"Our Clan doesn't need anything more from you.  But if there was something you felt like offering, in trade, for help which we are positioned to provide, then of course it would be foolish not to accept."  He stares at Cam kind of intently.

"...whatever the cultural significance of this is is kind of lost on me, I'm sorry."

"Incidentally, you were correct that it would be beneath our dignity - and against the warrior code - to accept food from you."

"Would you folks like a month's supply of vacuum sealed assorted comestibles - I can figure out how to make it so you can open them - in exchange for an introduction to the other clans?"

". . . Well, that would be somewhat difficult, given our present relations with some of them, but your offer was generous enough that I'm sure we can improve on you trying to meet them alone."

"Fireheart, this is - wrong - "

"There's nothing wrong about making allies, Sandstorm," he meows quietly.  "Especially since you saw what he did to the other Cinderpelt.  And to the real Cinderpelt, for that matter."  (Cinderpelt is still lying down where she flopped, and though her head is up her eyes are closed; she doesn't particularly seem to be following the conversation.)  "This is what's best for the Clan."

Sandstorm turns to Cam.  "I don't like any of this, but a moon's worth is definitely too much for what you're asking.  Give us a quarter of that at most, and find something else you want after that if you really must."

"I had actually talked myself down from a year. A principle of trade is that things are often of different values to different parties and everyone wins by making the exchange; there's no objective fair price."

"A quarter-moon at a time, then."

"If you want it in installments that's... okay I guess."

(Sandstorm looks unhappy but doesn't actually object.)

"ThunderClan thanks you for your generosity."

"You're welcome. Where do you want the food? And what are everybody's favorites?"

"We're not taking you to ThunderClan camp," Sandstorm responds immediately.

"Here is fine; we can carry it back - I like finches and voles - " and he lists a variety of species which he knows particular cats to favor.  "Maybe one of us should try one to make sure it's alright before you make the whole batch."

"Sure." He makes a sample vole in a package that should open easily once punctured with a claw.

"What's this around it?"

"Plastic. Keeps it clean, so it won't rot even if you leave it in there for months."

"It smells bad."

"I'm sorry, you probably have a better nose than I do. Does it make the vole taste bad?"

Fireheart de-plastics the package and nudges Cinderpelt's shoulder with his nose.  "Cinderpelt, try this vole."

"Mmn?"  She cracks open an eye and after a moment of processing agreeably starts in on it.

The vole would taste normal, to a human who ate voles, but the packaging process was not devised with the feline palate in mind.

"Tastes kinda Twoleg-y," she declares after a few bites, and stops eating, and closes her eyes again.