Heptagon

Heptagon is a fanfiction by Streampaw. It is about nine young cats who form a group and sneak out at night to seek for excitement. It is the first (chronologically) of the Chronicles of Chaos series

Summary
We travel in shadows. No one sees, no one knows. And it stayed that way (sometimes, I wish it hadn't).

Prologue
The night is our mask. We stay up until the stars fade; in our world, the sun is a speck. Respect the night. Nighttime keeps our mouths opening and closing, keeps us from snapping at any chance we get. Nighttime keeps us going. Be grateful. We travel in shadows, no more than three at a time; it's our secret. No one else saw, no one else knew. "And it will stay that way," Lilywind says.

There's nine of us and almost too many to mention. Feathertail is elusive. Always alone (she prefers it that way). At day, she is swarmed by others, mostly from her own clan. Bees over a field of flowers. Except the flowers are long since dead and the bees are just as fake as anything else. We don't talk about day, but it's something we all notice.

The three Windclan cats travel together but their faces are anything but friendly. Icejay shifts like ocean water, the calm before the storm, and the lightening that follows. Poppyleaf is a fox and she knows it, never saying anything straight. She's the one who comes up with all the ideas; climb trees to the top, peel the bark off branches. Jump into the river. Crawl through brambles and return without burrs (We fell asleep bleeding that dawn, scarlet). Grasstail is almost nice but too bitter to be anything else.

Shadowfern hardly talks but does more than anyone, and the most mysterious cat I've known. Only Feathertail knows why she came and she hasn't told. Yet. Dappleflight and Lilywind, sisters. Both of them are Riverclan, and one of them isn't what they look. Lilywind is both the gentlest and most startling cat I know. Swallowstorm, ripped at every edge. And me, Darkstream, shunned by both my mother and Starclan. To them, I'm just a speck of dirt. A tangle. A mistake. Something to overlook. Isn't it ironic that we like think of each other in the same way, but only one succeeds?

The hollow overlooking the sea became our meeting spot. We slip out as the sun sets, a curious band of newly-made warriors. We never had a name, although Dappleflight suggested it once, always referring to us as "us" or"them" or "the group", or simply not at all. Dappleflight made the group in the first place. "Open to anyone looking for adventure in their life," she had announced to me at the gathering. Except now it was only for the nine of us. We never had an established leader; we met up, we did things, we talked, we left. We have roles; some, not at all. Poppyleaf gives the ideas. Dappleflight sorts out which nights we meet, and which we don't. Shadowfern scouts. We take turns being look out, always ready to scatter in case someone came, but nobody ever came, and nobody has.