. 

His silence lasted all of a minute. 

But she was getting used to his boisterous boasting and his tall tales and stories, learning how to dismiss most of them and ignore the rest of what Batpaw said. Her apprentice really did have a way of stretching and omitting details from his stories, a trait she needed to put a damper on if she didn’t want to be stuck with him for longer than she wanted. 

After a quick meal filled with his incessant chatter Duskstalk had not been looking forwards to taking him out for training, but that was her duty as his mentor and so the dark-furred molly had held her tongue and walked out of the camp as calmly as she could with Batpaw near bouncing along beside her. 

The lesson went… fine. 

Just… fine. 

The less said about it the better but Batpaw had walked back into camp well and whole, though upset and unimpressed at her, as he usually was. 

Which found Duskstalk where she was now, settling down in a quiet part of Shadowclan camp to eat her frog and wind down for the evening. 

“Duskstalk! There you are!”

Or perhaps she wasn’t going to have a nice quiet meal to help her unwind after all. Ok. 

She looked to the voice calling her, sharp eyes narrowed before she recognised the soft, while pelt of his brother Whiteheart approaching her. 

She relaxed, tension bleeding from her shoulders at the familiar sight of him, ear flicking in a small greeting as he drew nearer.

“I just got back.” She answered, voice uncharacteristically warm. 

Her brother drew closer before dropping to sit with her, limbs tucking under his scruff as he settled across from her, watching her eat with eyes alight with a bright eagerness. 

“Did you hear?” Duskstalk rolled her eyes at him, ears pinning back before she twisted her head away from him and whatever silly notion he’d picked up from whatever chatter boxes and nosey cats he spent his days talking to. 

“If you are going to feed me another bit of silly, baseless gossip then you have better things to do.”

Whiteheart, used to her attitude, brushed off the molly’s sharp words as if she hadn’t spoken them at all. “Owlclaw’s been acting weird lately, and Egretcall said she saw her coming out of the medicine cat den when she was visiting Swansong the other day!”

“And?” Duskstalk snapped, more annoyed that she was listening to the gossip at all than the fact she was at the end of a long day. “Perhaps she’s just unwell, some cats are still recovering from the journey to get here after all.”

She watches as Whiteheart flinches and feels a stab of regret, her own gaze snapping to the frog between her claws rather than the aching grief she knew would be on her brother’s face, the same grief she knew lay mirrored in her own heart. 

They were both well aware of the toll the journey had taken on them all. 

… she shouldn’t have said something so cruel to him. 

“And regardless,” she continued, snappish irritation replaced by a fumbling stiffness. “It’s hardly our problem what goes on with her. Owlclaw can handle herself just fine with whatever’s going on with her.”

“Well…” Whiteheart said after a long, drawn-out moment, drawing the molly’s eyes back to him, observing the ways his paws kneaded the ground anxiously. “How’s Batpaw’s training going?”

Ah.

Duskstalk went still, fur bristling across her shoulders. “So Egretcall believes Owlclaw’s expecting?”

Whether Whiteheart noticed her blatant dismissal of the question or not wasn’t something the molly cared to think about, choosing instead to focus on how her brother brightened at her interest in the gossip he’d brought her.

“Yes! She said she didn’t ask Swangsong about it though, didn’t want to make things awkward with pushing questions, you know?”

“I can imagine.”

Whiteheart’s eagerness wasn’t tampered in any way by Duskstalk’s dry tone. “But she and some of the others have noticed her acting out of sorts, Poppysprout says she’ll be moving into the nursery soon.”

“And do they have any ideas who they’re unknown mate is?”

The way Whiteheart immediately quietened, ears dropping and tail curling close to his body, had Duskstalk’s nerves on edge, attention now laser focused on her brother. 

“Well…” he started, the word thin and warbling, trailing off into nothing.

Duskstalk allowed a beat of tense silence before prompting the tom to continue.

“Well what, Whiteheart?”

He swallowed heavily, tail thumping the ground once, twice. Then his eyes scrunched shut and he blurted out the words, almost a whisper. “I think it might be a cat from another clan.”

It took Duskstalk a moment to realise what her brother said, her ears not quite processing the white-furred tom’s words.

When she did, she scoffed, tone dismissive. “Owlclaw’s not that silly to make such a stupid mistake.”

The tom peered at her, confusion twisting his muzzle. “Mistake?”

“What else would you call it?” She challenged, tail flicking in a sharp, irritated line. “That’s a clear betrayal to Shadowclan.”

“You can’t help who you fall in love with!” Whiteheart insisted, fur puffing out in a distressed ball. “It just happens! Especially considering everything that happened during the journey!”

Her eyes narrowed, clearly not believing what he was saying, regardless of how much he seemed to believe it. “Sure.”

“I mean it!”

He was pouting now, put out by her usual response to these kinds of topics.

“Regardless,” she continued, returning her attention to her frog in a pointed manner. “She’s still here and doesn’t seem to have a mate, nor did anyone come with her when the clans split, I doubt it’s anything to worry about.”

“But… but what if she does have half-clan kits?” Whiteheart hissed, low, quiet, eyes flicking about as he made an obvious method not to be heard.

“Then she better know enough not to admit to it.”