The New World

A collab by Mistleheart and Mistsong.

Sorry about the terrible quality.

Especially some strange names and descriptions.

We didn't exactly take turns writing chapters - more like, I wrote 7/8 of the story, and Mist wrote the first chapter and...maybe chapter nine? Meh. I forgot.

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ALLEGIANCES NatureClan Leader: PETALSTAR- tortoiseshell she-cat

Deputy: SNOWPELT- white she-cat with blue eyes, formerly of SnowClan

Medic Cat: NIGHTWING- dark gray, spotted tom with green eyes Warriors (toms and she-cats without kits) FIREPELT- golden tom with blue eyes

Apprentice, CHEETAHPAW (dark ginger she-cat)

CREEKSKY- gray tom with green eyes

AMBERDUST- light ginger tabby tom

OAKFALL- brown tom with amber eyes

MORNINGSKY - tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat

CLOUDFUR - white tom with green eyes

DAWNLEAP - delicate mottled golden she-cat

BRIGHTPOOL- fluffy ginger tom

FLAMESTORM- flame-colored tom

Apprentice, MARIGOLDPAW (sleek silver tabby tom)

EMBERHEART- silver-and-black tabby she-cat

MISTYCLAW- gray she-cat with blue eyes

IVYLEAF- golden tabby she-cat

PEACHFEATHER- she-cat with a speckled white and reddish-brown pelt

RUSTFLOWER - reddish-brown she-cat

DRIFTLEAP - gray-and-white tom

DAYBREEZE- white tom with green eyes

SKYSTRIPE - tabby tom with blue eyes

MISTLEHEART - silver tabby she-cat with amber eyes

Apprentices (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors)

FLOWERPAW - tortoiseshell she-cat

MARIGOLDPAW- silver tabby tom

LEOPARDPAW- black tabby she-cat

CHEETAHPAW- spotted ginger she-cat

BLOSSOMPAW - tortoiseshell she-cat with green eyes Queens (she-cats nursing or expecting kits)

DUSKFLOWER - black she-cat (mother to Skykit, a silver tabby she-kit with blue eyes)

MAPLELEAF - brown she-cat; green eyes (mother to Rosekit, a cream-colored she-kit, Grasskit, a brown tabby tom, and Yellowkit, a pale ginger tom)

SUNPELT - ginger she-cat (mother to Riverkit, a light gray she-kit with blue eyes, expecting another litter)

FERNHEART - brown tabby she-cat with light green eyes (mother to Skystripe’s kits: Dapplekit, a spotted gray she-kit, Sunkit, a golden tabby tom, and Streamkit, a gray tom)

MEADOWHEART - gray tabby she-cat with green eyes, expecting Amberdust’s kits Elders

DUSTLEAF - pale brown tom with amber eyes

LITTLENOSE- small white tom

PEARFROST- brown-and-white tom SnowClan Leader: STORMSTAR- gray tom with blue eyes

Deputy: HAREHEART- wiry brown tabby tom

Medicine cat: WHITEDUST - mottled white she-cat Warriors TWIGCLAW- brown tabby tom with white paws

Apprentice, FROSTPAW (fluffy silver tom)

RAINHEART- sleek silver she-cat

Apprentice, SHININGPAW (glossy-furred gray she-cat)

LAKEFROST- dark gray tom with green eyes

FOXFLIGHT - russet tabby tom

ICEHEART- silver-gray tom with stunning blue eyes

LIGHTFUR - ginger-and-white tom

FLASHEYE - black-and-white tom

THUNDERFLASH - silver-and-black she-cat

GRASSSHINE -brown tabby she-cat

SUNBREEZE - golden she-cat

ICICLESTRIKE- mottled white tom

PUDDLEFUR - splotchy brown-and-white tom

OTTERFUR - dark ginger tom

Apprentices FROSTPAW - fluffy silver tom

SHININGPAW - glossy gray she-cat

Queens MINNOWSPLASH - dark gray she-cat, expecting Otterfur’s kits

BRIGHTSTRIPE - ginger she-cat (mother to Sunbreeze’s kits: Lilykit, a gray she-kit, Burrkit, a tabby-and-white tom, and Frozenkit, a golden tom) FireClan Leader: FLAMESTAR- flame-colored tom with amber eyes

Deputy: FIREPOOL- flame-colored tom with amber eyes

Medicine Cat: POPPYSKY- gray-brown she-cat

Warriors

BLOSSOMFIRE- scarred tortoiseshell she-cat

DAWNLEAF- reddish-brown she-cat with green eyes

RINGFIELD- friendly yellow tom with green eyes

GLOOMDAY- brown tom with a scar on his ear with almost black eyes

SUNSPIKE- white and brown tom with orangish eyes

DAYBREEZE- white tom with blue eyes

HONEYFROST- yellow she-cat with green eyes

AMBERSKY- amber colored she-cat with brown eyes

Apprentices

CHEETAHPAW- a she-cat that looks like a cheetah with green eyes

LEOPARDPAW- a tom that looks like a leopard with amber eyes

SPOTPAW- a black and white spotted tom with brown eyes

Queens

LILYFLOWER- a white she-cat  with bright blue eyes(mother to RINGFIELD’s kits: SWEETKIT, FLOWERKIT )

BLAZEPELT- a flame-colored she-cat who’s eyes always have a blaze in them; expecting GLOOM DAY's kits

CHERRYLIGHT- black and brown she-cat with brown eyes; expecting SUNSPIKE’s kits

Kits

SWEETKIT- a yellow she-cat with bright blue eyes

FLOWERKIT- a white and yellowish she-cat with green eyes

Elder

THORNKEY- a grumpy brown tom with brown eyes that show he’s actually nice

DUSKFLOWER- a dust-colored she-cat with green eyes

SKYRING- a friendly white tom with blue eyes NightClan Leader: HOLLOWSTAR - dark brown tabby tom

Deputy: DEERFLIGHT - silver-and-fawn tabby she-cat

Medicine Cat: DARKFROST - dark gray tom

Warriors

SPARROWFUR - light brown tom

SUNPELT - bright golden-yellow tom with yellow eyes

APPRENTICE, Leafpaw

FLOWERPELT - brown-and-white she-cat

APPRENTICE, Spiderpaw

SILVERSTRIPE - gray tabby she-cat

RABBITFUR - skinny gray tom with yellow eyes

HAWKSHADE - black-and-white tom; ice-blue eyes APPRENTICES LEAFPAW - sleek, glossy gray tom

SPIDERPAW - black tabby she-cat Chapter One Snowpelt crouched low, pressing her pelt on her nest. It was still warm from the sun rising over the distant hills. Heat ran over her fur as cats began to stir in the warriors’ den. She got up and padded to the clearing, ready announce which cat would be going on which patrol. As soon as she saw Creeksky she trotted towards the blue-gray tom.

“Creeksky, you can take a dawn patrol out. You may pick the cats on the patrol, but don’t take Morningsky, Amberdust, Oakfall, or Daybreeze because they’re leading other patrols,” Snowpelt announced. Creeksky seemed surprised that she chose him to lead a border patrol.

”Thank you, Snowpelt, I would be honored to,” he meowed gratefully, dipping his head. Snowpelt watched him padding over to a ring of cats willing to go on border patrol, then turned to Daybreeze.

“Daybreeze, please lead the border patrol once Creeksky’s patrol come back. You may choose your cats, but don’t choose Morningsky, Amberdust, and Oakfall,” Snowpelt mewed.

“Sure, then I will take Mistyclaw, Ivyleaf, and Emberheart,” purred Daybreeze, then padded off to tell Mistyclaw that they were going on border patrol. Morningsky was heading out of the medicine den when Snowpelt padded over and ask her “Can you lead hunting pa-?”

“She’s expecting kits”, interrupted Nightwing.

“Ok, go and rest Morningsky,” purred Snowpelt. Snowpelt finished assigning patrols, then started climbing High Rock.

“Petalstar, may I come in?” Snowpelt asked.

“Yes, what is it Snowpelt?” Petalstar was surprised. Snowpelt sat down next to Petalstar.

“Morningsky is expecting kits soon! Nightwing is going to have to choose a apprentice, and for the next medicine cat, also Warriors!” Snowpelt mewed cheerfully.

“That is good news!” purred Petalstar.

“I will tell Nightwing that he has to pick a apprentice,” mewed Snowpelt.

“Sure,” meowed Petalstar. Snowpelt padded out and headed towards the medicine den.

She stopped at the entrance of the medicine den and went inside, she looked and looked until she found Nightwing in the store throwing out old herbs.

“Let me guess- it's time for me to get an apprentice,” mewed Nightwing.

“How do you know?” Snowpelt mewed in surprise.

“I just know, that’s how,” purred Nightwing. Snowpelt padded under the Highrock as Petalstar emerged from her den.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather under the Highrock!” announced Petalstar, as Nightwing padded up beside her.

“Cats of NatureClan, as you know, I will not be around forever, and I am getting quite old. So it’s time I took an apprentice. I have chosen a cat who has shown wisdom and intelligence. Your next medicine cat will be Skykit,” announced Nightwing. Skykit dashed up in between Nightwing and Petalstar and stood there, barely able to conceal her excitement. “Skykit, do you accept the post to Nightwing?” asked Petalstar. “I do!” Skykit mewed with a quiver of eagerness in her voice.

“Skykit, you will now be known as Skypaw. At the half-moon, you must travel to the Moonpool to be accepted to StarClan before the other medicine cats.” continued Nightwing. “The good wishes of all NatureClan will go with you,” announced Petalstar quietly as Nightwing touched noses with Skypaw. “Skypaw! Skypaw! Skypaw!” The assembled warriors began to cheer the new apprentice. “You are dismissed,” Petalstar yowled before leaping down from the Highrock and padding towards her den. Snowpelt watched her leave, concerned about her sudden departure. She noticed Skypaw bound towards the other kits, eyes shining with excitement, while Ivyleaf drew closer to Snowpelt. “We need to talk,” the golden tabby she-cat mewed firmly. “Alright, what do you need to talk about?” asked Snowpelt. Ivyleaf padded towards the nursery and Snowpelt followed her inside. She can feel her excitement in her pelt, her hotness flushed her too. Is she expecting kits too? Two she-cats in a single day. What’s going on? thought Snowpelt worriedly. “I am expecting kits and after that I will help other queens with their…well, I don’t know what you would describe it as,” Ivyleaf finally meowed.

Snowpelt heaved a long sigh. “That’s quite kind of you to help the new queens after your kitting, but… who is your mate?” Snowpelt asked. Ivyleaf hesitated. “I know I can’t hide it now, but…”  she paused hesitantly. “Iceheart is my mate,” the golden tabby confessed. Snowpelt’s fur bristled at the mention of her brother. “What?” She dug her claws into the ground. “I know-” Ivyleaf flattened her soft golden ears defensively. “Iceheart is part of my family,” Snowpelt interrupted harshly. Ivyleaf stared at her in surprise.

“What do you mean that Iceheart is part of your family, he’s a SnowClan warrior!” exclaimed Ivyleaf, her fur bristling. “Can you tell me about before you came to NatureClan?” “No!” Snowpelt growled. “What do you think of me telling you my family’s biggest secret?” Ivyleaf looked taken aback, but she slowly nodded. “I’m sorry, that I asked, Snowpelt.” Snowpelt anxiously ducked her head, realizing she had snapped when Ivyleaf hadn’t done anything wrong. “No, it’s fine.” Snowpelt sighed. “I should be sorry that I snapped at you for no reason,” she added. She started out of camp, but Ivyleaf followed her, her ears pricking with suspicion as she realized where Snowpelt was heading for. “What are you doing - crossing borders?” The warrior narrowed her eyes challengingly, raising her chin. “I am welcomed in all the territories - there was an agreement between the Clans. Don’t you know that?” Snowpelt growled. She swiftly stepped across the border, watched closely by Ivyleaf. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” “Alright, Snowpelt,” Ivyleaf mewed with a sigh of resignation. “But be careful. SnowClan cats are hostile, despite you being allowed to roam wherever you please.” “How did you fall in love with one, then?” Snowpelt snorted. “Trait-” Flasheye shook her violently, then stepped back, his eyes wide as he realized he had attacked the deputy of NatureClan. He ducked his head, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry, Snowpelt. I didn’t mean to…” “It's ok, I know that you didn't," mewed Snowpelt licking her paw.

"I'll get Stormstar for you," mewed Flasheye, and he started to walk off.

"No, it's not Stormstar I want to talk to, it's Iceheart." Snowpelt mewed firmly.

"Iceheart? Why do you need Iceheart?" questioned Flasheye.

"It's nothing. I just need to talk to him about…our family?" exclaimed Snowpelt quickly. She started padding towards SnowClan's camp, when she got there she tried to look around, but the kits were too excited and too noisy for her to concentrate. After a moment, she stopped and looked down at the squirming kits.

"Can you stop, can you see I am trying to find a cat here?" snapped Snowpelt, as Lakesplash padded towards the NatureClan deputy.

"Sorry, Snowpelt my kits can get out of control, say, which cat are you trying to find?" asked Lakesplash. She tried to ignore the sound of her kits, but after a bit she snapped, "Get back into the nursery, NOW."

"It's ok, and I'm trying to find Iceheart," answered Snowpelt, not knowing Iceheart is in behind her. “Turn around," mewed Lakesplash, then she went to catch up to her kits.

"Oh! Hi, Iceheart," mewed Snowpelt as she turned.

"Hi, Snowpelt nice to see you again. Did you hear about me and-"

"That is exactly what I'm going to talk to you about!" interrupted Snowpelt, partly snapping from inpatients.

"Okay, Snowpelt, but not right now. I need to go on patrol, so I'll see you later." mewed Iceheart. Snowpelt watched Iceheart padding towards a group of cats. Then Snowpelt went back to NatureClan, determined to come back soon. Chapter Two The squirrel squeaked with terror as the silver tabby she-cat leaped for it, lashing her tail. The squirrel scurried up the oak tree where it had plucked its nut from a leaf, pausing halfway to the top. The cat gave a huge leap and tore the squirrel from the tree trunk. It struggled wildly in her claws and scrambled back towards the oak, but the silver cat gritted her teeth, lunged for the prey, and killed it with a swift nip on its spine. “Good catch, Mistleheart!” A voice behind the silver tabby made her start, and she turned around, realizing it was Oakfall. The brown tom gave her a nod. “You can bury the fresh-kill here. Let's keep hunting.” “With green-leaf around the corner, we'll have the biggest fresh-kill pile in Clan territory!” Skystripe remarked as Mistleheart scraped earth over her squirrel. “And we'll have enough prey for your kits,” Oakfall mused. Skystripe drew himself up proudly. “Nightwing says Fernheart’s kits are due to arrive any day,” he meowed. “More warriors for NatureClan!” Oakfall declared triumphantly. Mistleheart quietly listened in, scuffling dirt to cover the squirrel entirely. Why  do they always have to act like the other Clans are nothing but stupid rivals? She decided not to interrupt and paced around the bushes. The glossy leaves, lit and dappled by sunlight, brushed lightly against her thick, striped pelt. She hunched her broad shoulders as Oakfall and Skystripe continued chattering. Finally the two ignorant toms noticed her. “We'd better keep hunting,” Oakfall mewed casually. “Yes, I suppose so,” Mistleheart retorted. Too sharp, the silver tabby she-cat thought with a tiny flicker of guilt as Oakfall reared back, his ears twitching, and trudged a few paces away. She shook out her thick, striped pelt, which was starting to tangle with chips of wood and grass. Skystripe glanced uncomfortably between the two warriors. Oakfall finally spoke, and his voice was sharp. “Come on,” the brown tom growled. His eyes weren’t warm as usual, and Mistleheart knew that she had been too irritable. “We need more than a squirrel and a sparrow before sunhigh.” “Sunhigh?” Skystripe mewed, uncomfortably. Mistleheart replied this time. “Snowpelt said so.” It was hard to keep her from hissing, she was already fed up with these bumbling toms. “Okay, come on,” Oakfall interrupted before either cat could speak again. The brown tom turned his back. “Alright, Skystripe, you head towards Pine-rocks to hunt there. Watch out for adders or enemy patrols.” He paused. “You will head back to hunt around camp.” Mistleheart let her fur fluff up. “I'm not just you, okay?” she snapped. “I'm…” She heard her voice falter as Oakfall interrupted again. “We'll meet here by sunhigh.” He traced an arc in the earth with a claw. “Agreed?” Skystripe muttered in agreement, but Mistleheart said nothing. The small tabby she-cat resentfully complied and trudged damp-heartedly towards camp. She wished that for once, warriors would stop worrying about boundaries and instead listen to the real, new world out there…

SCENEBREAK “Is that it?” At Oakfall’s dismissive mew, Mistleheart lowered her amber eyes to the ground. “It's all we could find.” Her tone came out as a challenge. Skystripe flicked his tail. The sparrow had returned to Oakfall’s paws, along with a vole; Mistleheart’s squirrel and a small, black rabbit were in her jaws, while Skystripe had a thrush. “It's quite a lot, if you ask me,” the white-striped tom meowed defensively, eying the brown warrior. Oakfall turned around. “I'm sure Amberdust’s patrol have caught something more.” At his spiteful comment, Mistleheart had a struggle keeping her fur flat. “Mistleheart, calm down!” Skystripe whispered, staring worriedly at Oakfall. Mistleheart realized that she was glaring at Oakfall and her claws were digging into the ground, her fur bristling. “Sorry.” The thick-furred silver tabby she-cat smoothed her pelt down and faced Oakfall.

Oakfall snorted. “Let’s return to the Clan. And remember you’ve only been a warrior for two moons before,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Mistleheart.

The silver tabby’s black-ringed tail lashed irritably, but she clenched her teeth to prevent herself from snapping, and reluctantly gave a barely visible nod. Oakfall looked satisfied and grunted to Skystripe, “Come on.” As the patrol entered camp, Snowpelt hurried up to Mistleheart and ignored Oakfall, to her surprise. “How did the hunt go?” Mistleheart did the irritable thing. She muttered, “It went fine except for the fact that I had to listen to boring talk about rival Clans - the discussion of these two.” She indicated the other cats in the patrol. Snowpelt lowered her gaze. “Oh…okay.” She turned to Oakfall and Skystripe. “Will you excuse us for a moment or two? I need to speak to Mistleheart.” The two older toms narrowed their eyes at Mistleheart, but however stunned their glittering eyes were, they dipped their heads respectfully to the deputy and headed towards the warriors’ den. When both toms had departed Mistleheart remarked, “I wish I could be deputy. Then I could shut up all their talk about rivalry. They were getting infuriating today.” She knew it was the wrong thing to say. But she did it anyway. Snowpelt flicked her tail in amusement. “You’re a stubborn one.” Mistleheart was entirely aware Snowpelt was several seasons older than she and had been a young warrior by the time she was a two-moon-old kit. “So I’ve been told.” “You don’t seem to especially care,” Snowpelt noted, “and by the way, your fur is standing up.” Mistleheart hastily flattened her fur. “Well, sorry,” she said between her teeth. It took all her willpower not to yowl or shout at the deputy. She supposed she could land herself in trouble if she did.

“Don’t be,” Snowpelt responded, to her surprise. “I’ve been marked out as a grumpy cat since I was an apprentice.” Her gaze was distant. “What did you want to speak to me about?” Mistleheart asked bitingly. She sounded sharper than she meant, but Snowpelt didn’t seem fazed. “We’d better go to a more private area for the discussion of this…matter,” Snowpelt cautiously explained. She led Mistleheart to a corner of the camp underneath a sprawling birch tree. Mistleheart sat back between two winding roots. Snowpelt stood opposite of her, pacing agitatedly. Snowpelt finally said, “Ivyleaf is expecting kits.” Mistleheart blinked. That’s what she wanted to speak to me about? “Uh…so what?” Snowpelt growled. “Iceheart’s kits.” “You mean…that SnowClan tom! With silver fur and blue eyes?” Mistleheart exclaimed. Snowpelt glared at the ground as if Ivyleaf stood there. “Clearly she fell for him a few Gatherings before. I’m worried about what the Clan would think.” “She would be exiled. Or worse.” “I don’t know what to think of her now. She told me so openly. And there’s more.” Mistleheart’s ears perked. “What?” “Iceheart is, strangely, in my family,” Snowpelt explained, bitterness dripping in every word. “And now they’re having an inter-Clan relationship. This is not good at all. They’ll think I’m a traitor, or something.” Mistleheart was appalled. “Why?” “In a border skirmish a moon after your mother moved into the nursery, Iceheart accidentally killed a NatureClan warrior, Marshcloud,” Snowpelt told her. “And I’m his sister.” Mistleheart whisked her tail, cursing herself. Why hadn’t she noticed before? The similarity between Snowpelt and Iceheart…they both had bright blue eyes. They constructed their words in the same way. They even had the same ringed tail and tuft at the end. “But that’s not your fault!” “Will the Clan think that?” Snowpelt inquired dryly. “No. Marshcloud was a legendary warrior. He defeated the Scorch’s second-in-command. I told Ivyleaf that I’m a murderer’s sister. Soon, she’ll tell the other queens, and then they’ll tell their mates. Eventually the leader will know. You don’t understand.” “Why are you telling me of all cats?” Mistleheart asked, her voice quivering. Snowpelt met her gaze, her stunning blue eyes intent and a little distracting. “I don’t know.” Mistleheart turned her head away and opened her mouth to reassure the deputy, but a pretty pale ginger she-cat called out from the edge of camp, “Mistleheart!” “So much for a private conversation,” Snowpelt muttered. She stalked into the crowd, her tail lashing agitatedly. The golden she-cat hurried over to Mistleheart. “Your fur is covered with scratches!” she yelped. “Should I tell Nightwing? Skypaw needs her practice anyway.” Mistleheart stepped away. “I’m fine, mother,” she said grumpily. “I’m not a two-moon-old kit.” She hadn’t yet realized her legs were covered with short, jagged scars from pushing through thornbushes during the hunting patrol. Dawnleap ignored her protests. “Your legs are bleeding a little!” she rambled, nosing Mistleheart. “Have you opened that scar above your eye again? No? Good! The last time we had to get you treated, Nightwing ran out of poultices for a few days!” “I’m fine,” Mistleheart snapped.

Dawnleap continued asking her short questions, occasionally blurting, “StarClan forbid!” or “My poor kitten!” or “Please, don’t tell me that’s another cut near the eye.” Finally Mistleheart’s patience broke. “Okay, okay!” she growled. “I’m going to have some rest.” She turned around and stormed headfirst into the warriors’ den. Most of the nests were stale and empty. Two nests near Mistleheart’s, Cloudfur and Peachfeathers’, were dusty. Mistleheart sighed as she padded to her nest near the edge of the den and curled up in it, staring through the entrance at the horizon. The sky was darkening already. Golden, rose, and strikingly violet lights danced across the horizon, which was visible through the thick expanse of pine trees. Soon, the muted chatting of the warriors outside, the sound of playing kits, and the warbling of songbirds in the trees lulled Mistleheart to sleep. Mistleheart was aroused the moment she closed her eyes. She seemed alone except for a few mice and squirrels which fled into the rocks. Mistleheart rose from her sleeping position and studied her surroundings, the way her mentor, Creeksky, had instructed her to do if she found herself alone. The sky was black, sparkling with stars that looked like chips of moonstone scattered throughout the night. The ground she stood on glowed strangely silver, as did the trees, the river, and the boulders in which the mice and squirrels had scrambled into. This place is beautiful,  Mistleheart thought. “StarClan?” she murmured aloud. A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision startled her. She whipped around, claws unsheathed and digging into the earth. A sleek, beautiful she-cat was chasing a hare. Beautiful was the right way to describe the cat - not pretty, or elegant, or anything else. Her fur was as silver as a beam of moonshine, with black specks around her muzzle. Her eyes were as dazzling blue and cold as ice. Her face was regal, commanding. Mistleheart knew instantly that she was a leader. The she-cat overtook the hare easily, moving so fast Mistleheart’s eyes stung. She killed it swiftly with a nip to the spine. Mistleheart couldn’t help but grunt, “Nice catch.” The cat turned. Her cold blue eyes observed Mistleheart for a long time. She allowed the hare to drop to the earth. “So you are the one.” Mistleheart’s breath caught. “What do you mean?” The cat’s eyes were distracting, like Snowpelt’s. “You may not understand your importance to the Clan yet,” she said in a cold tone that matched her eyes. “But you will soon find out.” “Do - does this have something in regards with Snowpelt?” Mistleheart asked, finding it unnerving that her voice was still peculiarly steady. The cat regarded Mistleheart. “You’re taking this extremely calmly,” she noted. “You haven’t answered my question.” Mistleheart scowled in spite of herself. “You will find out,” the cat said. “In your own time.” Mistleheart gritted her teeth. “Just tell me! Is it too difficult for you to utter one word? A ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” With a start, she realized that the cat’s paws were glittering with starry frost. So were her eartips, her tail, and the tip of her nose. “Are you a StarClan cat?” she demanded. “You know, Fiery One,” the cat whispered coldly. Her voice was fading already. “You know.” “What do you mean?” Mistleheart yowled, thrusting her muzzle in the she-cat’s face, but her nose passed through her as if she were made of smoke. The figure of the she-cat was fading as well. “You are the Fiery One,” the silver she-cat whispered. “You are destined to save both of your Clans.” Mistleheart paused. “Both of my Clans? I’m only one Clan.” “Blood ties are more complicated than you think. Like a spider web, blood ties are fate woven together. Each cat in your family is a droplet of dew.” Her image dissolved entirely, leaving only the dead hare at Mistleheart’s paws. The scene shifted. Mistleheart, again, was standing by herself, but not on a shimmering, starry landscape. Her paws sank into the slimy earth. Roots snaked around her. The trees were towering, black and dark green, but she could see the sky through the canopy of leaves. There were no stars. “Where am I?” Mistleheart wondered aloud, turning around. She came face to face with a tom. The tom was handsome in a way. His amber eyes glinted like gold. His pelt was entirely black except for the white points on his tail and ears. The only things that ruined his image was one long, jagged scar down his flank and the malicious glint in his eye - as if he were about to attack. Mistleheart was so stunned she yelped and out of instinct, her paw slashed across his pointed nose. Her claw passed through the tom as if he were made of smoke. “Who are you?” Mistleheart finally dared to ask. The tom inclined his head, studying her. The way his eyes glittered made her feel uncomfortable and uneasy at once. “This is the Place of No Stars,” he coaxed, but even his voice was icy despite its richness. “You have no need to worry. This is where all great warriors go when they die.” Mistleheart gestured at her surroundings. “This? This place is nothing but a wasteland!” She knew she had offended the tom immediately, but she continued. “What about StarClan?” The tom laughed coldly. “StarClan is weak, Fiery One. StarClan is where all weak cats go. The Place of No Stars is the destination for true heroes.” The way the tom said ‘Place of No Stars’ made Mistleheart’s fur stand on one end. It sent a cold, chilling feeling throughout her veins. “StarClan only knows to whisper vague promises of fate,” the tom sneered. “Bah! Their talk of blood ties. The Place of No Stars can train you, Mistleheart. You can save your Clan from destruction! Walk away from StarClan, now. They have nothing to offer you.” Mistleheart backed away, shaking her head. She was unable to even find a sharp retort. “This is all wrong. All wrong.” “StarClan is wrong!” the tom spat. “Moons and moons ago, I was a great warrior in NatureClan! But Eaglestar refused to let me take the post of deputy! The Clan would later suffer. But StarClan told them nothing of this! StarClan itself hid from fate!” Mistleheart opened her mouth to respond, but the tom was on a roll now. “I killed the deputy, a weak she-cat named Ashshadow who could barely walk without staggering. But I was found. I died with my dreams shattered, but never again! I could have saved NatureClan from moons of suffering and illness.” He thrust his muzzle in Mistleheart’s face. His lips were curled back to reveal stained yellow teeth, his sour breath tainting the air. “Help me,” he demanded. “Together, we will make NatureClan great again!” Mistleheart stepped backwards again. “You’re a lunatic!” “If you refuse,” the tom warned, “you will doom your Clan to destruction. If you want to survive, then let my spirit possess you!” “Never!” The tom retracted, clearly contemptuous. “You are worthless for now,” he snarled. “But do not forget me. I will return. We will meet again, Fiery One.” He turned and walked away from the stunned tabby warrior. He paused to glance over his shoulder at the edge of a blanket of fog. His golden eyes glinted maliciously, sending a chill down her spine and a message with it: One day, you will learn you made the wrong choice today. Then the mist swallowed him whole, as if he were really made of smoke. Why was there smiley faces, blushy faces on iPad, but still Chapter Three Snowpelt chose to lead a hunting patrol the following day herself to release the worried thoughts buzzing around her head. Creeksky and Peachfeather volunteered to come with her despite the fact that both warriors had previously participated in other patrols. Usually, Snowpelt was the best hunter in the patrol, but today she missed two squirrels, several mice, and an extremely slow, plump pigeon. Her hunting was so abnormally dismal that finally Peachfeather pulled the snowy white she-cat aside, glancing at her with a concerned expression. “Snowpelt, are you feeling okay?” the speckled she-cat asked, her green eyes sharp and intelligent as usual. “I’m fine,” Snowpelt lied. Even to her own ears the answer sounded lame. She could see that she hadn’t convinced Peachfeather, who was at least a half-moon older than she was, so she gave her head a quick shake. “It’s nothing, I’m just tired. Go on, I’ll go see Nightwing for some herbs.” She wasn’t planning to go to Nightwing - she just wanted to see her brother. Besides, the sky was already dimming. Shades of lavender and gold danced across the horizon visible through the thick canopy of trees. Peachfeather dipped her head respectfully - Snowpelt wasn’t used to the gesture even after being deputy for a few moons now - and loped gracefully away. Snowpelt paused until the older warrior’s steps entirely receded, then, instead of heading back towards camp, she found her paws leading towards the SnowClan border. She crossed the boundaries, remembering the truce Stormstar had generously allowed, and guided her pawsteps towards camp. When she nearly there a rustle in the bushes made her whirl around. No prey made such loud noises. “Who’s there?” Snowpelt called, controlling her quivering voice. Instead of an answer, a shape came barrelling out of the bushes. Snowpelt barely had time to identify the figure of a silver cat before she was bowled over. Snapping her teeth ferociously, Snowpelt thrust the tom off her and sprang backwards. He lunged at her and snapped at her ear, tearing fur off. Snowpelt ducked underneath his swipe and pushed upwards, knocking him over. He was a skilled warrior, landing gracefully on his paws with his tail to Snowpelt. “Hey! Truce!” she yowled. That made the tom pause. He turned and stared at her incredulously with bright blue eyes. He had the same eyes as Snowpelt, calculating and intense, the eyes of a fighter, not a talker or a healer. Blue eyes. “What are you doing here?” the tom asked. “Anyone could mistake you for an intruder!” “Iceheart, you know I cross borders all the time,” Snowpelt growled crossly. “I came here to see you. Are you surprised?” “Yes,” he said, raising his eye. “Your fur is covered with black mud. There are pine needles in your tail. A fly is buzzing around you, and you smell like the Horseplace. If you were a SnowClan warrior - ” “ - ‘I’d been forced to groom myself and not show a sloppy example,’” Snowpelt quoted. “Yeah, right. You and your friends, always fussing about neatness.” Iceheart narrowed his eyes. “We’re SnowClan cats.” “I’m a NatureClan cat.” Snowpelt didn’t give him the chance to retort. “What are you doing here, alone?” Iceheart fidgeted. “Oh…uh, nothing. Just hunting. Yeah. I’m just going for a hunt.” He sounded uncomfortable. Snowpelt knew at once that he was lying and was not going to get away with it. “Tell me the truth,” she said dryly. “I’m unimpressed by your dishonesty. I thought SnowClan midgets were disciplined.” Iceheart’s face turned as red as his tongue. “I’m just hunting!” “No, you aren’t.” “Fine. Fine. I admit it. I wasn’t hunting at all.” “Then what were you doing?” Snowpelt pressed. Iceheart straightened. “I should really get back to camp. Stormstar’s expecting me…for, uh, apprentice decision? Bye.” He hurried away. For the second time in the day Snowpelt watched the other cat run off. Iceheart was clearly hiding something, maybe important. Something he didn’t want Snowpelt to know, for one thing. Maybe they were waging war on NatureClan? No. That doesn’t make sense. They won’t attack a Clan with a truce, but still… SnowClan was known for their smart tricks. Perhaps she couldn’t trust them. Snowpelt took a deep breath and followed Iceheart’s scent. She caught up with him at the edge of camp. “I didn’t come to be told I need to take a hike,” she hissed. “Much less I wasn’t going to come to be lied to.” Iceheart glared at her but remained silent. “Something’s bothering you,” Snowpelt noticed. Iceheart sighed as if he were giving up, but there was still tension in his tone, his twitchy movements. “A…a SnowClan apprentice disappeared yesterday. I’m worried about her. I snuck out to find her.” Snowpelt glared at him. “I would've heard long about a missing SnowClan apprentice,” she said sharply. “I'm a deputy.” “And I'm not,” Iceheart muttered reproachfully. “You were looking for a SnowClan apprentice but resulted in attacking me,” Snowpelt growled irritably. “I thought you were an intruder.” “And so you ran off after a few sentences. Maybe we should find Stormstar. Ask him what's going on.” Iceheart sighed again. “Look, okay, don't call Stormstar,” he said. “I'm thinking of…a change of scene, you could call it.” “You're running away?” Snowpelt asked incredulously. “They think I'm a traitor because of your friend - Ivyleaf.” Anger flared in his blue eyes. “And why not? I killed Marshcloud and now I'm mates with his relative.” “They have reason to suspect you for that,” Snowpelt snapped. “You shouldn't have murdered Marshcloud in the first place!” “It was an accident!” “You can't kill a cat on accident,” Snowpelt spat. Iceheart stalked around her. “He was the trespasser, not me.” He trudged away, his pawsteps fading in the opposite direction. That time, Snowpelt didn't follow him.

Snowpelt cornered Mistleheart again when she returned to camp. The sky was mostly black and violet now. Mistleheart’s amber eyes were bright with interest. “Iceheart ran away,” Snowpelt announced. “What?” Mistleheart asked sharply. Snowpelt told her about the encounter. “He's scared they'll suspect him,” she concluded. “That's ridiculous,” Mistleheart muttered. “No offense to your brother, though. I can't blame him for worrying, I guess.” “Another thing you ought to know,” Snowpelt said half-heartedly, “we…Iceheart and I are the last of our family. If he ran away, now it's only me.” Mistleheart shuffled her paws, still avoiding direct eye contact with the deputy. “So your point is…” the silver tabby she-cat prompted expectantly, scratching an arc in the dirt. Snowpelt hesitated. I don’t have a good reason for telling her this, an inner voice inside her realized. But she decided to talk anyway. “I don’t know what my point is,” Snowpelt confessed slowly. “But I know it’s important to preserve every single family’s legacy. I certainly don’t want mine to die out.” Mistleheart’s gaze was hard. “Well, I’m sorry to say so, but sometimes you can’t change them. Legacies are forgotten, and the descendants have no idea they’re…” Her voice trailed off. Snowpelt got the unsettling idea she wasn’t really talking about other families. “Marshcloud, for instance. His family has died out. He was the last…” Snowpelt finished Mistleheart’s sentence mentally. Child. Descendant. Legend. “Whatever,” Snowpelt muttered. “I’m just not going to let my family die entirely. Not yours, either. You were the only kit born during leaf-bare for many, many, seasons. I’m not sure if that’s positive - the last time it was the leader of the Scorch, who tried to destroy us all. I was a kit back then.” Mistleheart dug her claws into the ground. “Yeah, well. Thanks for reminding me.” She pivoted to leave. Snowpelt was taken aback. Guiltily, she amended, “I didn’t mean, like that! I just was sharing suspicions with you. I wasn’t trying to discourage…” She faltered. Mistleheart was giving her a head-on glare. “I’ve been told I’m going to be the Clan’s next biggest enemy before,” she snapped in a falsely calm voice. “I’m not going to let myself become it.” The tabby she-cat stormed into the warriors’ den a few fox-lengths away. Snowpelt nearly followed her, but resisted. Instead she sat in the clearing, quite alone, for some while. The sky was black, but the camp was still pretty active for one that wasn’t fond of the dark. She heard the sounds of the dusk patrol entering camp and pricked her ears attentively to listen as the leader of the patrol, Brightpool, reported to Petalstar. The tortoiseshell she-cat sat regally under the Highrock, her ice-blue eyes flickering over the clearing. The leader rose to her paws as Brightpool trotted over, talking in low tones. Snowpelt padded closer to hear the senior warrior’s words.

“...faint scent, but definitely there,” Brightpool was saying. “It stunk of rogue and rats, no doubt. The scents were all along the border.” Snowpelt’s ears twitched with interest. Rogue scents along our border? That’s uncommon for a such a peaceful period, she thought. Petalstar responded loftily, “We should send more patrols there each and every day. If any…disputes occur, I expect you to report back to me immediately.” Her icy eyes stayed on Brightpool for a long time. “What about the mingled rat scent?” Brightpool interjected. “Does that not pose a mild threat to us?” “It could be only that the rogues ate rat for dinner,” a young apprentice muttered distastefully. Snowpelt recognized the striped silver fur of Marigoldpaw, one of the older apprentices. Petalstar flicked her tail. “The rogue scent sounds more disturbing than those of the rats’,” she concluded. “But we shouldn’t worry yet. A border skirmish is more likely to provoke attention.” Brightpool clearly wasn’t convinced, but he dipped his head and padded away. Marigoldpaw departed to the apprentices’ den, his fluffy tail twitching behind him.

Snowpelt padded up to Petalstar once the patrol was gone. She couldn’t help but show her interest in her flicking ears. “Rogue scents along our borderline?” she questioned. “How are you supposed to not worry about that?” Petalstar looked uneasy, but she shook out her thick tortoiseshell for. “It won’t help to send the Clan into total panic,” the leader pointed out reasonably. “I say that we wait to see what will happen next. I wouldn’t say these rogues are a total threat…we’ve dealt with worse. The Scorch, for instance.” Snowpelt nodded, a knot forming in her throat. She felt this was a bad decision for Petalstar to make. How could she be so sure of herself? Oh…I also need to tell Petalstar to apprentice those nosy kits… Snowpelt, despite the circumstances, felt a purr building in the throat at the thought. Soon we’ll have more younglings than any other Clan!

That night her dreams were anything but restful. She stood at the edge of a cluster of boulders she recognized easily - the SnowClan camp. The white she-cat could hear muffled voices from inside the camp, but she couldn’t make the words out. She drifted through the cluster of boulders as if she were a mere spirit and saw Stormstar, leader of SnowClan. His gray pelt was unmistakable even from a distance. Snowpelt tensed, but none of the cats in the clearing saw her. “His scent is stale,” a tabby said regretfully. “If we’d noticed sooner we could have seen where he went.” “He could’ve been captured too,” a she-cat dubiously proposed. “Grasshine said that there were rogue scents on the border.” They had rogue scents on their boundaries, too? Snowpelt wondered. What is that supposed to mean? “Rainheart,” the tabby argued, “there was only scents on the boundaries, but not along with Iceheart. He probably disappeared on purpose.” “And he just got a mate,” the she-cat agreed. “But he wouldn’t say who it was. Maybe he was embarrassed or something. If you ask me he always seemed to like Thunderflash.” A silver-and-black she-cat lounging at the edge of camp shifted. Her head snapped up and she complained, “Hey!” Rainheart and the tabby started laughing. Stormstar stepped forwards. “Enough,” he growled. “We will continue searching through the night. If anything is found, report back to me. Instantly.” Her dreams shifted. Iceheart was trudging down the side of a steep, rocky slope. “The Clawed Mountains,” he was muttering under his breath. “These must be the Clawed Mountains. Mother always said they were here.” Snowpelt glanced past his shoulder. As far as she could see, there were green-and-gray mountains stretching on and on forever. The vision dissolved. Snowpelt found herself standing in the middle of a dark, dark forest. Slimy mud and snaking roots shifted beneath her paws. She glanced up. Between the towering trees she could see the black night sky. There were no stars at all. Where am I? Snowpelt thought in terror. She darted to one side and then started walking through the forest. The shadows seemed to bend towards her. Glowing yellow eyes appeared out of the darkness to stare malevolently at her. Snowpelt began to run. She was dashing through the trees at top speed, yet there seemed to be no end to the forest. Come on, little hero, a voice crooned cruelly from above. You can run forever from the Place of No Stars, and we will always find you… Snowpelt felt her lungs were about to explode and her heart was about to hammer out of her chest. Run, little hero! the voice urged maliciously. Run! Her dreams dissolved into darkness. Snowpelt opened her eyes. She found herself talking to Mistleheart - but Mistleheart wasn’t really looking at her. She was looking through Snowpelt as if she were made of mist. Snowpelt pivoted to see what Mistleheart was staring at: a beautiful silver she-cat, her paws sparkling with frost and starlight glimmering in her eyes. Snowpelt heard the beautiful she-cat whisper, “You are the Fiery One. You are destined to save both of your Clans.” Snowpelt realized what the she-cat meant. What her family meant. They were dewdrops on an immense spiderweb. A spiderweb of blood ties. The dream faded as Mistleheart opened her mouth to reply. Then Snowpelt woke up. Sunlight was streaking into the warriors’ den, dappling the nests around her. She rose unsteadily to her paws. She could still remember her dreams vividly. She could not only remember them - she could understand them. There is one way to preserve your family, the beautiful, regal-looking silver she-cat seemed to be whispering in her ear. Her voice was as cold as ice. As cold as both of her icy, blue eyes. You can save NatureClan by doing this, Snowpelt. Snowpelt knew what she meant. Her mind was working already, even though she had only just been aroused. I need to create the fifth Clan. Chapter Four Mistleheart chased the mouse against the trunk of a beech tree, giving it no space to retreat. She pounced at precise timing and landed squarely on the skinny gray body of the mouse, gripping its ribs with her curls of her claws. Her claw slashed the mouse’s throat, and it went limp against the sides of her paws. With a satisfied grunt, Mistleheart retrieved the mouse’s limp body and padded through the bushes to where the rest of the patrol waited. Cheetahpaw trotted up to her. “Great catch, Mistleheart!” she mewed, clearly

impressed; both cats had been apprentices at the same time, though Mistleheart was older by two moons. Firepelt let loose a low rumbling sound in his throat. “That should feed the

kits just fine.” The flame-colored tom glanced critically at the mouse. He was a strict, disciplined warrior, and Mistleheart respected him just fine though she didn’t agree on all of his tactics in teaching apprentices. The other warrior, Cloudfur, nodded in agreement. “Those kits are squealing to get out of the nursery already!” he joked. “A mouse should be enough to distract them fine.” A purr built in Mistleheart’s throat despite her concerns and agitation.

Snowpelt had suggested that she could be a dangerous cat. As if Mistleheart would do anything that would destroy NatureClan. Snowpelt was nearly going to make her feel infuriated enough to do so. Cheetahpaw narrowed her eyes. “Mistleheart? Are you alright?” The spotted

golden she-cat padded over, her pelt sparkling in the shafts of sunlight arcing through the trees. “I’m fine,” Mistleheart snapped, a little too sharp. Cheetahpaw flinched like

most cats, and Mistleheart stepped forward to avoid the hurt sparkling in the apprentice’s eyes. “Come on,” she muttered. “We’d better get going.” Cloudfur didn’t seem to notice the tension between both cats. “Yeah, if we

linger any longer the prey will die of boredom.” Mistleheart wanted to roll her eyes and ignore the older tom, but she couldn’tbring herself to do so, especially after Snowpelt’s interpretation. Maybe I should go see Nightwing for some herbs? a tiny voice at the back of her mind suggested, but Mistleheart dismissed the thought. Nightwing had been nothing but annoying since she had first gotten to know him. “Why do you smell weird?” she had once asked out of curiosity, when she was three-moon-old-kit. “Like leaves and sand.” Nightwing had glared at her. “That weird smell is herbs,” he had responded

loftily. “Of course, a pesky kit would be as rude to question.” Mistleheart - Mistlekit - had nearly snapped back when Dawnleap appeared

out of thin air and had angrily dragged her back into the nursery for another bout of grooming. Another time, Nightwing had suggested taking one of the kits for an

apprentice. Mistlekit had exclaimed, “Not me!” Nightwing was more intimidating than usual with his glowering face and

blazing green eyes. He was large, way larger than Mistlekit at the time, but he had never really struck her as frightening until this moment. “I wasn’t asking you, pesky kitten,” he had snarled, looming over her. “Maybe one of the kits who were more meek.” Firepelt snapped her out of her semi-trance. “Perhaps we can hunt near the

SnowClan border,” he meowed. “That place is always bursting with prey.” Mistleheart dug her claws deep into the earth. No, no, no, I’m not going there, the inner voice inside her whined. Especially since that's where Snowpelt’s brother lives, I trust that he’ll be as annoying as his littermate. Even if he has truly ran away. Instead, she forced a nod. “Sure, let’s go,” she agreed, trying to sound cheerful. She captured two more mice by sunhigh, when the four cats were ready to return to camp. She deposited her prey on the fresh-kill pile and stretched her jaws in a wide yawn, displaying her sharp, white teeth. Then she sat back on her haunches, deliberately avoiding Snowpelt, and perked her ears as she noticed Petalstar coming out of her den, looking unusually disturbed. The leader’s gaze settled on Mistleheart for a moment, making the silver tabby rise to her paws self-consciously under Petalstar’s ice-blue eyes. Then her eyes paused on a cat that was following Petalstar out of the den. She distinguished a snowy white pelt and intense blue eyes, so unusual for a cat that wasn’t deaf. Snowpelt. Blood roared in Mistleheart’s ears. She’s told Petalstar that I’m a peril to the Clan! her little nagging voice at the back of her head screeched. Attack her immediately! Mistleheart’s hind legs stiffened. She glared across the clearing at Snowpelt. The white she-cat didn’t seem to notice her angry stare. She leaned down grimly to whisper something to Petalstar. To Mistleheart’s surprise Snowpelt was a lot larger and stockier than the tiny tortoiseshell leader, and her white pelt didn’t seem to fit her large, sturdy build. Is she that bigger than I am? Mistleheart found herself asking. Petalstar leaped onto the Highrock and opened her jaws to yowl, “Let all cats old enough to hunt their own prey gather beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!” Mistleheart immediately moved, maneuvering through the crowd to sit at the base of the Highrock. She gave Snowpelt her best I’ll-deal-with-you-later look and watched the deputy the entire time while she scrabbled onto the Highrock behind Petalstar. Standing below the two most important cats in the Clan, Mistleheart felt insignificantly small and unimportant. When the Clan cats had quieted Petalstar spoke. “Our deputy has decreed it is time for three kits of our Clan to be made apprentices today. Grasskit, Yellowkit, Rosekit, step forward.” Mistleheart felt herself relaxing. She hasn’t told Petalstar! “Grasskit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Grasspaw.” Petalstar’s eyes roved over the crowd, searching for a certain cat, no doubt. “Your mentor will be Mistyclaw.” Mistleheart felt a twinge of surprise inside her. Mistyclaw was a young, inexperienced warrior, however intelligent and quick she was. “I hope she will pass down all she knows on to you,” Petalstar continued, then turned to Mistyclaw. Petalstar continued, “Mistyclaw, you are ready to take on an apprentice. You had received excellent training from Frosttail, and you have shown yourself to be loyal and swift. You will be the mentor of Grasspaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to Grasspaw.” Mistyclaw stepped forward to touch noses with Grasspaw, who was obviously trying to restrain his excitement without much success. The two cats returned to the crowd after doing so. Then Yellowkit scuttled forward, his eyes glowing with pride, and Petalstar proclaimed, “Yellowkit, from this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Yellowpaw.” Petalstar paused, clearly hesitant. “Your mentor will be Skystripe.” The tabby warrior was so startled he jumped an inch above the ground. Mistleheart too was relatively stunned to this strange choice of mentor for Yellowpaw. Skystripe had only been a warrior for what - several moons? It was rare that such an inexperienced cat was selected to be a mentor. I wish I was chosen, Mistleheart thought wistfully, but she knew that would happen after hedgehogs sprouted wings. If Skystripe was considered young, Mistleheart knew that she stood no chance. “Skystripe, you are young, but have proven to be a warrior full of surprises. You received excellent training from Creeksky and have shown yourself to be dutiful and spirited.” Petalstar allowed that to settle in. “You will be the mentor of Yellowpaw, and I expect you to pass on all you know to him.” Skystripe had recovered from his astonishment already and moved forward with an unearthly confidence. Yellowpaw bounced over to his new mentor, barely bothering to contain his eagerness. The tiny ginger tom craned his neck and crashed his nose against Skystripe’s, then skipped off into the bustling crowd. Skystripe padded gingerly after his new apprentice with a temporarily sore nose. Mistleheart told him, “Congratulations for getting your first apprentice.” She didn't voice her envy. Skystripe grunted. “He's a lively one. I would prefer Grasspaw, but Yellowpaw is alright.” Petalstar was announcing Rosekit, now Rosepaw’s mentor. Skystripe pricked his ears in time to hear the words, “...will be Amberdust.” Mistleheart shrugged. “He's a senior warrior, he was going to get an apprentice anyway.” She watched Snowpelt leap down from the Highrock as Petalstar concluded the apprentice ceremony. The Clan started cheering, led by the apprentice friends Cheetahpaw and Blossompaw. “Grasspaw! Yellowpaw! Rosepaw!” Petalstar bounded from the Highrock and landed lightly on her pawtips. “GRASSPAW! YELLOWPAW! ROSEPAW!” The assembled cats now we're cheering so loud that Mistleheart felt obliged to join in. The kits poked their heads out to find out what all the commotion was. The cheering died with a final “ROSEPAW!” and the crowd departed. Mistleheart noticed Snowpelt slinking into the warriors’ den, her expression clearly downhearted. Creeksky murmured something to the deputy but she shook her head in response and disappeared into the den. Mistleheart decided she'd better go apologize before she got too guilty to do so. Besides, she had some complicated thinking to do. About the dreams. Snowpelt saw Mistleheart approaching and hurriedly glanced in the other direction, but Mistleheart halted a few paces away, wondering where to begin. “I'm sorry,” Mistleheart blurted. They were alone in the den. “For getting so worked up over that, and for being such a brat about your suspicions, and for denying it would ever happen though it could - ” Snowpelt met her eyes. “That was my fault,” she finally murmured. “It was stupid of me to say that to you. It wasn't what I though. I - I just wasn't thinking straight.” Mistleheart nodded. She could entirely relate to Snowpelt’s confession, and she was pretty good at determining a lie. This wasn't one. “You were upset and angry at Iceheart.” “I should've stopped him,” Snowpelt said, keeping her eyes on her paws. “I should've tried harder.” “No,” Mistleheart growled. “That was his choice. What my…my father used to tell me…that hard choices sometimes have to be made. He said that sometimes there's only one way.” “There is always more than one way,” Snowpelt insisted. “That's why there are four Clans, not one. It's why there are four pools at the Gathering-Place.” There was a long moment of silence in which Mistleheart pondered that. Then, to her surprise, Snowpelt abruptly said, “No. I'm contradicting myself. There needs to be five Clans.” Mistleheart stared at the snowy-white she-cat. Is she mousebrained? But Snowpelt’s fierce expression said, If you think I'm crazy, be it. Mistleheart decided Snowpelt had not gone insane. “Well,” she announced matter-of-factly, “it sounds like you have explaining to do.”

“I still don't get this thing about blood ties,” Mistleheart told the deputy. All of Snowpelt’s facts were too much to digest. “And you were there in my dream?” “Uh, not exactly. It was more of a flashback, you could call it, but from your point of view.” Snowpelt shrugged. You are the Fiery One. Mistleheart could almost hear that beautiful silver she-cat now, speaking into her ear. She could almost see her cold ice-blue eyes burning into hers. “Well, I have a lot of questions. First off, do you know what ‘the Fiery One’ is?” “You, obviously,” Snowpelt replied promptly. “That silver cat called you it.” Mistleheart snorted. “You think I'm going to believe what a half-frozen, crazy she-cat says at first glance?” Snowpelt frowned dubiously, her eyes glittering with concern. “Good point, but I swear can sense it. You have to be the ‘one’. Whatever it is.” “What is the Fiery One supposed to do? Set herself on fire and then save both our Clans?” Mistleheart almost felt like laughing. “It's a stupid choice of name.” “Yeah, well.” The corner of Snowpelt’s mouth twitched as if she were going to smile. “That's completely beside my point. Anyway, my guess is that something will doom us to destruction and you defeat it.” That doesn't make anything simpler, Mistleheart thought. “Blank will doom blank to blank and blank defeats blank. That's a whole lot of information we don't know.” She glanced out of the entrance just in time to see Peachfeather burst into the camp, her speckled chest heaving. “Rogues!” the warrior cried. Snowpelt was immediately on her paws. She darted out of the den with Mistleheart on her heels. “Where? How?” the deputy demanded ferociously. “They're everywhere,” Peachfeather whispered. A chill crept down Mistleheart’s spine. They're everywhere? How could we have not noticed? Petalstar stood. “Gather the warriors,” she commanded Peachfeather. “This will not be undertaken.” Mistleheart was suddenly alone in the clearing, vacant except for Petalstar and Snowpelt. The deputy cursed under her breath. “I told you we should've paid attention to those rogue scent!” Petalstar, for once, was at a lost for words. And the first line of rogues poured into camp. They were a band of skinny, wild-eyed rogues led by a muscular black tom. The tom spotted the three cats frozen in the center of the clearing and he snarled with glee. At the nearly same time the warriors and apprentices filed out of their separate dens or from behind them. Petalstar’s shoulders tensed and she let forth the battle cry. “Attack!” Chapter Five It was the second real battle Mistleheart had participated in, but they seemed to be edging much closer to victory today. Petalstar herself had catapulted into the muscular black tom and they were grappling viciously with each other, claws scratching and teeth snapping. Snowpelt fended off two scrawny she-cats at once, matching their blows with dodges and precisely-aimed strikes. The apprentices were cooperating well like in their training sessions, dispatching one enemy at once and moving on to the next. Every single enemy had either fled or was occupied. Mistleheart could only assist Snowpelt in driving off those mangy she-cat rogues. The tides turned abruptly when the second and third rogue lines flooded into camp. Those lines were much smallest but consisted of stronger, better-fed cats. Mistleheart snarled and sprang forward, her claws slashing across the large golden tom’s nose. The tom glared at her and attacked with lightning-fast speed. Mistleheart dodged his strikes and tried a counterattack in turn, but she found all her strikes blocked. The tom leaped forward and latched onto her ear. Mistleheart hissed in fury and rolled, crushing the tom against the ground and forcing him to release her. His jaws certainly were no longer closed around her ear but he had managed to nick it quite badly. Out of the corner of her vision, Mistleheart saw Petalstar being dragged to the ground by the muscular black tom and a powerful brown she-cat. The two skinny she-cats had managed to pin Snowpelt to the ground, but the deputy was thrashing wildly, clawing her attackers in the face and belly, the only reason she wasn't dead yet. The apprentices had been divided and forced apart. As she clawed at the golden tom Mistleheart saw two rogues attack Flowerpaw, one of Mistleheart’s best kithood friends, from behind. The tortoiseshell apprentice tried to bite down on the smaller cat’s tail but the larger cat knocked her to the ground with his huge paw. Mistleheart struggled towards the horribly exposed apprentice but the golden tom intercepted her. Frustrated, the silver tabby attacked, delivering a flurry of sharp blows. The tom reared, but Mistleheart continued scratching. Flowerpaw’s terrified cry made her freeze. The smaller, gray tabby tom’s paw was posed over her tiny body, ready to strike. Mistleheart couldn't hear her words over the chaos but she knew the apprentice was shouting, “Please! Help me!” Mistleheart surged towards her friend, but the tom’s paw was already in motion. Flowerpaw’s desperate scream echoed through the forest, cut short by the tom as he almost contemptuously slashed her throat. The two cats dragged her slack body to the edge of camp. The golden tom slashed Mistleheart’s flanks. Roaring in fury, she reared and bowled him over, then kicked him backward into the battle. “Fox-hearts,” she snarled. The two rogues that had killed Flowerpaw had dug a huge pit at the edge of camp. The tom viciously kicked Flowerpaw’s body and pushed it into the pit. The apprentice’s face was frozen into her last horrified scream. If the rogues intended to dampen her spirit by killing Flowerpaw, it only made Mistleheart fight with more vigor. But when she looked around, she knew the skirmish had turned into a full-out battle. The nursery, Mistleheart suddenly remembered. She glanced over. A dappled she-cat was dashing towards the nursery, her face filled with cruel glee. She wasn't going to steal the kits. She was going to murder them. Mapleleaf and Sunpelt stood at either side of the nursery entrance, teeth bared and claws out. The other queens were all out fighting. The dappled she-cat bowled over Mapleleaf and pinned her to the ground. “No!” Mistleheart screeched, spring forward to help. The rogue she-cat glanced at Mistleheart. Then she brought her paw down over Sunpelt’s ears, tearing through them. Mapleleaf clawed at the rogue from the other side but she was kicked away. Mistleheart was still running toward them as the rogue then slashed Sunpelt’s back, a faint smile playing on her lips as Sunpelt let loose an agonized shriek. She was enjoying Sunpelt’s pain. Mistleheart’s fear turned to slow, boiling anger. She leaped at the she-cat but was too kicked to one side like a pile of useless herbs. Sunpelt gave another scream as the she-cat clawed Sunpelt’s face. Dazed, Mistleheart struggled to get back on her paws. The rogue she-cat bit down harshly in Sunpelt’s throat and laughed as she kicked her body to a fellow rogue, who carelessly deposited it. This is crazy, Mistleheart thought, but the rogue she-cat had already dashed into nursery. She chased after the dappled she-cat but her paws felt heavy, as if there were pine twigs attached to them. By the time she had exploded through the entrance the skinny rogue was halfway across the nursery, possibly drawn to the sound of the kits wailing in fear. Riverkit stepped forward, glaring at the intruder. “To get to my friends you’ll have to get through me first, you fox-heart!” Mistleheart froze halfway across the nursery. What was the kit thinking? The dappled rogue looked down at the stocky gray she-kit scornfully, her paw posed over the kit’s head. Mistleheart wanted to screech, “Dodge!” but her mouth felt like they had been plastered together with the bitter smell of herbs. The rogue’s paw came crashing down. Riverkit tried desperately to leap aside, but she was no match for the seasoned fighter. The she-cat’s paw caught her between the ears and Riverkit crumpled. The kit’s eyes rolled up in her head and blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. The rogue pushed past the dead kit and glared down at the other kits huddled at the farthest corner of the nursery. At the same time, Mistleheart launched herself at the rogue she-cat and knocked her to the hard, packed dirt. The rogue squirmed and shook herself with such blinding speed that Mistleheart lost her grip on the rogue’s skinny ribs. She flew backwards, crashing into the nursery wall. Spots danced in her vision, but she managed to get up and she attacked again, this time holding the rogue so tight against her stomach that she felt as if her lungs would burst. The rogue spat, “Stupid crow-food!” She managed to twist her head and sink her teeth into Mistleheart’s torn ear. Mistleheart screeched in pain but clutched the rogue tighter. The she-cat’s eyes were bulging but she still held on tightly to Mistleheart’s ear. Mistleheart held on, squeezing her eyes shut to fend off the waves of pain radiating through her ear. The dappled she-cat snarled viciously, which was her mistake. With her ear free, Mistleheart raised her paw and bowled into her. She tumbled backwards through the nursery with the rogue shrieking in fury but somehow stood her ground. The rogue was trapped underneath Mistleheart, who gritted her teeth and sank her claws into the earth on either side of the rogue’s body. The she-cat’s eyes widened and her partly infuriated, partly annoyed expression turned to surprise, shock, and then fear. “Don’t do it!” she wailed. Mistleheart hesitated. Would it be right to kill any cat in cold blood, even one that had heartlessly murdered a queen and an innocent kit? “It isn’t right,” the she-cat whimpered pitifully. “Is it?” Mistleheart gave her an answer. Her teeth sank into the she-cat’s throat and she clung on until the rogue’s spasms slowed and then completely stopped. Mistleheart stepped off the she-cat, grimly staring at her dappled body, and dragged her out of the nursery by the scruff. Mapleleaf, who had recovered from her dazed trance, watched Mistleheart half-listlessly, half in amazement. Mistleheart dropped the cat’s body outside and stood still to glance at the battle. It wasn’t going well. Flamestorm was being attacked by a thickset rogue tom leading the third line. He twisted and weaved around the sturdy tom, but the rogue seemed to anticipate his moves, With every time Flamestorm lunged the rogue cat blocked his blow, and when he tried to dodge the tom’s claw was there, slashing through his fur. He was already bleeding from multiple wounds, but his opponent looked unharmed except for a shallow, jagged scar on his nose. The rogue took the offensive, barrelling forward and crushing Flamestorm to the ground under his heavier weight. His mate, Morningsky, leapt to his defense, but the rogue knocked her over into another of his ‘friends’ and began to viciously claw Flamestorm. As the orange tom fell under the onslaught, Morningsky was battered to the ground by merciless claws, her throat torn out. Mistleheart dashed over the to the edge of the pit that the rogues had dug where Rustflower, one of her best friends, was being cornered by a brown tabby she-cat and a golden tom. She bowled the golden tom over and latched onto his tail, dragging him backward through the turmoil. Rustflower shot her a quick, grateful glance and continued to battle the brown tabby. The golden tom retreated under Mistleheart’s flurry of blows. He tried to counterattack but Mistleheart twisted to avoid his paw. The golden tom winced as he called out, “Finch! A little help here, please!” The rogue tabby named Finch screeched shrilly in response, “Spark, I’ve got already one of these cowards to do with! Don’t expect extra service.” She dodged another one of Rustflower’s swipes. Spark reared up over Mistleheart, who crouched down, taking this as an opportunity to knock Spark over. But the moment she darted in the golden tom crashed down, and she was knocked to the floor. Spark stood triumphantly over her, his lips curling upward in a mesmerizing smile. Mistleheart struggled and lashed out as his belly like she had been instructed to, but Spark was able to squash her flat. Mistleheart felt unable to breathe under his heavy weight. She waited for his paw to come down, thinking, Well, this would be such a glorious ending for me. It didn’t come. Dawnleap, her mother, had attacked the golden tom from behind. Despite her age she effortlessly was able to inflict multiple wounds all over his flanks, ears, and muzzle, and soon she was chasing the tom through the battle. “Thanks!” Mistleheart shouted after her. The battle was already ceasing, Mistleheart noticed. She felt a flicker of hope expanding in her heart. But that hope was quickly squashed when she realized the NatureClan cats were fleeing. Firepelt, Amberdust, Creeksky, all those cats remaining from the massacre were streaming out of camp with the rogues on their tail. Snowpelt, from across the camp, screamed, “Stop! Stand and fight!” Within moments the rogues were all gone. They had either been killed, which was a sparse occasion, or had run off chasing the warriors, apprentices, queens, kits, and elders. The only cats left in the clearing were Snowpelt and Mistleheart, both stock-still, bleeding from various minor injuries, and shocked. Mistleheart’s energy faded entirely. She collapsed to the ground, her mind buzzing. She was dimly aware of Snowpelt racing over to her, asking if she was okay. Mistleheart tried to hoist herself to her paws. She stumbled slightly, and Snowpelt steadied her. “Whoa, there,” she murmured. Mistleheart could see her own tension and worry reflected in Snowpelt’s stunning blue eyes. They were both stunned from the battle. So many denmates had been killed during the fight. Snowpelt grimly padded to the edge of the pit the rogues had dug. Bodies were littered all over the bottom. Mistleheart recognized Rustflower’s still form, and Riverkit, Flowerpaw, and Sunpelt. Mistleheart’s throat tightened, and suddenly she felt as vulnerable as a newborn kit. She turned away. “Where - where is everyone else?” Snowpelt asked. A lump formed in Mistleheart’s chest as she breathed, “They all fled.” She couldn’t bring herself to look back in the pit. Snowpelt’s once-bright blue eyes were dull. She glanced across the clearing, her gaze darkening. Then her expression changed from shock to terror. Mistleheart raised her head to see what had made her so scared. It was another dead cat. Her fur was spiking and matted with blood and covered with wounds so deep they still were oozing pus. But through the blood, Mistleheart recognized once-beautiful tortoiseshell-and-white fur…and wide, slightly surprised eyes. Ice-blue eyes, Mistleheart thought in complete horror. The dead she-cat was Petalstar. Snowpelt raced over to the leader’s body. “No, no, no, no,” she whispered, her gaze blank. The deputy threw back her head and howled in fury and grief. Mistleheart herself was too stunned to utter a single word. She watched Snowpelt viciously plod to the edge of the clearing and uproot a piece of nettle by the root. “I - will - kill - every single one - of those - rogues,” Snowpelt muttered. She slashed her claws across the dirt. Mistleheart found her whole body trembling. She wanted to curl into a ball and wail for eternity. Petalstar was dead. Riverkit was dead. Rustflower was dead. Everyone. But she couldn’t afford to break down. For Snowpelt. She would someday avenge those who had died. “We need to go,” Mistleheart coughed. She steadied her voice and repeated the words. “The rogues will be returning soon. No doubt they wanted to claim our territory. We have the best forest, the best prey, the best camp, everything.” Snowpelt’s eyes flashed with stubbornness. “And they destroyed it. I’m not leaving.” Mistleheart inhaled sharply, and coughed again. “It’s what the Fiery One was about, Snowpelt! We need to create the fifth Clan, like you said. You’re the deputy of NatureClan. You should lead the fifth Clan. When we’re strong again we return and take back the territory. It all makes sense. My dreams, the Place of No Stars - ” The white she-cat’s eyes averted, momentarily flashing with suspicion. “What?” Mistleheart realized she had failed to tell Snowpelt about the lunatic black tom. “It’s a long story,” she hissed. “But we need to get out of here!” Snowpelt finally nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.” Her eyes turned to Petalstar again, and she sighed. “Let’s go.” Chapter Six Mistleheart decided that they head west. Toward the Clawed Mountains. “They exist,” she had insisted relentlessly. Her voice was flat and stubborn. “I just know it.” Snowpelt had questioned, immensely interested, “How?” “I just do.” Even though the circumstances were grim, Snowpelt found herself brightening only slightly at the thought of reuniting with Iceheart. After all, it would be good to encounter family. She hoped he would be there like her dreams, which she was almost convinced her prophetic. It sounded impossible. The last warrior that had received dreams like that had been Marshcloud, and Iceheart had ‘accidentally’ killed him before Snowpelt left to join NatureClan. And he won’t apologize, she thought dryly. Even though the thought of Iceheart was mentally disturbing, Snowpelt had even bigger problems to worry about. For instance, those stupid rogues. They’ll all be dead before they realize it, she had vowed in her head, not daring to share her thoughts with Mistleheart. The silver tabby, too, was acting distracted, lingering ahead and only talking to Snowpelt during dusk. The further west the trio headed, the colder the atmosphere got. How strange is that? Snowpelt had asked herself. It’s not even leaf-fall yet. She presumed that the mountains were colder than the forest. Yes, that was definitely the reason. Another problem was where NatureClan had gone. Snowpelt once had tried suggesting following their path to Mistleheart, but she was shut down immediately. Mistleheart seemed like she was set on the path of creating the fifth Clan. As if all those weren’t enough, Snowpelt constantly felt like kicking an oak tree. She resented Mistleheart for leaving the camp behind, though there had been sense in her words. Still…I couldn’t stop the massacre. I couldn’t stop all the rogues from killing our innocent kits and queens and elders. She tried to remind herself she had dealt a fair amount of casualties on the rogues’ side, but Petalstar kept flashing into her mind. What will NatureClan do, without a leader or a deputy? Snowpelt wondered, dreading the answer. Most likely, Firepelt would step up to lead. Unless he got hunted down by those wicked rogues. Her claws slashed through the moss growing up the nearest oak tree. What if they’re all dead? Snowpelt tried not to think about that. They couldn’t all be dead. There weren’t that many rogues…were there? They’re everywhere. That was what Peachfeather had whispered when she burst into camp with the terrible news. How did she make it past those guards if the camp was surrounded? Maybe even the entire territory? The third day, Snowpelt couldn’t stand Mistleheart’s brooding silence. She marched directly to the younger warrior and asked, “How much longer will it take us to get to the mountains?” “Don’t know,” Mistleheart muttered simply. Her voice was hoarse and croaky like a bullfrog. “That’s very helpful,” Snowpelt snapped. Then she felt ashamed of herself for losing her temper so quickly. If I don’t care to control myself, I’ll end up as stubborn and irritable as Mistleheart. Still, she couldn’t blame the silver tabby warrior. She never had anyone as a kit. It was just her. Mistleheart stormed ahead, clearly annoyed. Snowpelt caught up with her at the summit of a flat, low hill. “Listen,” she growled. “If you’re not going to talk to me, so be it. I didn’t volunteer to come. I wanted to go follow the Clan. You insisted we go to the mountains, for no good reason. Now you’re shutting me down! Do you want us to take back our territory or not?” Snowpelt had thought she was prepared for the retort. She wasn’t. “Do you know how hard it is?” the warrior exploded. “Do you know that I saw a rogue she-cat kill Sunpelt and Riverkit? Two full-grown cats overpower Flowerpaw? These rogues take no mercy! They don’t have a warrior code! They would kill us as easily as they would eat a mouse. There are too many of them and only two of us! The Place of No Stars tom told me the survival of the Clan depends on my choice. I’m not destroying NatureClan! I never would! This is the right choice. Dreams are dreams, and I don’t care what you say!” Snowpelt flinched back. Dreams are dreams…it sounded too much like what Marshcloud had told her the last time she’d seen him. The last time before Iceheart killed him in a border skirmish. I don’t want that to be Mistleheart’s fate, she thought. Mistleheart’s amber eyes were hard and rueful, like solidified honey against the sunlight. “Just leave me alone,” she spat. The warrior turned and raced down the slope, pausing only when she got to the base. And so they continued to walk in silence.

The fifth day, Snowpelt caught a whiff of stink on the sweet morning breeze. She recoiled at the scent, recognizing it from her first tour of the territory. Thunderpath scent. Where there’s a Thunderpath, there’s monsters, and where there’s monsters, there’s Twolegs, she thought. She wanted to share her news with Mistleheart, but the silver tabby was keeping ahead by several fox-lengths and was glaring in the opposite direction as if she were daring some rogue to appear and attack them. She kept on constant alert, but it was no use. No Twolegs, cats, anything. Nothing confronted them on the vacant moorland. There was no sign of life except for the occasional hare or bird perching on a scraggly, dead tree. I can see why no cat would settle here, much less a larger animal. This place is so empty. She stood still and let the wind comb gently through her long white fur. Her paws ached from walking tirelessly through the moor. She had a vague memory of Nightwing pointing out dock to her, saying the juice of dock leaves could heal scratched and cracking paws. But there wasn’t any dock out here, either. The only plants were those dead trees. There were no herbs. The farther west she walked, the sharper the Thunderpath scent became. That wasn’t exactly good. If the dream was accurate, then how did Iceheart get to the mountains so quickly? Snowpelt doubted the vision had been true. But there was no going back. That night her dreams were worse than ever before. She was floating in a clearing littered with dried leaves and the bodies of dead rats. All around the clearing, the remains of NatureClan were huddled. The remaining queens were silent. The elders murmured listlessly. Meadowheart, the newest queen, was wailing over the still body of her mate, Amberdust. It was as if every cat that hadn’t been wounded badly or killed by the massacre had been put under a trance. Snowpelt drifted nearer. With horror, she recognized the bodies of Firepelt and Creeksky sprawled at the base of a dead tree. Cheetahpaw was crouched by her mentor’s still form, her head ducked with misery. The two senior warriors probably had been hunted down by rogues during the chase and brought to this clearing. Oakfall stood regally at the middle of camp, his head bowed, but his amber eyes glinting ferociously. Snowpelt guessed that he was the one that had taken over. The brown tom’s eye had been clawed so viciously it was now cloudy and blind. His tail was sticking out at an odd angle, and he was limping as he paced around. But he was alive, and so were some of the warriors and queens. Snowpelt drifted around the clearing, searching desperately for any sign of some cat whose family had not been affected. She found none. Of the four kits left after the apprenticeships of Skypaw, Grasspaw, Yellowpaw, and Rosepaw, only two were alive: Streamkit and Dapplekit. Yellowpaw’s throat had been slit and his wide eyes were glassy and pleading. Rosepaw and Grasspaw, both cats wounded beyond recognition, crouched over their brother. Snowpelt’s heart twisted. It was the saddest scene she’d ever seen. This is what you have doomed your Clan to! a voice laughed from below. Snowpelt glanced at her smoky paws, surprised, and the ground opened up beneath her, swallowing her whole. She landed in a slimy forest matching Mistleheart’s short description. The trees were high and ominous-looking. The ground was slippery and muddy, entwined with roots. Eyes gleamed in the shadows, malevolently mocking her. The Place of No Stars, Snowpelt thought. A scarred black tom was sitting several feet away, watching her. He matched Mistleheart’s description perfectly. “Who are you?” Snowpelt found the courage to ask. “An old friend,” the tom meowed simply. “An…old friend?” Snowpelt mewed. “I don't know you.” “I'm afraid you do,” the tom purred silkily, in a tone that didn't quite work with his unforgiving yellow eyes. “I see Mistleheart has told me all about you.” He swiped his tongue leisurely across his pads. “Your name,” Snowpelt muttered. “I meant your name.” The tom interrupted smoothly. “Oh, there is no need for you to learn,” he mewed softly. “But I’m here to deliver a warning.” Snowpelt clenched her teeth. Don’t let him fool you, she reminded herself. Instead, she asked, “What do you want?” “I’m here to help you,” the tom sniffed. “Not ask for service.” He flicked his tail, and his figure rippled for a moment. Snowpelt’s ears perked in surprise. He’s made of smoke? she thought uncertainly. When she didn’t answer, the scarred tom continued. “Dark times are coming for your…little Clan,” he told her. Snowpelt winced. She didn’t like the way the tom said ‘little Clan’ - it was as if he thought NatureClan was nothing but a pesky fly. “You can’t allow yourself to be manipulated by those certain StarClan kittens.” Snowpelt glared at him. “StarClan is good! There’s a reason you were sent here, wasn’t there?” The tom laughed throatily. “You’re smart. I was a loyal NatureClan warrior long ago. Other Dark Forest cats warned me of dark times coming the night when I was made a warrior.” He paused. Snowpelt’s ears buzzed. Dark Forest. Another name for the Place of No Stars. “I realized the only way to save NatureClan from those ‘dark times’ was to gain control,” the scarred tom growled. “To become leader, I would have to become deputy first. Otherwise, I would be violating the stupid little warrior code, and of course I wouldn’t be really famed for that.” He sneered scornfully. “But the deputy, Ashshadow, was a good fighter, and she wasn’t going to die of illness or old age any time soon.” Snowpelt’s tail lashed. “So you killed her?” she snarled. “That’s against the warrior code!” “Where does the blessed warrior code say that?” he retorted triumphantly. “Now those laws don’t apply to me anymore! I can do whatever I want!” “That’s stupid,” Snowpelt hissed. “You’re stupid.” The tom’s searing amber eyes widened with ferocity. “You have no idea how valuable you are, my pawn,” he mocked. “The Fiery One’s faith depends on you. Don’t let her be tricked by StarClan.” His form was fading rapidly. “Wait!” Snowpelt yowled. She swiped a claw at him but it passed harmlessly through his face. He gave her another mocking smile. “Oh, don’t worry. We will meet again.” It was nearly the same thing he had said to Mistleheart. Snowpelt stood helplessly as the Dark Forest tom disappeared completely. The mist began to curl around her before she realized what was happening, crawling around her legs and forepaws. The Fiery One’s faith depends on you, the tom had warned. Was she doing the right thing, ignoring that Dark Forest tom? Yes. He’s crazy. He killed his deputy just to gain power. Snowpelt had no more time to think. The mist tightened around her throat as if it were solid. She began choking. “Help!” Snowpelt yelped hoarsely.

Malevolent eyes watched her from the shadows, but nobody stepped forward. Everything collapsed into darkness. Snowpelt leaped to her paws, panting hard. She realized she wasn’t in the Place of No Stars. Sunlight was streaming over the moorland. Mistleheart was already awake and staring at the horizon. She noticed Snowpelt but didn’t say anything until the deputy was directly behind her. “Time to get moving.” The silver tabby didn’t even look at her. “Look, I’m sorry,” Snowpelt murmured. Those words reminded her of their first argument. I’ve angered Mistleheart two times already. I don’t have to do it again. Mistleheart flattened her ears. Snowpelt thought she was clenching her jaw. “I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Snowpelt pressed. “I know you get to choose because you’re the…” She trailed off. She was hating the phrase ‘the Fiery One’ more and more by the moment. Mistleheart finally spoke. “Yeah, right.” Snowpelt sighed. “I don’t want to go on like this. I thought we were supposed to be cooperating, not keeping our distance.” There was a moment of awkward silence. Mistleheart exhaled and coughed. “The Twoleg scent is getting stronger.” Despite the severity of her voice, Snowpelt felt relieved she was finally acknowledging Snowpelt’s presence. “You want to divert our path?” Snowpelt asked. Mistleheart’s tail lashed once. “I didn’t say that,” she snapped sharply. “I was just commenting.” “Uh…okay.” Snowpelt couldn’t imagine that she had once been the deputy and Mistleheart, only a minor warrior. She’s not minor, Snowpelt mused. At least, not anymore. “Let’s go.” Mistleheart turned to leave. Snowpelt followed the silver tabby down the slope of the hill and toward the Twoleg-scent. “Maybe we should try avoiding the Twolegs as much as we can,” Snowpelt suggested as she fell into an easy pace next to Mistleheart. The warrior scowled. “Of course. I’m not dumb.” Snowpelt felt like grumbling. Why does she have to be so difficult? she thought irritably as Mistleheart quickened her pawsteps. It seems like ‘difficult’ is the top word to describe her personality. They came across their first Thunderpath during night. Lights from towering Twoleg dens illuminated the dark sky and the Thunderpath was strangely quiet. Mistleheart paused at the edge and coughed. “Ugh. It smells terrible.” “Then don’t breathe,” Snowpelt muttered sarcastically. “I won’t breathe,” Mistleheart responded skeptically. “Don’t worry.” They raced across the Thunderpath and into the Twolegplace. The dens were so tall Snowpelt thought they could bypass the clouds. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see in the night. Every once in awhile a monster would race across the Thunderpath behind them. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep,” Mistleheart suggested. That’s the most helpful thing she’s said today, Snowpelt thought, rolling her eyes. “Maybe an abandoned Twoleg den.” In the dim light Snowpelt could see Mistleheart’s nose wrinkling. “No way,” she said. “I’m not going in any of those. Besides, none of them are abandoned.” Snowpelt surveyed the scene. “True.” All of the enormous Twoleg dens had light streaming from squares in the walls. “Then we’ll have to find somewhere else that’s safe and far away from Twolegs.” They searched the Twolegplace until the moon was at its highest point in the sky. Snowpelt’s legs were sore from all the walking and she was more grateful than ever when Mistleheart pointed out a cave in a mound of earth not far from the nearest Twoleg building. “That looks sturdy,” she remarked. “Come on.” Snowpelt cautiously entered the cave, looking out for any Twolegs or other vicious animals. There seemed to be none. The cave was dark enough, but Snowpelt could see Mistleheart’s amber eyes shining in the shadows. The ground was hard, dry, and littered with stones and pebbles, mostly small ones. She made a nest of stones for herself and curled up on top of it, seeing Mistleheart doing the same. She had no dreams that night, which made her surprised when she woke up. Mistleheart’s muzzle was barely a whisker’s length from hers. Snowpelt jumped to her paws and stepped back. “Whoa!” she exclaimed. “You frightened me.” Mistleheart’s face was serious. “We have to get moving. Twolegs are already swarming the place. There are more than I’ve ever seen before.” Snowpelt stretched and lightly trotted out of their makeshift den. Mistleheart was right; the Twolegplace was dotted with Twolegs and monsters. It was as if an ant colony had come alive. “We’ll have to sneak past them,” she said grimly. “Are you sure that’s possible?” Mistleheart asked anxiously. “There are so many of them.” Snowpelt shook her head. “No, I’m not sure, but we have to try. I’m not going to stay here like a coward until tonight.” Mistleheart’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “Then we should leave now. The number of Twolegs will probably double in size by sunhigh.” Snowpelt scanned the Twolegplace, then pointed out a narrow alley that looked empty except for a few smaller Twoleg den with flashing lights on the front. “There.” She flicked her tail in that direction and took off. Twolegs were all over the place, but most didn’t try to stop Snowpelt and Mistleheart. Some even avoided the warriors, which Snowpelt found strange. “They always tried to take us away back in NatureClan when they invaded our territory,” she admitted as they darted into the narrow alley. “It’s weird they’re walking around us now.” Once or twice they saw plump kittypets with tight collars, and Snowpelt steered clear. She didn’t want to get into a nasty confrontation with a house cat. However fat and spoiled they were, some were large and looked like they could deal some good scars. Snowpelt slowed her pace as they padded through the alley. “I didn’t think leaving would be so easy,” she told Mistleheart. The silver tabby’s ears flicked and she glanced over her shoulder as if checking to see if they were being followed. “Don’t say that. You never know what could happen.” “We could get attacked by a flood of bloodthirsty kittypets,” Snowpelt joked as they skulked past a den exuding a strange scent. Mistleheart snorted. “Or we could befriend a group of badgers,” she improvised. Snowpelt sniffed the air. She stiffened. Cat-scent. She recognized it immediately. Kittypets are near here. Mistleheart narrowed her eyes and stopped, too. “What?” Her nose twitched as she realized what Snowpelt had smelled. “Kittypets. There’s a lot of them.” Snowpelt’s eyes searched the dark alley. “But I can’t see any,” she meowed, confused. “Maybe they’re hiding in that - ” Mistleheart began. Snowpelt noticed something flicker, just beyond one of the stubby Twoleg dens. In the dim sunlight, she saw a shadow appear against the wall of a Twoleg den. She froze mid-sentence, and judging by Mistleheart’s tense stance, she realized the silver tabby warrior had seen the shadow, too. A Twoleg emerged from behind a secondary Twoleg den. It was clearly an adult and it was taller than any Twoleg Snowpelt had ever seen before. A scrap of brown fur covered its head. The Twoleg’s eyes fell on the two cats standing petrified in the middle of the dark alley. “Hide!” Snowpelt whispered harshly, forgetting the fact that most of the Twolegs here seemed to ignore cats. She shoved Mistleheart into a pile of wood and debris despite the she-cat’s yowls of surprise and started in after her. But the Twoleg was running towards both cats. Snowpelt’s legs felt like stone. Her claws wouldn’t work. Mistleheart squeezed out of the pile of debris and bared her teeth at the Twoleg, who changed direction toward her instead. Snowpelt yelped and battered the Twoleg’s legs with her paws, but it didn’t even flinch. It lunged and grabbed Mistleheart around the stomach. The silver tabby warrior kicked and struggled, her claws unsheathed and scratching viciously at the Twoleg, but it merely grunted before striding away towards one of the Twoleg dens. Snowpelt yowled and followed, but the Twoleg ignored her and entered the den. The entrance was barred just as she caught up. The Twoleg was gone. Leaving Snowpelt alone in a stranger Twolegplace. Chapter Seven The Twoleg crammed Mistleheart into a tiny crate with a cobweb in the corner. Her muscles ached from wriggling and clawing at her captor, but she stood her ground and hissed as the webbed cage was enclosed by a intriguing rectangle piece of metal. The Twoleg left the den, leaving her in total darkness. She sensed other cats too; a mixture of kittypets, loners and rogues. Too exhausted to cope, Mistleheart crashed onto the floor of her webbed crate, her fuming thoughts drifting into sleep.

When she woke up, it was bright; a rectangle of translucent material had been opened in the walls. Mistleheart glanced at her paws and yelped in astonishment. There was a cat underneath her. “I liked you better sleeping,” the cat grumbled grouchily, glaring

upward. Mistleheart looked closer and realized there was a metal web

separating her and the stranger, so that she wasn't entirely standing on top of the rogue. She cursed under her breath, realizing the Twoleg must have caged her. She glanced around the den and realized rows of cages had been wrestled around the den. More cages were stacked above the rows. Mistleheart thought she might be on the third on fourth layer; at this height she couldn't really tell. Most of the imprisoned cats were rogues and loners by the scent. Mistleheart was the only Clan cat, though three others smelled of the forest. There was a brown-and-white tabby she-cat a few fox lengths away with an oversized collar and faint kittypet scent. She additionally noticed that only the rogue beneath her and the

brown tabby kittypet were the only cats awake. Her stomach growled, loud enough to make the rogue sigh and the

kittypet perk her white ears. “Hi!” the kittypet mewed, bounding over to the wall of her webbed

cage. Her nose pressed against the cracks. “You're new, aren't you? I'm Cinnamon. Who're you?” “Shut up,” the rogue muttered. “That's Prance,” the kittypet said with a disgruntled snort. “I never

knew wild cats could be so grouchy.” The rogue named Prance hissed in undisguised fury. Cinnamon

ignored him and continued chattering at an alarming speed. “Well, you smell a lot like trees, so I'm going to assume you live in some forest. But there aren't any forests for so long. So. Are you a rogue? A loner? I heard they constantly move around.” “I'm not a rogue,” Mistleheart said, ruffled. “I'm a Clan cat, thank

you.” She straightened, then winced as her sore muscles groaned. “Hmm? A Clan cat? Never heard of them,” Cinnamon cheerfully

replied. “The older cats sometimes told stories about them but I never really listened. All their talk was just random myths. Well, am I wrong? I think I'm wrong. Maybe they were telling the truth.” “The Clans aren't a myth,” Mistleheart corrected her hotly. “Clans, with an s?” Cinnamon asked. “There's more than one Clan?

How many are there? Five? Ten?” She went on before Mistleheart could say ‘four, at least for now’. “It must be so cool living with other cats. I only have my housefolk to talk with and they're boring.” Mistleheart decided to avoid that topic. “How did you end up here?” The brown-and-white tabby let loose a growl. “I left my housefolk

for, like, three seconds before that workfolk caught me and put me in this room! I thought they were taking me to the veterinarian but now I'm stuck here, so obviously not. There were like a trillion cats here when I got in and all of them got taken away.” Mistleheart was distracted from the kittypet’s strange words such as

‘workfolk’ and ‘veterinarian’ by the last sentence. A chill crawled down her spine. “Got taken away?” she echoed with bated breath. “What happened to them?” “Chances are they're living a nice life with new housefolk,”

Cinnamon said airily. Then her expression saddened. “I hope no one takes me,” she added. “I only want to be with my own housefolk.” “Right.” Mistleheart couldn't imagine anyone being excited to live

with Twolegs. She glanced around the cage and spotted a silver bowl filled to the brim with water in the corner if her cage. An empty bowl had been placed beside it. Suddenly her mouth tasted dry and her lips cracked. “Oh, you're thirsty,” the brown-and-white kittypet commented,

noticing the warrior staring at the water. “You can drink some. The workfolk came in a few hours ago and refilled your bowl. The water was becoming all scummy and disgusting, because the last cat here was taken away so long so I can't keep count. And no one wants to handle scummy water except for these workfolk, who keep bringing in new cats every day.” Mistleheart couldn't tell if the kittypet was exaggerating or not. She

padded to the bowl of water and tasted it. The water had a sharp, metallic taste. Her nose wrinkled as she forced herself to lap at the water. She wished she could drink out of a fresh creek or something. What if I'm taken away? Mistleheart thought. Then Snowpelt will have to create the new Clan on her own, save our family, and

defeat the rogues, all on her own. Mistleheart shivered. I can't let that happen, can I? Then she had a sudden idea. “Do they let the cats out of their cages

when they take us away?” Cinnamon shrugged. “Sometimes.” Her gaze flicked around the room.

“They kept this rabid wild cat in a cage when they caught him. I guess it served him right. He was so snappy and he kept trying to claw me. I just don't get it. And then he got away, and everyone started saying he traveled over the moor and into the forest with a bunch of other rogues.” Mistleheart stiffened. “When was this?” “A few days ago,” Cinnamon said. She swished her fluffy tail across

the webbed floor of her cage. The rogue underneath Mistleheart yelled up, “Can you two shut up?

I'm trying to sleep.” Mistleheart glared at him but resisted snapping back, like she

would've done if he were Nightwing. Moment of truth. Or Snowpelt, Mistleheart admitted. Inside, her mind was reeling. A rogue had escaped from here to the

forest a few days ago with a band of others. Was he the leader of the cats who attacked us? A thumping noise outside distracted Mistleheart from her worried

thoughts and she instinctively whipped around, snarling, as the same Twoleg who had grabbed her entered the den. The silver tabby she-cat hissed at the Twoleg as it strode towards the stacks of cages. The other cats seemed to wake up at the same time, yawning and

watching the Twoleg as it unlocked the doors of each cats’ cage and dumped some hard-looking pellets into the silver bowl. An oily, stinky smell wafted over to Mistleheart, and she tried hard not to gag. Cinnamon looked sympathetic. “The workfolk keep feeding us this disgusting type of food,” she

explained. “You get used to it. I bet mouse tastes better, but I wouldn't like all the fur.” Her muzzle wrinkled. You have no idea, Mistleheart thought, thinking about how delicious

freshly killed mouse tasted compared to the hard pellets the Twoleg was emptying. Not that she'd eaten them before, of course - the smell was enough to give her a stomachache. She considered fleeing right now when the Twoleg opened the door

of her cage but decided against it. The entrance to the room was barred and so it wouldn't do her any good. She let the Twoleg work some sort of metal stub into the hard plate on the door of her cage and twist it to open the door. The Twoleg snatched the empty silver bowl and carelessly dumped a meager amount of hard brown pellets into the bowl. Several of the pellets skittered across the floor as the Twoleg shoved the bowl back into Mistleheart’s cage and closed the door, twisting the metal stub in with a click. Mistleheart sniffed her bowl cautiously, turned, and caught Cinnamon

crunching down her own food as fast as she could. “Do you like that?” the silver tabby warriors asked dubiously. “Of course not,” Cinnamon replied with a snort. “Why should I?

These are all smelly and greasy-tasting. Who would like eating these? Yuck. At least I can get my belly full. I hate to have an empty stomach. You should eat yours, too, before the Twoleg comes and dumps it tomorrow.” “Waste of food,” Mistleheart grumbled, and then added loudly.

“Absolutely not. I'm not eating these stinking pellets. They smell like the dirtplace.” “Whatever that is,” Cinnamon said amiably, but there was a hint of

annoyance in her voice. “I never expected wild cats to be pickier than kittypets.” A few rogues and loners whipped around from their own bowls of

food to dangerously stare at her. Cinnamon didn't look guilty or hasty to correct herself in any way. Mistleheart folded her tail around her paws, leaned back, and

scowled, trying to look as if she didn't especially care. Kittypets didn't know what forest prey tasted like. A mouse or squirrel would be perfect now, but Mistleheart's stomach was grumbling frequently now, and there was no prey to catch. The thrill of hunting had left her since she had been imprisoned. The Twoleg filled the last bowls at the end of each row and exited

the room, hissing and spitting. The crunching of pellets being chewed filled the room as he departed, leaving the cats in solitude once more. Cinnamon finished her meal and backed off, licking her lips to

remove any extra crumbs. Mistleheart realized she and several rogues and loners were staring at her. Let them, Mistleheart thought spitefully. I don't care. But her stomach,

still, was roaring in protest. She tried not to think about her hunger as she settled down to lick her scratches, most of which she had gotten from being thrown into the cage against the sharp webbed walls. Cinnamon stayed silent, to Mistleheart's appreciation. She preferred

quiet over continuous chatter. Hopefully the kittypet would think Mistleheart had been angered by her comment on how picky wild cats were. Mistleheart could hear her trying to talk to the other cats, all of which shut her down. To interest herself she began studying the other captives in the den.

There were at least twice as many rogues than loners. Most of the cats were skinny and bedraggled looking, but at least one or two were plump and well-fed. There were four cats with mild injuries that were still oozing blood and pus. One tom had a long scar down his side that was almost entirely healed. Another she-cat was infected with scrapes and scratches. There was nothing Mistleheart needed to do to help, not that she would even if there were major wounds. There seemed to be several cats desperate to leave. A long-haired

gray tom clawed uselessly at the walls of his cage, while the loner below him paced side from slide, slashing at the metal plate on the door with thorn-sharp every few seconds. Mistleheart guessed they had been here the longest. She felt a little sorry for them, but mostly she pitied herself. Self-pity isn't helpful, she thought. Mistleheart turned in Cinnamon’s direction. “How long does it

usually take for a cat to be taken away?” Cinnamon flickered her white ears toward the warrior, looking

surprised. “Why would you want to know that?” Mistleheart thought of her spiteful comment on how picky she had

been about the hard brown pellets the Twoleg offered and steeled herself. “You said that it depends on whether cats are let out of their cages when they're taken,” she said. “But I haven't done anything to harm the Twoleg. Do you think they’ll take me out if they choose to take me away?” Cinnamon’s expression was mildly thoughtful. “You're asking…oh.” “Yeah,” Mistleheart agreed. She could tell from Cinnamon’s face that

the kittypet had guessed why she was asking. “If you haven't clawed the workfolk too badly, yes,” the-brown-and-

white tabby predicted. “If you have, no.” Mistleheart frowned. “I think I tried to scratch the Twoleg,” she

confessed, “but he didn't seem badly hurt. Not that I would've cared, of course,” she added quickly. “You'll have to wait and see,” Cinnamon said distastefully. “And

while you're at it you should really eat. Before you starve, that is. Everyone else is eating on the normal schedule. Maybe you should too. They're not giving you anything else, you know.” Mistleheart sighed, then stopped herself so she wouldn't sound like

Snowpelt. She was getting a little annoyed by Cinnamon’s constant talking. From the glares of the other rogues and loners she could tell they were equally irritated. Then again, Cinnamon is the only kittypet here, and she's as skinny as any of the

others, Mistleheart thought critically. Maybe she has been neglecting some meals, whatever she says about it. Cinnamon already didn't seem like a normal kittypet. She was too bony to be recognized as one from first glance, and her collar was shredded and nearly the same shade of brown as the tabby patches on her pelt. As she moved the little silver bell attached to her collar jingled, but even the sound was slightly rusty. Her stomach gave its loudest grumble yet. Mistleheart glanced at

herself, then at the bowl of brown pellets. She checked on Cinnamon to make sure the kittypet wasn't watching and slunk over to the bowl. Maybe it's not as bad as it smells. She tasted one. It was. It was difficult not to spit the pellet out, but she forced another bite before she retreated and settled down, ferociously scowling at the walls of her cage. “Mrr-oww!” Mistleheart leaped to her paws as quickly as she had sat down and

bared her teeth at the door. The sound of screeching, yowling, and the Twoleg howling in undisguised pain and fury reached Mistleheart’s exceptionally sharp ears. A moment later the door burst open, and the Twoleg stumbled

inside, dragging a skinny black cat behind him. The cat yowled in defiance and slashed at the Twoleg’s paw. The Twoleg howled again and produced a sharp metal thing from his pocket. Mistleheart wanted to yell at the skinny cat to watch out but her voice wouldn't work. The Twoleg threw the metal thing at the tom. It grazed his hind leg, and he screeched in pain. The Twoleg took advantage of this, grabbed the cat, and threw him inside the nearest cage. He slammed the tiny door shut and worked the same metal stub inside it with a loud click. Then he departed, slamming the door behind him and cursing under his breath. The rogues, loners, and Mistleheart were silent. Cinnamon gaped at

the skinny tom as he groaned, trying to push himself to his paws. The loner underneath the new cat yelped, “Hey! There's blood

dripping through your cage!” Mistleheart peered at the tom and realized there was a openly

bleeding gash on his leg where the metal thing had sliced through his skin. It was worse than she'd expected. “Stupid Twoleg,” growled the cat, wincing as he tried to move. “You're hurt,” Cinnamon pointed out as if that weren't obvious at

all. “He needs something to stop the bleeding.” Mistleheart tried to

remember something useful from the lessons Nightwing had forced the kits to take, but her mind was blank. The loner underneath the skinny black cat leaned back against the

webbed walls of his cage. “There's blood dripping through your floor,” he called up to the new cat. “I can tell,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Think, Mistleheart thought. What herb stops bleeding? Then she found

herself questioning why she wanted to help this stray cat. I don't even know him. She was about to turn away when the tom yelled. “Ow!” She forced herself to glance back. The tom was now huddling

against the corner, and his wound was bleeding more openly than before. Mistleheart thought that he might have accidentally brushed his leg against the webbed floor of his cage. She also noticed that one part of the newcomer’s cage floor was stained with bright red blood. StarClan, that must hurt a lot. Mistleheart began to think again. It was

hard to remember from lessons she didn't especially enjoy or care about but she eventually blurted out, “Cobwebs!” She remembered how her crate had had a cobweb in the corner, The injured tom stared at her as if she were insane. “What?” “Cobwebs,” Mistleheart explained impatiently. “They can slow

bleeding by a lot.” She grabbed a pawful of cobwebs and told the nearest cat, “Pass this to him.” The cat grumbled and ungratefully threw the cobwebs at the injured

tom with his teeth. “Press them against the slash,” Mistleheart instructed him, rolling her

eyes. How can strays not know this? After a moment, the injured tom reported, “The blood is soaking

through.” He sounded slightly panicked and devastated, but Mistleheart was nowhere near finished. “Keep pressing it,” she mewed. “It should slow down the bleeding.” A few moments later the cat underneath the injured tom yelled,

“Thank goodness, No blood is dripping into my cage.” The injured tom didn't say anything, but he gave a relieved sigh.

Then he realized Mistleheart was still watching and quickly told her, “Thanks to the help.” “It's okay,” Mistleheart muttered gruffly. “What's your name?” the tom asked, taking her by surprise. “What?” She paused, noticing that she probably sounded rude. “Oh,

right. Yes. I'm Mistleheart.” Rogues rarely asked for her name so she had no idea how to respond politely. I doubt they get their lives saved by strange others too, she thought. “Huh. Nice,” the rogue commented, “but strange name. I'm Spider,

in case you were wondering.” He nodded at her. Mistleheart was uncertain how she felt. After all she hadn't been

wonder after all what Spider’s name was. Cinnamon spoke up. “The workfolk are so mean. I thought they

were better, but obviously not. I would prefer my housefolk much better. They used to give me creamed chicken and sometimes milk.” She frowned in a distracted way, her white ears flicking toward Mistleheart. A few rogues and loners snorted. The long-haired gray tom who had

been clawing at his walls muttered audibly, “Kittypet,” which was kind of obvious. Spider shrugged unconcernedly. “Some Twolegs are stupid the way

they are,” he replied unexpectedly. He winced as he looked down at the gash on his leg. “Do you know any healers?” Mistleheart asked the skinny black tom. “Yes.” He straightened proudly. “My sister Leap is an expert. They

can tell you anything about medicine. If I get back to them I'll have them look at my,,,” He trailed off. It probably hadn't occurred to him that he  might not return to his family at all. Mistleheart settled down, her eyes adjusting to the light. “I'm going

to sleep,” she announced, “Escape plan tomorrow.” “If you get out will your free me?” Cinnamon pleaded. “Or me?” Spider demanded. He thought about that and automatically

amended, “Maybe I can get out myself.” A chorus of voices started rambling about how they were going to

escape. Mistleheart wanted to yowl at them to quiet them down but she knew it was impossible. Instead, she curled up and drifted off to sleep, which was simple for her because she’d been talking for so long. It felt peaceful and quiet to experience of night unhaunted by the mysterious silver she-cat or the vicious, fuming cat rising to power in the so-called Place of No Stars. For the first time she found herself enjoying her slumber. Chapter Eight Snowpelt paced around the filthy gray building multiple times. She clawed against the barred entrance and looked for other entrances, but the only one was the blocked one. At sunhigh she'd given up and had sat down a few paces away from the only entrance. I'm useless, useless, useless, she scolded herself. I let Mistleheart get

captured by that Twoleg. How could I? Probably because their earlier arguments had ruffled her. Or perhaps she had just been too slow, making her sluggish to react to the ‘surprise ambush’. Snowpelt decided harassing herself wouldn't help, sighed, and

decided to first look for food, then think about possible plans to break into the tiny gray building and escape with Mistleheart. Soon she'd caught a rat lurking in the shadows and had laid its body out to eat. She'd heard the scary stories about eating rat - they could give a cat disease worse than greencough, Mistleheart's mother Dawnleap had once mentioned - but this one wasn't carrion, so Snowpelt decided it was safe. She didn't smell anything other than the rat she was inhaling

until a rogue literally spoke behind her. “What are you doing here?” Snowpelt whirled around, her claws unsheathing as she

suspiciously studied the newcomer. He was a scrawny brown tabby cat with yellow eyes and was much shorter and smaller than Snowpelt. She would've dismissed him as a minor problem except that his eyes were blazing with rage. “Now answer my question,” the rogue growled. “What are you doing in my

territory?” “Eating,” Snowpelt replied, gesturing to her rat. She kept her claws carefully

unsheathed. “You hunted in my territory?” The rogue sounded incredulous at first, then

surprisingly infuriated. Snowpelt felt disgusted at his furious words. “This is your territory? This

dingy little alley? Are you joking or not?’ “Typical. You’re asking to be clawed,” the tom snorted. His yellow teeth were blunted and stained, and his claws looked worn, but his lean muscles rippled under his pelt as he stalked closer. “Get out of my territory, and perhaps I’ll let you go.” “Do you know you’re living on the edge of a cat prison?” Snowpelt retorted. “I don’t have the smallest thought that you do.” He glared at the deputy of NatureClan, drawing back enough for the reek of his breath to fade. Snowpelt studied him with growing caution. Then she realized his muscles were tense and prepared, his eyes narrowed. What in the name of StarClan… Then she realized he was about to pounce, and then he did, his claws extended towards her throat. Snowpelt yowled aloud and whirled around instinctively, her battle training as an apprentice returning to her. Her claws slashed at the tom’s muzzle, and then she rolled over, lashing out at his belly. The tom jerked back in surprise. “What is that type of fighting?” he protested, sounding perplexed and annoyed. “I was trained in forest scoundrels’ techniques!” “Well, I wasn’t,” Snowpelt replied. She lunged for the smaller cat, her teeth latching on to his foreleg. She yanked him back as he yelped, trying to wriggle free. Her claws sliced at his muzzle again, this time connecting. The scrawny tom kicked her in the stomach and freed himself. Instead of fleeing, he was back, rearing up at Snowpelt as she was still trying to unbalance him by the legs. He slashed at her head, and she dodged, but his paws were there again, knocking her into the side of the Twoleg den Mistleheart had been imprisoned in. She crashed against the walls with a gasp of pain, the breath momentarily knocked out of her. The rogue reared for another strike as Snowpelt caught her breath. This time she was ready, her tail sweeping out and catching his hind paws. “Oof!” The tom toppled sideways, and Snowpelt took her chance to leap on top of him, pinning him to the ground with one paw over his throat and the others digging into the ground to trap him. He thrashed furiously, clawing at Snowpelt’s belly. Pain flashed through the white she-cat but she pressed her paw down harder on his exposed throat. The rogue stopped viciously lashing out and glared up at her reproachfully with his light yellow eyes. “Done?” she snarled in an absurdly threatening voice. “Or should I kill you while I have the chance?” She experimentally loosened her grip. The tom scrambled free, his leg scraped and pale muzzle bleeding. He cast a final look of hatred back at Snowpelt and disappeared into the shadows. Perfect, now I got myself clawed for no reason. Her half-eaten rat lay on the stone behind her but she had no appetite. She hadn’t felt much pain while she was fighting - all she had thought about was that she couldn’t be driven away then - but now, her slashed belly was throbbing. Now how could she get inside the Twoleg den? She narrowed her eyes in frustration. I have to wait for a Twoleg to go out. But even then, what could she do to free Mistleheart if she was trapped inside a secondary den? She’d been cornered against the Twoleg when it returned, most likely. She could perhaps make a narrow escape…

It was too dangerous. Snowpelt figured that it wouldn’t do either of them much good if they were both captured. She kicked the remains of her rat away, then felt guilty for wasting the prey out of annoyance. The white she-cat finished the rat as quickly as possible, then stood and did a brief circle of the dingy gray building. A stale scent she hadn’t noticed before lingered at the back of the Twoleg den. Snowpelt lowered her nose to sniff at the barren patch of earth. It stunk of rogue, but not the scrawny brown tom she’d fought moments ago. It was a different scent, she was certain. That doesn’t clarify things, Snowpelt thought in irritation, plodding past the patch of barren earth. Something creaked up ahead, and Snowpelt’s ears pricked with curiosity. She peered around the corner. She immediately realized the Twoleg had knocked the blockade to the entrance aside, leaving a clear entranceway in the side of the filthy den. He stormed out, spitting and hissing inaudibly. This is my chance to get Mistleheart and escape! Snowpelt realized, forgetting her previous doubts. When the Twoleg had his back turned, she swiftly darted out from the corner and into the den. A draft billowed in from the north as she excitedly roved the den, her eyes searching for any sign of Mistleheart. She could only hear cats beyond the wall, and could only detect stale scents in the den, which had strangely smooth stone ground. Her eyes came to rest on another blocked entrance. Her heart sank. She’s inside there, not here. She felt as if her only leaf-bare rabbit had been stolen from her. How am I supposed to get to her now? She backed out of the den and looked around the alley. The Twoleg had disappeared, but Snowpelt was sure he would be back at any moment now. As if on cue he appeared again, this time with a hand clamped firmly around something behind him. Snowpelt was startled that the cat had the same scent as the stale patch of barren ground behind the Twoleg den, but she was too shocked to register the sight at first glance. “Stupid Twoleg!” the cat was screeching, battering the Twoleg’s hand with unsheathed claws, but the Twoleg merely hissed at him. He dragged the yowling cat across the narrow alley and towards Snowpelt. For a terrifying moment she thought that she’d been spotted, but she realized he was only heading for the entrance. Snowpelt wisely began moving again, recovering from her momentarily petrified fright. She ducked out of sight and behind a drooping bush, watching from a crack between the branches and wilting leaves. The cat was trying to twist away and bite down on the Twoleg’s paw, but because he was being dragged by his tail it was difficult to do so, if he could even reach the Twoleg’s paw at all. He was overpowered easily and kicked into the den. After watching the rogue, Snowpelt was sure she would need help to get Mistleheart back - which clearly meant she would have to find cats with friends and family trapped inside the den. After sniffing the patch of blank earth, and after meeting the scrawny brown tom that had tried to defend his territory from Snowpelt, she was quite sure that he would come back. I expect a tom that I defeated to help me, Snowpelt mused, for StarClan’s sake. But she assumed that the black cat was a relative to the skinny brown rogue - why hadn't he been driven away, if he wasn't? She circled the building and sat down at the back of the den, facing the filthy gray wall. Now that she concentrated on the scents, she could detect more cats - at least two she-cats and four toms. Hopefully that meant more cats to help her get Mistleheart - and possibly the others, if it would convince them to help - back. She knew she eventually slept, because when she woke she was curled on unfamiliar starry earth that could mean nothing but a dream. Blinking groggily, she stood and looked around. The silver she-cat she'd seen in Mistleheart’s flashback sat a few fox-lengths away, watching her with cold eyes. The landscape around her was flecked with frost, and the night-black sky glittered with stars and a silver sliver of the moon. “Welcome to StarClan, Snowpelt,” the tabby she-cat murmured, rising to her paws. Snowpelt stared at the she-cat uncomprehendingly. “Who are you?” The she-cat’s ears flicked towards the deputy with barely detectable amusement. “I expected that question. My name is Skyspirit.” Snowpelt’s tail flipped to the side. She hadn't expected an answer, after all; Mistleheart had described the she-cat as noticeably vague and cryptic. “Why are you here?” “I hoped to deliver a warning,” Skyspirit explained expressionlessly. “Okay?” Skyspirit considered the deputy as if wondering whether she should continue or not. She finally sighed. “Time is running out for your Clanmates, Snowpelt. If you are to bring them back you have to succeed - or you have to - ” Snowpelt’s throat felt absurdly dry. “I kind of figured that out.” Ignoring the white she-cat’s skepticism, Skyspirit waved her tail, gesturing behind her. “Watch.” Snowpelt padded to the StarClan cat’s side and realized there was a rippling pool behind her, the surface glittering with starlight. An image flickered in the depths, and Snowpelt recognized the temporary camp of her Clan, littered with even more dead eats than she remembered. Mounds at the end of the clearing marked the spots were the cats killed during the ambush were buried. Oakfall stood at the other end of camp, watching as the remaining warriors and apprentices crowded inside the clearing. As Snowpelt watched the tom ordered, “Mistyclaw, you can take a patrol to hunt for our queens and elders and kits.” The she-cat called out, “There's nothing to hunt. This forest is completely empty of life.” Her sides were scared heavily and she was limping on three paws. “Do it!” Oakfall commanded forcefully. “We have to find food to sustain ourselves. Snowpelt and Mistleheart aren't here…we can't spare anyone to linger around doing nothing.” Snowpelt, from his devastated but angry eyes, realized his unspoken words: We've lost so many warriors, and we don't need to starve ourselves either. Mistyclaw dipped her head, her ear bleeding, and weaved among the cats, choosing warriors to come with her. She and three others departed. “We need to fill our ranks,” Oakfall murmured quietly to himself as he retreated to a corner and sat down, staring darkly at the ground. “But there’s no cats here for it.” He grimaced, and Snowpelt drifted after him on her smoky paws. A delicate cream she-cat followed the new leader with concern clear in her eyes. Dawnleap, Mistleheart's mother, Snowpelt thought. “Go organize patrols,” Oakfall told her listlessly, sighing. “We need to find cats willing to join our ranks, or else…” He didn't finish the thought. He's chosen Dawnleap as his deputy? Snowpelt thought, shocked. What would Mistleheart think of that? Then with a wrenching stab of guilt she remembered. The Twoleg. And Mistleheart. Dawnleap ducked her head. “There's an abandoned Twolegplace not far from here. There might been loners and rogues living there.” Hope sparked in Oakfall’s eyes. “Go with Brightpool and Cheetahpaw, and maybe you can find some cats willing to join us.” Dawnleap’s tail twitched restlessly. Snowpelt felt another stab of guilt as she wondered what the new deputy must be thinking. It must have been a lot of pressure, taking on the rank of deputy and containing her fear about her missing daughter. “Why would they?” she muttered. “Why would anyone want to join a bedraggled bunch of cats?” “We have to try.” And then Snowpelt felt the vision vanishing from the starry pool. Iceheart, she thought, I have to know where Iceheart is. “The chances of your Clan surviving and grim,” Skyspirit said from behind Snowpelt. The white she-cat started; she had forgotten the StarClan warrior had been watching as well. “I sense you have a visitor. Goodbye and good luck, Snowpelt.” She waved her tail and Snowpelt’s consciousness faded. A visitor? she had ample time to wonder before she was jolted awake by a startled voice in reality. She bolted to her paws with a hiss and turned around to come nose-to-nose with a tiny ginger she-cat. “Whoa!” the cat mewed in surprise. “What are you doing here?” Snowpelt blinked groggily, staring at the cat. The scrawny  brown cat stood behind her, glaring at the deputy of NatureClan. “She's invading our territory,” he snarled. “Drive her away!” Snowpelt regained her sense. “I'm asking for your help,” she replied evenly, meeting the brown cat’s furious gaze and the ginger cat’s shocked one. “After attacking me? Not likely,” snapped the brown tabby tom. Snowpelt narrowed her eyes, watching him for signs of an oncoming attack, but he seemed to be waiting for the ginger she-cat’s consent. The she-cat was still trying to recover from her shock, a moment later she shook her head. “Calm down, Bark, really,” the ginger she-cat mewed calmly to the brown tom. “But Ace,” the cat named Bark protested. “Shut up, I'm older than you,” Ace snapped. “But you are technically my littermate and I know our father wouldn’t want this,” Bark mewed, ignoring Ace’s words, while the brown tom’s ears pricked upward with hostility. “I said shut up!” Ace hissed commandingly. “You too,” she added, flicking her tail at Snowpelt as she opened her mouth. “Why?” Bark mewed loudly, clearly doing the opposite of what Ace had only just said. “Look, mouse brain,” she growled, as a Twoleg came in the room. “See? Quickly, hide!” Ace whispered as they all hurried to a solid, rather than webbed, crate to hide behind. The workfolk screeched something, then headed toward where to cages were, the room where Mistleheart was. The workfolk emerged with a bag of hard brown pellets in it’s hand. “Mistleheart!” Snowpelt blurted out, while at the same time Bark and Ace yowled in unison, “Father!” “Who’s Mistleheart? Mistleheart is a strange name,” Ace commented, her bushy tail waving. “The cat who I’m trying to get out of here.” Snowpelt inhaled sharply and explained how they got here, shortening the details. “Oh, I forgot, what is your name? You probably realized that I’m Ace and he, the filthy hypocrite, is Bark from our earlier argument,” Ace meowed, glaring pointedly at Bark. “Snowpelt, deputy of NatureClan, and the cat I’m looking for is Mistleheart, the newest warrior of NatureClan,” Snowpelt quickly reeled off. “NatureClan?” Bark mewed, abruptly interested. “There are Clans near here - ” Snowpelt started. “How many? Five? Ten? Two?” Bark interrupted before she could continue “Four,” Snowpelt answered carefully, excluding the location. “Let her talk,” Ace snapped at Bark. “When did you get so interested in things anyway?” “Well as I was saying….There are four Clans near here, NatureClan, SnowClan, FireClan, and NightClan, SnowClan is disciplined and tidy,” Snowpelt paused, thinking about Iceheart. “NightClan hunts and patrols during the night, from dusk to dawn. FireClan…the stories never mentioned the origins of the name. And NatureClan - I don’t know either.” “Wow…sounds interesting,” Bark remarked. “Then where are you heading?” Ace asked, successfully ignoring Bark. “Clawed Mountains, where my littermate is going.” Again, Snowpelt selected her words cautiously. “Who is your littermate?” Ace muttered, shooting a glance at Bark. “Is he as annoying as my brother?” “Oh, he’s just some random cat from SnowClan” Snowpelt mewed in a bored tone. She didn’t understand the reason Ace was questioning her. “You can have littermates in other Clans?” Bark exclaimed, looking uncomfortable - whether it was the space of their hiding spot or the words of the question, Snowpelt didn’t know. “Apparently,” Ace mewed. Before any of the three cats could speak the workfolk from before entered the room, placed the bag of rabbit-pellets on the ground and exited the den stomping grumpily. “That mouse-brained workfolk left the door open,” Snowpelt noticed, raising her voice as a bout of chatter echoed around the room. “Come on, let’s go rescue some friends,” Bark meowed in excitement, but Snowpelt talked over him. “My only family member left is Iceheart - and yes, littermates can be in other Clans, though I think I’m the only case in the present,” she responded to Bark’s question. Seizing the chance, the trio entered the room.

Chapter Nine Mistleheart again wasn’t able to sleep because of the multiple active conversations and because she was pondering how she should escape. Half of the day passed before noticed a rather familiar white pelt at the door, and her hopes rose. A brown tabby entered the room followed by a small ginger she-cat. A familiar voice called out from the other room, yowling, “I’ll catch up to you.” Corresponding to this, the ginger cat turned her head towards the way they came. “Sure,” she responded, “Come on Bark,  you take left and I’ll take right, we’ll be quicker that way.” Snowpelt is with these rogues? she wondered. “Snowpelt, are you coming?” the ginger cat asked in a loud, carrying voice/ She’s here, Mistleheart thought, sitting straight up. “I’m coming, Ace,” Snowpelt yowled. Ace and Bark - typical rogue names, Mistleheart thought. “Snowpelt! I’m here!” Mistleheart yowled aloud, her resistance fading. “Come on, we have to get Spider out,” Bark meowed, padding over to the cages. Every cat was on high alert and staring at the trio. “And Mistleheart,” Snowpelt agreed without hesitation. “Can you get on with it? I’ve been here for days with nothing to eat but these stinking rabbit-pellets, and I’ve never tried mice before - once I’m free I can taste one, they must be delicious if you forest cats are so willing to eat them instead of the pellets.” Cinnamon finished speaking in about five seconds. Snowpelt stared at her, her mouth wide open. “You’re a kittypet? Why are you here?” “Oh, I left my Twoleg for a few minutes or so, and then that awful workfolk - way grouchier than my housefolk - captured me and stuffed me here,” Cinnamon explained in the same quick voice. “Can’t you get us out of here?” “Okay, kittypet, we’ll see what we can do,” Bark muttered irritably, circling Snowpelt. “So? Are you going to help or not?” The white she-cat looked affronted, but nevertheless she nodded. “Of course - I wouldn’t leave Mistleheart in here, and you probably wouldn’t abandon your father.” Mistleheart peered through the webbed walls of her cage and noticed Spider. She was surprised he hadn’t spoken in relief since his apparent kits entered, and she realized the reason - he was asleep, his muzzle tucked under both paws. He needs to see this, Mistleheart thought. “Hey - where’s Spider?” Ace meowed, glancing wildly around. Mistleheart inched towards the wall and poked her muzzle through a particularly large gap in the metal. “Spider!” she hissed, quiet at first. When the scrawny tom didn’t stir, she yowled his name louder. “What?” Spider groggily muttered, opening his eyes. He rose to his paws, shaking out his thick black fur. The tom settled down on his hindquarters, his head ducked to avoid the top of his cage, and looked around. “Father!” Ace screeched, bounding closer. “We’re here to save you.” Spider was slow to react. Then his eyes started glittering in excitement, and he leapt to his feet, his tail lashing with eagerness. “And my friend,” Snowpelt added pointedly, flicking her tail at Mistleheart’s cage. The silver tabby she-cat tried not to beam, but was unsuccessful. “We can’t leave her in here, either.” A pale ginger tom spoke from a few cages below Mistleheart. “Are you going to leave us in here?” he snapped, sounding annoyed. “Are you only here to save your friends and family, but not the other cats imprisoned in here? Are you willing to let us be - ” “We’re not leaving anyone in,” Snowpelt replied evenly, much more calmer than Mistleheart would’ve been if she were in the same situation. “But we need your help once we free you. You have to help us let out everyone else.” “Before the Twoleg returns?” a wiry she-cat inquired. “This is a dangerous plan, whoever you are.” “We’re willing to accept the risk,” Ace growled. “Unless you want to stay stuck in here. That would be fine with me.” Her eyes gleamed with hostility. The wiry she-cat was silent and didn’t retort. Bark rounded on his sister. “We need to find out how to free our - the cats first,” he grunted. Snowpelt padded to the nearest crate, one containing a sleek blue-gray tom inside, and examined it carefully as if it were an interesting herb. The tom hissed and cringed away from her narrow muzzle. Finally, she noticed the odd-shaped dent on the scrap of metal and tilted her head curiously. “What's that?” Ace inquired with a perplexed frown as she padded forward to examine the dent. “My housefolk called it a padlock,” Cinnamon piped up. Noticing Mistleheart’s incredulous expression, she added, “I can understand them - they're quite simple to translate - that is, once you get used to them, and then you stop thinking all their talk is just growls and hisses. And then you - ” “Okay, okay!” Spider snapped over her words. “Can you get us out of here or not?” Snowpelt glared at him but didn't reply. She looked at Cinnamon. “What does the padlock do? It seems useless in my eyes.” Cinnamon bristled, looking momentarily offended. “They aren't useless, they’re quite clever,” she meowed, drawing herself up to her full height. “The padlock is what locks the cat inside of his cage, and only a certain key can open them.” Snowpelt looked disappointed, and Mistleheart was, too. We don't know how to use this key, and there's no way we'll get our paws on it, either, she thought in dismay, “Never mind that,” Ace growled, pushing past Snowpelt. She inspected the padlock on the blue-gray tom’s cage and jammed a claw into the dent, twisting hard. The ginger she-cat flinched just as the little “door” of the cage sprang open. “See? Easy,” the she-cat meted contemptuously. The tom leaped out of the crate, his eyes flickering over the rows of stacked cages, then turned towards the entrance, posed to depart. Bark reached out with his bushy white-tipped tail and stopped him as he stepped towards the ajar door. “You're not leaving like this,” the brown tabby tom said. “Remember that we need your help in letting everyone else out?” The tom scowled at Bark but stayed where he was, rather than immediately plodding out the entranceway. Bark seemed satisfied and turned to the next cage. Snowpelt and Ace already were unlocking the doors of many others’ crates. Many disagreeable rogues and loners didn't exit but watched the helpful cats tear around knocking cages from higher levels onto the floor or clamber onto a crate and scooting precariously towards trapped cats. This noise will surely alarm that mousebrained Twoleg, Mistleheart thought anxiously, pressing her nose against the webbed wall of her cage. She was correct - once the cats imprisoned on the first and second stacks of cages had been completely freed, the male Twoleg burst into the room, bellowing in rage. Mistleheart saw a glint of metal in his hand and screeched, “Duck!” Multiple younger cats screamed and scattered as the piece of metal went skidding across the ground. Snowpelt attacked the Twoleg as he swiped another piece of metal from his oversized pelt, leaping into the air with deadly accuracy and latching onto his paw with her sharp teeth. With a click, the door of her cage sprang aside and Mistleheart triumphantly leaped out, landing on the cold, smooth ground. Her claws clicked on the stone as she gave a nod to the cat who had freed her, a black-and-white tom. Meanwhile, Snowpelt was grimly holding on to the Twoleg’s paw while he swung it in circles, desperately attempting to derive himself of the warrior. Mistleheart bounded to the Twoleg and slashed at his leg. Ace approached from the other side and closed her jaws around the other leg, dragging him backwards. With a roar, the Twoleg kicked out with both of his feet, one at a time. Ace was thrown into a pile of crates with a sickening crash, while Mistleheart was hurled backwards into a wall. Stars danced in her vision, and she mentally hissed, Don't collapse. She collapsed onto the ground, her head crashing against the wall as the Twoleg roared again, flinging on of its massive legs out. No. The Twolegs will take me again. Please don’t let the Twolegs take me, StarClan! “Mistleheart,” Mistleheart heard Snowpelt murmur. A she groggily blinked open her bright blue eyes, she found herself wishing she was back at NatureClan in her cozy nest as she opened her eyes. She was disappointed that she wasn’t back in her nest, waiting to be called to patrol, then it came to her that she missed her home. It hadn’t came to her ever since the start of her journey with Snowpelt, all she was focusing that time was which way to go or not. “Mistleheart!” Snowpelt called again, this placing her paws on her shoulder. “I’m awake!” Mistleheart didn’t intend to snap at her, but in her surprise she did. She blinked again, distinguishing the fuzzy outlines of the ginger she-cat and brown tom from earlier. Ace and Bark, the warrior recalled. Spider and Cinnamon were also present, Spider’s expression concerned and Cinnamon’s disgruntled. “Stay back, give her some space,” Snowpelt hissed at Ace and Bark. The trio stepped back, looking shocked. “Mouse dung, I should’ve asked Nightwing for some knowledge of herbs before we left,” Snowpelt muttered just close enough so Mistleheart could hear. “Shame that NatureClan was driven out so soon.”

“Driven out?” Cinnamon echoed, sounding genuinely flabbergasted. “By who?” Kittypets have no spine or bone, Mistleheart thought, but she kept her voice careful calm and even as she responded, “Rogues. They attacked one day, killing many warriors and apprentices as they left.” Wincing gingerly, she rose to her paws, but was pushed down again by Snowpelt. “You need rest,” the white she-cat meowed sternly. “Your head was slammed against the wall hard. You can’t risk anything.” “I don’t,” Mistleheart growled untruthfully. “I feel perfectly fine.” Her head throbbed painfully and she staggered sideways. Ace helped her regain her balance, her eyes narrowed as if she were suspicious of this act. “You do,” Snowpelt insisted, darting over to steady Mistleheart. “That isn’t some minor wound.” Mistleheart restrained an impulse to bare her teeth. I’m not a helpless kit anymore! I don’t need to be cared after! “No cat needs to fuss over me,” she mewed in a low snarl. “Much less a pampered kittypet and three scrawny rogues.” “If you’re talking about us - ” Bark began heatedly, his fur bristling. Ace glared at him. “Can’t you see how stressed she is, her Clan being driven out?” she whispered roughly. You could leave her alone for once.” Bark recoiled, looking annoyed. Mistleheart wasn’t comforted by Ace’s defense of her; she was further angered by Ace’s remark of her being stressed. She chose not to point this out. “Rogues ambushed your Clan and killed some of your cats?” Cinnamon questioned, sounding terrified. “But that’s never happened in the Twolegplace. Our housefolk keeps us safe. It would be much easier for you wild cats to find a nice, warm Twoleg den and settle down.” Mistleheart fought the urge to sneer at her. Kittypets can never feel the same way as us Clan cats, she thought. “Never. I’d rather kill myself than turn to begging wretched Twolegs for help. Why did you come with us, anyway? Because your Twolegs won’t take you in anymore?” A contemptuous sneer escaped her mouth and she quickly closed her jaws, hoping no one had noticed. “Don’t go any further,” Spider interjected, sounding alarmed. Mistleheart’s spine fur prickled in annoyance as she turned to stare angrily at the older tom. “It’s not your place to tell me to calm down.” Snowpelt stepped between the two cats, her bright blue gaze still even. “First we have to hunt for ourselves. We can’t risk starving, especially when we have six cats traveling with us.” Mistleheart was affronted to realize the logic in her Clanmate’s words. Sniffing, she turned away. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath. She swayed slightly on her paws and settled down. “Who’s going?” “How about Bark, Cinnamon, and I?” Snowpelt suggested. “I could try teaching them to hunt.” “Ugh, no thanks. I’d prefer those stinking rabbit-pellets over rabbits. There isn’t much on these moors, and I’d like to taste mice more,” Cinnamon complained. Bark settled a fierce glare on her. “Would you rather eat rabbits or starve?” he meowed. “Because there isn’t much choice in the wilderness for kittypets like you. You should get accustomed to it.” Cinnamon snorted, but she said, “Fine. You know, after all this, I might try finding my Twolegs again. At least they didn’t have to compete for prey every day. I got fed regularly when I was with them.” Flicking her tail pointedly, she turned to Snowpelt. “Let’s go.” “Hang on,” Ace mewed sharply. “Why aren’t you taking Spider and I with you? We want to learn how to stalk prey as well.” The white she-cat had a suitable answer. “Four cats are too difficult to manage at once,” she explained reasonably, but Mistleheart detected the caution beneath the commanding, confident cat she knew - or thought she knew - so well. “Next time, perhaps I could bring you two.” Mistleheart cleared her throat. Does she think she’s the only one who knows how to stalk around here? she wondered irritably. Because I do, too. “Oh - well, I suppose Mistleheart could take you out once you’ve recovered,” the white she-cat proposed dubiously. “But that could take quite a long time.” She glanced apologetically at the thick-furred silver tabby she-cat. “Fine,” Mistleheart huffed. She strode over to a patch of dry moss located at the base of a clawed tree and scraped the moss out, gathering enough to assemble a simple, yet uncomfortable nest. Using her hind paws, she scuffed the moss, arranging it into a clump of bedding, and circled it before settling in. Once Snowpelt, Cinnamon, and Bark had departed, Cinnamon still whisking her tail grudgingly, Mistleheart allowed the sigh that had been building up in her escape. Ace briefly averted her gaze and Spider studied his paws. Have I just made all these rogues dislike me? Mistleheart thought uncertainly, feeling a prickle of guilt. She had possibly been too curt with Cinnamon. Insulting these newcomers wasn’t the best way to make a good impression, surely. The silence was tense and wary. Ace was once again gazing at Mistleheart, her expression indicating signs of wanting to speak to her, but Spider had turned his back and was swishing his tail. “I’m sorry,” Mistleheart blurted, unable to convince herself that this wasn’t her blame. Both cats stared curiously at her, and she continued, “I know it was probably rude to call you a scrawny rogue.” She herself was considerably skinny, having failed to successfully capture the rabbits that she rarely sighted on the moor due to lack of speed. “But it’s just difficult to be traveling in the opposite direction when I should be with my Clan.” Ace stood so abruptly that Mistleheart’s claws instinctively slid out. Cursing herself silently, she sheathed her claws. Is she going to snap at me now, after defending me from Bark? To Mistleheart’s astonishment, what the tiny ginger she-cat mewed instead was, “Tell me about Clan life.” Mistleheart was so taken aback she hesitated for longer than she intended. “Well - there’s a leader in each Clan, and that leader has nine lives.” And Petalstar was on her last during the battle, she thought bitterly, recalling the rogues’ ambush on her treasured camp.

“Nine lives?” Spider echoed disbelievingly. “How?” The tom was still looking at the silver tabby warrior as if petrified. “Well, StarClan grants them nine once the former leader loses his ninth,” Mistleheart mewed, trying to sound patient like Snowpelt. Ace’s ears perked up. “StarClan?” “It’s where warriors go when they die,” Mistleheart explained. “It’s similar to - to a spirit realm, you could say.” Not all warriors. That insane Place of No Stars tom committed murder - and was sent to that wicked, slimy forest. She shuddered, ignoring the rogues’ skeptical glances, and continued, “The new leader gets to select a warrior to be the deputy, like Petalstar chose Snowpelt. The deputy becomes the leader once the previous leader dies.” And Snowpelt could be the leader of NatureClan right now. She could be Snowstar. But she never will be if NatureClan doesn’t take its territory back. “And the medicine cat, who’re the Clan healers. They have their own set of rules to follow other than the warrior code. They share dreams with StarClan and interpret omens and signs.” “Clans seem complicated,” Spider mewed with a mrrow of gruff laughter. “The warriors defend the Clan, hunt prey to eat, and patrol the set boundaries,” the silver tabby she-cat went on. “I’m a warrior at the moment.” I was a warrior until those mange-ridden rogues attacked our camp and drove NatureClan out. “The apprentices train to hunt and fight and are mentored by a warrior of the leader’s choice. The queens are she-cats who nurse or are expecting kits, and they usually get the first pick of prey along with the kits and elders. The kits are under six moons old and can’t become apprentices yet, according to the warrior code. And the elders are retired toms and she-cats.” “Your Clan has been driven out from its territory, hasn’t it?” Ace inquired, shifting her paws restlessly. “And Snowpelt explained to us that your leader - Petalstar, wasn’t it? - was killed in the battle while you were still unconscious.” Mistleheart’s fur bristled. “So what if if NatureClan has been driven out?” she hissed defensively. “At least they’re still alive!” “They don’t know that you two are alive,” Spider informed the warrior, wincing as he shifted his wounded leg. “The new leader - Oakfall, according to Snowpelt - has appointed a new deputy in her place.” Mistleheart’s ears pricked attentively. “How does she know this?” she challenged the scrawny black tom. Spider held her gaze for a few moments, then returned his eyes to his paws. “She said she had a dream while we were still imprisoned in that Twoleg den,” he muttered. “A cat named Skyspirit showed her the scene.” Skyspirit? Could that possibly be the silver tabby in my dreams? Mistleheart curled her claws around the earth, carving grooves in the dry, cracked ground. “Who’s the new deputy?” Perhaps Oakfall could have appointed Cloudfur. He’s an experienced senior warrior, after all. “Some she-cat named Dawnleap,” Ace interrupted as Spider opened his mouth to respond. Mistleheart froze, her eyes widening in surprise. She was nearly certain that she was hallucinating; never would she have imagined that a leader would invite Dawnleap to be the new deputy. Dawnleap, of all cats, is the new deputy. My overcaring, fussy mother is Snowpelt’s replacement? “Are you alright?” Spider meowed worriedly. “You look shocked.” “I’m perfectly fine,” Mistleheart snapped, repeating what she had previously told Snowpelt. Her head was throbbing again, rather painfully, but it was barely anything in comparison to her astonishment that her mother was the deputy. Perhaps she would expect me to be proud of her, the silver tabby she-cat thought, curling up in her nest. She tucked her nose underneath her paw, ignoring Ace and Spider’s muffled conversation, and closed her eyes. The garbled singsong of moorland lapwings in the distance easily lulled her to a shadowed, dark sleep. “Wake up,” a voice whispered in her ear, gentle but simultaneously cold. Mistleheart grumbled, partially aroused, and placed her second forepaw over her muzzle. A thorn-sharp claw prodded her in the side as she did this and Mistleheart jumped to her paws with a yelp of pain, staggering away from the cat who had just forced her awake. As she had expected, it was the StarClan she-cat again. Her sleek silver fur glimmered with starlight and frost as she stepped away from Mistleheart, watching her with her strange, ice-blue eyes. “It’s you again,” Mistleheart muttered, cringing away from the warrior. “Skyspirit, is it?” “I see Snowpelt saw fit to tell you the details of our little conversation,” the she-cat meowed with a light laugh. “No…it was those rogues who explained to you, wasn’t it?” She leaned closer to Mistleheart. “Well, yes,” Mistleheart mewed indifferently, watching the she-cat pace in a circle around her. “Why are you here?” she demanded. “Or do you only hope to disrupt my sleep?” Skyspirit thrust her muzzle toward Mistleheart’s face with a warning hiss. “I don’t visit cats in their slumber unless I have an omen to deliver,” she snarled. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed the multiple dreamless nights I was kind enough to grant you.” Mistleheart hesitated; it was true that she had enjoyed many dozes without the disturbance of this StarClan warrior. Still, she forced a scornful tone into her words as she retorted, “You’ve given us countless omens this moon already, little of which have been useful! You don’t warn Snowpelt and I of the rogues’ ambush, or of my imprisonment in that wretched Twoleg den! What do you have for us now?” The she-cat’s ice-blue eyes darkened momentarily. “I am not present to tell you of the disaster in store for your little ragtag team,” she confessed with a resentful lash of her tail, “although I would like to. I am here to tell you the truth that I imagine may divert your purpose.” Disaster in store for my little ragtag team? Mistleheart wondered ominously. Despite her new questions, she remained silent, waiting. “First, I must inform you that your friend Snowpelt’s brother has not journeyed to the Clawed Mountains after all,” Skyspirit started, beginning to pace again. “He is not in StarClan’s vision. Whether Snowpelt ever reunites with her last family…” She shook her head as if to deliberate the point. “Promise that you will convince Snowpelt there are more important matters than finding the brother that abandoned her to flee his Clan.” “She already knows that!” Mistleheart argued, however stunned she truly was. Does she? Skyspirit twitched the tip of her tail, her expression peculiarly grim. “Snowpelt’s loyalties may be more divided than she allows you to see. Family is a major segment of Clan life.” Mistleheart, unable to find a suitable reply, merely stepped away from the StarClan she-cat, stammering, “I trust - Snowpelt wouldn’t - this isn’t what she’d want - ” “Snowpelt…you don’t know her as well as you believe you do,” Skyspirit meowed icily. “I don’t know if she is prepared for the knowledge that her brother is not where she expected him to be.” She preceded before Mistleheart could contradict her. “But the second truth is what is truly important. I think you deserve to know the intentions of that Dark Forest tom.” She spat the final words out as if they tasted of slimy, wet fish. Mistleheart paused for a moment, her head tilted. “That lunatic in the Place of No Stars?” she questioned eagerly. The silver she-cat met Mistleheart’s gaze. “Indeed,” she confirmed, and the silver tabby warrior straightened alertly. “StarClan has attempted to forbid me to reveal the reality, yet there are no possibilities your plan will succeed without the Fiery One realizing that tom’s hopes.” Mistleheart gazed unblinkingly at her, gaping incredulously. She would defy StarClan to tell me this? “His name is Malevolence,” Skyspirit intoned, ignoring the younger cat’s amazement. The name sent shivers down Mistleheart’s thick pelt. “As he was originally an ill-intended loner desiring the fall of his Clans, he did not adopt a proper Clan name. When offered a chance to join oblivious NatureClan, he was prepared to accept. He viewed the offer as an essential part to his plan succeeding. It was just what he needed to destroy the memory of the Clans for eternity. He was young as the typical apprentice at the time, but frighteningly cunning. He quickly gained the respect of the Clan and grew to become a famed warrior, despite still hosting his terrible wish.” “He tried to persuade me he was hoping to spare NatureClan moons of suffering,” Mistleheart meowed, horror-struck. “Like I said, Malevolence is a cunning cat,” Skyspirit responded with a sigh. More briskly, she continued, “But it wasn’t until the deputy at the time, a she-cat named Ashshadow, was growing weak that he put his plan to action. A leader undefended by his deputy - he would murder Eaglestar in his sleep without him even noticing.” Mistleheart realized her breath was bated. “On the night of no moon, Malevolence crept up to the leader’s den, where he found Eaglestar peacefully sleeping. There, he stalked up to his leader’s nest - ” Mistleheart remembered to breathe. “ - and took his first life, as quickly and easily as one might catch a mouse.” Skyspirit finished her sentence, then went on, “However, Malevolence did not suspect that Eaglestar would wake upon his first life being taken. He held his own against Malevolence, until Ashshadow arrived at the scene, startled to see courageous, loyal Malevolence cornering the NatureClan leader in his own den. She assisted Eaglestar in combatting the loner. But as you know already, Malevolence managed to murder her with the dishonorable killing bite.” Mistleheart coughed pointedly to conceal her gasp. She’d known that the black tom in her dreams had killed the deputy, but it was more difficult to hear an ally telling her this. He was a traitor in life, and now he’s returning to conquer the Clans through a cat who will support him. “Despite the death of his deputy, Eaglestar fought with renewed vigor. He managed to wound Malevolence so severely that he bled to death,” Skyspirit finished. She indicated her flank with her tail-tip and Mistleheart remembered the terrible scar sliced into his skin at the same location. “But now he’s returning,” Mistleheart meowed in a hollow voice she had never used before. “Yes, he is returning,” Skyspirit mewed, confirming Mistleheart’s greatest fear. “And this time, he promises he will be prepared to defeat the Clans. He has already assembled an entire army out of vengeful, power-hungry Dark Forest residents. If he recruits the rogues and loners once he has acquired a body he can freely control, hope could be entirely lost.” Mistleheart opened her mouth to speak, but for once, she found she has nothing to say. The Clans could be destroyed by this mere former loner? Finally, she managed, “He has already assembled an army of Dark Forest residents?” “Yes, he has, and his next target is Twolegplace,” Skyspirit growled, halting midstep. “This is all I can reveal now.” Heaving another heavy sigh, she turned and began to pad away. At the same time Mistleheart sensed the dream gradually fading, as if it were the mist being burned away by a newleaf sun. Skyspirit was several fox-lengths away from Mistleheart when she stopped. Her cold, ice-blue eyes grazed Mistleheart’s pelt. Clearly, she directed, “Follow the ravens, and you will find the mountains you seek.” Follow the ravens? What for? Mistleheart wondered, bewildered at this command. “Why do we have to go after the ravens? Is this a sign from StarClan?” Frustrated, she began to run after Skyspirit, but her paws left the earth and the vision vanished entirely. Chapter Ten The skinny black tom stalked the plump gray rabbit at a short distance, followed closely by Mistleheart. His injured leg had barely recovered, yet he had insisted that he was able to handle a brief hunt. Mistleheart had grudgingly agreed to accompany him; her own wounds had already healed and she had taught Spider and Ace how to hunt live prey a day ago. Spider was beginning to get the hang of it. However, Mistleheart had admitted that racing after rabbits on a wide-open moor was much more difficult than pouncing on squirrels and mice in the dense forest. She herself was finding it difficult to capture potential prey. Spider trained his eyes on the rabbit and attempted to not think about anything else. A little closer should be near enough for me to pounce and kill it, he thought, edging towards his prey as it nibbled on a stalk of grass. He bunched his hindquarters and lunged for the rabbit, but he landed short and stumbled onto a small twig. The cracking sound alerted the rabbit to its hunter and it raced away before Spider could curse his carelessness. Yelping in alarm, the scrawny black tom chased after the fleeing rabbit, but it was quicker than him and desperate. Mistleheart’s light pawsteps alerted Spider to the NatureClan warrior following him and he dodged out of the way just as she darted past in pursuit of their escaping prey. She managed to catch up to it and drive it sideways into a crooked, claw-like tree, where she killed it with a swift nip and then glanced around to glare at Spider. “You could have looked where you were going!” she snapped in annoyance. I’m not as experienced with hunting as you are, Spider thought mutinously, refusing to meet the younger she-cat’s gaze. Of course, he was grateful to the warrior for assisting him in healing his injured leg; she in the first place had spared him all the loss of blood he could have suffered. But Mistleheart’s short temper and snappish attitude was what drove him to wonder whether he truly appreciated her. “Whatever,” the silver tabby she-cat hissed, jerking Spider into reality. “At least we managed to capture this rabbit.” She snorted scornfully, glancing down at their skinny pick. “There’s barely enough meat on this to feed a kit.” Spider failed to restrain himself. “At least it’s prey!” he protested. “You should be grateful that we managed this.” That you managed this, he thought, but didn’t speak the words aloud due to his resentfulness of Mistleheart at the moment. “Whatever,” the warrior repeated, whipping around and stalking in the opposite direction, her head and tail held high. Spider was left alone to fume by himself. It wasn’t his blame that the rabbit had nearly escaped. Besides, Mistleheart shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a single kill anyway, he reminded himself in an attempt to cheer himself. He preferred Snowpelt much more than the grumpy, irritable she-cat who had been imprisoned in the Twoleg den alongside him. However, he didn’t know what to think of Snowpelt, and he couldn’t scratch up any reasons for this. He began to follow Mistleheart’s scent back towards their temporary ‘camp’, if a cat could call it a camp. It was an abandoned badger set in the dry, cracked moorland earth, with enough space to contain five cats. This had made for an uncomfortable night with five others pressing against him, wriggling for space. Mistleheart had already disappeared into the den, by the looks of it. Spider sighed, shuffling his paws, and padded into the burrow, expecting five other cats to cringe away from him, still struggling for space. What he found surprised him. Only his kit, Bark, and Mistleheart were present, and they stood barely a tail-length apart, glaring at each other. “Hello, Spider,” Bark mewed quietly. “Did you have a good hunt?” Spider saw the brown tom’s eyes flicker to Spider’s scarred leg and back to Mistleheart. The scrawny black rogue tried to ignore the warrior’s penetrating stare. “It was fine, I suppose,” Spider meowed with a sigh of defeat. “You went out with this cat, didn’t you?” Bark pressed, waving his tail at Mistleheart. The silver tabby she-cat, seeming to take this as a cue, straightened up and gazed angrily at Bark. “Yes, he did,” she rumbled. “And how does that matter?” “Well, it explains why she returned in such a mood,” Bark smirked. Mistleheart scowled at him, then at Spider, her amber eyes glittering dangerously. Spider, at the same time, sensed heat rising to his face and turned to Bark to hide his embarrassment. “Settle down, Bark,” he ordered as firmly as he could. “We don’t want to insult the cats that helped us.” Rushing on, he added, “Where did the others go?” “Snowpelt, Cinnamon, and Ace went hunting again, when they failed to capture anything,” Bark meowed easily as Mistleheart stepped into her makeshift nest and curled up inside with a grunt, her amber eyes blinking at the conversation. “From what Ace told me, that Twoleg pet scared all the prey away by blundering straight towards them.” Spider found it difficult to reprimand his son for his rudeness about Cinnamon. He shared his feelings: that a kittypet would always stay a kittypet. He also found her constant chatter annoying, especially when he was trying to fall asleep. But somehow, he found the color of her pelt, the way she spoke, and her scent familiar. It made him uneasy. “Hey, Spider? I’ll divide this rabbit for the others when they return,” Bark offered, gesturing to the scrawny kill. “Sure,” Spider replied absentmindedly, tracing a slight arc in the dusty ground with the tip of his claw. As Bark divided the rabbit into meager shares, Spider wondered when Mistleheart and Snowpelt would explain where the group was heading for, and whether the rogues were expected to follow.

The following night Spider was aroused by Cinnamon’s snoring, similar to a cat’s growling. Wearily blinking, he rose to his paws and allowed himself a quick shake, then remembered that other cats were present, sleeping with him. It was when he gazed around the abandoned badger set that he realized two cats who would normally be here were missing from their ranks: Snowpelt and Mistleheart. Wary of this suspicious occurrence, Spider paused mid-step toward the entrance of the burrow, thinking quickly. It was very likely that the warriors had disappeared simply for a nighttime stroll, but he was too curious to stay inside the burrow and wait for the she-cats to return. Quietly, he maneuvered around Ace and stepped toward the entrance. Bark shifted slightly and he stiffened, glancing over his shoulder at his kit, but the brown tabby tom moved no more. As a typical Twolegplace wild cat, Spider had turned to scavenging for found, so his hunting instincts weren’t as developed as some of his Twolegplace abilities, such as leaping onto high fences and otherwise. However, he still had an acute sense of smell, and he detected Mistleheart and Snowpelt’s faint, mingled scents below the smell of musty rabbit, wind-blown earth, and wilted leaves. The scents seem fresh, but they’ve been concealed by the other moorland smells, Spider noted, sniffing at the scent trail. Carefully, his nose brushing the dry earth, he moved through the shadows, following the distinct scent. He found that he had padded out of sight from the burrow before suspicions began to race across his mind. If the NatureClan warriors had only left the den for a brief walk, why would they venture this far? The scent trail was gradually growing sharper and fresher, yet Spider sensed that Mistleheart and Snowpelt were still ahead by far. A crackling sound behind the rogue made him whirl around, baring his teeth, but he only saw that a plump gray squirrel was crouching in a mound of scattered, brown leaves. Spider licked his lips wistfully, forgetting Mistleheart and Snowpelt as he eyed the prey. His stomach growled in hunger and his claws itched to blunder after the squirrel, chasing it across the moorland. But it’s too fast, and if it manages to find a safe tree, I could lose it entirely, Spider reminded himself. Perhaps he could test his stalking skills on this fatty morsel. Dropping into the hunter’s crouch, Spider began to silently creep forward, his tail raised, his pawsteps light and deliberate. Once he was in pouncing range of his prey, he unsheathed his claws, hesitated for barely a moment, and leaped, claws extended. He landed squarely on top of the squirrel, trapping it with his teeth, and killed it with a swift bite to the spine. Spider let the squirrel’s body fall to the ground. He was glowing with pride, but when he latched onto the scent trail of Mistleheart and Snowpelt, he faltered. Gripping his prey between his teeth, he continued onward. Finally, after what seemed like three entire moons had passed, Spider heard the familiar lowered voices of two she-cats speaking inside what appeared to him as a small clearing, hidden by large fronds of fern. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, he eased himself closer to the fern barrier, listening hard. An irritable voice that clearly belonged to Mistleheart was speaking at the moment. “I told you, we don’t know whether we should trust Skyspirit or not, but she granted us useful information!” she was hissing. “The story matches Malevolence well enough for me to believe!” Snowpelt’s voice was challenging. “What about her prompt to follow the ravens or whatever she told you to? What about the truth on Iceheart? She could have guided us at any time earlier, but she chose now, where we’re determined to reach the mountains? I’m not saying we can’t trust Skyspirit. I’m only pointing out that she could have convinced us to stay with our Clan!” Who are Skyspirit and Malevolence? Spider wondered, edging closer. His breath stirred the fern fronds before him. Skyspirit sounds like a Clan name, but what about Malevolence? Any rogue or loner could have been named that. “Well, you can’t change what’s passed!” Mistleheart snapped. “Are you suggesting we give up?” A rustling sound followed her words, and Spider guessed that the short-tempered silver tabby she-cat was lashing her tail. “No, I’m not,” Snowpelt admitted. “You’re right; we’ve gone this far, and we can’t turn back now. We have to create the fifth Clan to save NatureClan - from both the rogues and Malevolence.” Mistleheart inhaled sharply. “Wait,” she cautioned. “Do you think that the rogues might have been under Malevolence’s control? It’s certainly possible.” “Why would Skyspirit tell you that Malevolence’s next target is the rogues and loners and not that the foxhearts who drove my Clan out was under his command?” Snowpelt demanded. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t make sense.” Mistleheart’s thick, striped fur bristled. “You have to get used to it,” she growled in an undertone. “Nothing makes sense right now. Skyspirit’s hint to follow the ravens aren’t clear, either. I haven’t seen any ravens today, let alone on our journey so far. But if StarClan interferes…” Snowpelt was silent. Spider stiffened and edged backward, alarmed to sense the white she-cat’s eyes burning into his black coat. “Who’s there?” the deputy of NatureClan called, padding closer to Spider’s hiding spot. Simultaneously, Mistleheart growled, prowling towards Spider from the opposite side. The next moment, claws were gripping Spider’s shoulders and the silver tabby warrior was pushing him to the ground, a forepaw positioned over his throat. Snowpelt emerged from the ferns, hackles raised, but she paused when she noticed the trapped cat underneath her Clanmate. “Spider?” the white she-cat meowed carefully, stepping towards the trio. “What are you doing here?” Mistleheart snarled in rage and violently shook Spider. Craning her neck to glare furiously at Snowpelt, she spat, “Isn’t it obvious? This rogue is conspiring with his - his acquaintances to disrupt our plans. He was spying on us all along!” Snowpelt sternly narrowed her eyes. “Mistleheart, calm down,” she commanded with a meaningful flick of her tail. She turned to Spider, her expression both questioning and grim. “Explain yourself,” she requested, gesturing towards the rogue with her tail. The movement was polite, but her hackles were rising again and her claws twitching. “Why did you not tell us you were listening to our conversation?” Mistleheart had started to press down on Spider’s throat. Spluttering, he attempted to free himself of her grasp and speak. Snowpelt noticed this and muttered something inaudible to her Clanmate. Mistleheart glared at her friend before grouchily releasing Spider. “Well? Speak.” “I just woke up and noticed you were missing and followed your scent trail here,” the scrawny black tom mewed rushedly. What if she doesn’t believe me? Mistleheart doesn’t seem like a trusting cat. Snowpelt’s tail-tip flicked warily. Mistleheart remained silent, although her twitching claws told Spider she was tempted to leap on him. “Fine. We’ll believe you for the time being,” Snowpelt finally meowed. Mistleheart opened her mouth to protest, but Snowpelt laid her tail on her shoulder. “Let’s return to our den,” she murmured gently. “We’ll be journeying on tomorrow.” Journeying on towards wherever they intend to go, Spider grumbled mentally. I wish they'd be less cryptic and vague, but it sounds like they have their own reasons. I could've heard more if I'd realized they were gone sooner. The scrawny black tom glanced at Snowpelt and thought he felt a flicker of loneliness in his heart. I have Ace and Bark, he told himself. These warriors aren't the only cats with me. There's Cinnamon, too, although she was once a kittypet, and always will be.. Snowpelt beckoned to Mistleheart and trudged out of the clearing, her tail dropping with obvious exhaustion. Spider fought the urge to bound after her and stayed rigidly still and stiff as Mistleheart began to follow. Just as the silver tabby she-cat was about to step out of the clearing, she pivoted to face Spider. Her amber eyes were cold and hard, piercing Spider’s pelt with sharp intensity. “I rescued you from that leg wound,” she reminded him gruffly. “Don't make mewish I hadn't.” Inhaling deeply, she continued, “I’m going to discover what you were eavesdropping on Snowpelt and I for if it's the last thing I do.” Spider resisted shrinking back in fear. “If you're spying for those rogues who ambushed my Clan…” For a moment, Mistleheart paused, pain in her eyes. Then she straightened and snapped, “If you're with those foxhearts that killed my friends and family, I will make you regret it.” Spider stepped back nervously, unable to contain myself. “I'm not,” he whispered unconvincingly. “I would never kill to earn myself territory. I'm - I'm not like those rogues.” He willed himself to believe his own words. “I'm different.” “If you are, I will make you pay,” Mistleheart snarled. Then she turned and disappeared through the tall fronds of fern as well. Spider watched the ferns quiver for an agonizingly long moment. Finally, he stumbled to his paws and followed the two warriors.

The following day, both Snowpelt and Mistleheart didn't speak of the previous night, which Spider found ominous. It was almost as if they - or rather, Mistleheart - was patiently waiting for the flawless time to strike. “We’ll be traveling today,” Snowpelt announced first thing in the morning, her blue eyes blinking sleepily. “I want to get to the mountains before the next half-moon.” The group of cats had already exited their burrow. Spider cast a wistful look back at it, pondering the warmth and safety of the underground den. “Again?” Cinnamon whined. “We move nearly every day at this point.” Snowpelt sighed. “A kittypet wouldn’t know the difficulties of living wild,” she pointed out. “All a kittypet must do each day is eat, sleep, and drink. Wild cats move every day to avoid confrontation with hostile cats, Twolegs, or other animals.” Mistleheart and Bark simultaneously gave an approving nod. The two cats glanced at each other, looking surprised at their agreement. Snowpelt’s statement wasn't entirely true - Spider’s experience as a rogue had taught him that. But the stern words seemed to silence the brown-and-white tabby kittypet. She shut her jaws with a snap and averted her gaze. “When are we leaving?” Bark grumbled, stretching in the warm, dappled sunlight. “I'm bored out of my mind,” Ace added with a yawn. Spider’s whiskers twitched in amusement. His daughter must be telling the truth; it was extremely rare Ace and Bark agreed on any matter. “Soon,” Mistleheart promised. “Meanwhile, you can stop grumbling about the delay.” Ace rolled her eyes. “We wouldn't be so grouchy if you'd tell us what we're going to the mountains for.” Mistleheart and Snowpelt exchanged a brief glance. Snowpelt’s expression was uneasy. “All right,” Snowpelt finally yowled. “Has everyone had their share of prey? A good, long drink?” When no cat shook their head, she bounded toward Mistleheart. “Fine, let’s go.” Ace looked rather affronted at this change of subject, but Snowpelt was already several paces ahead of the others. The tiny ginger she-cat leaped after her brother, looking irritated. It wasn't until sunhigh when the group finally decided to stop for a rest, fueled mainly by Cinnamon’s complaints of her aching pads. Mistleheart selected a region of land shaded by a sprawling, claw-shaped tree to sit. Spider settled down a little further away, determinedly avoiding the silver tabby she-cat. “At this rate, we’ll never get to the mountains,” Mistleheart grunted as Snowpelt drew nearer to her. “I was debating on whether we should hand Cinnamon over to a random Twoleg and hope she doesn't escape again.” “You should have patience in her,” Snowpelt meowed in a lowered voice. “She isn't your average kittypet.” “In spirit, she is,” Mistleheart responded. Her amber eyes never wandered from the kittypet, who had sat down a few fox-lengths away, out of earshot. I wonder if they have this kind of conversation about me, as a rogue, Spider mused. Lost in his thoughts, he found Snowpelt’s lecture on being kinder to Cinnamon growing less distinctive. He was able to notice smaller details: a fat rabbit scurrying through a burrow right beneath his paws; the wind whistling in the opposite direction of the towering peaks in the distance; the faraway chirping of grasshoppers, perhaps hidden in grass that could be there. And the unmistakable scent of an unfamiliar cat - a loner tom. Spider clung on to the scent, separating it from the gradually sharper smell of rabbit, the dry, wind-scraped earth, and the chilly breeze. It was fresh - as if the cat had only just been here. He glanced around their surroundings. The rabbit had emerged from a crevice in the cracked ground and was now creeping away from the cats. Spider didn't attempt to catch it. A nearby tree was being tousled by the breeze. A squirrel scampered up it, searching for nuts to feast on. Spider’s eyes rested on a quivering bush nearby. It was trembling more than it normally should have been. The scrawny black tom poked Snowpelt on the side and barely inclined his muzzle toward the bush; he didn't want the eavesdropper to notice him staring and flee. “We’re being watched,” he hissed in her ear. The white she-cat’s fur bristled in astonishment as she, too, noticed the bush. It had stopped shaking, although the tree’s branches still were. Mistleheart stalked toward the bush, her steps light and her tail raised high above the ground. Spider hesitated, wondering if he should assist her, but Snowpelt was watching as well, her breath bated. Then, Mistleheart had suddenly lunged. Before Spider could leap back in surprise, she had bowled the tom over and was pinning him down with a paw pressed against his throat. With a yelp of alarm, Spider started forward. How long has he been following us? The tom had black-and-white fur and pale yellow eyes. His ears were flattened; his mouth was open in a furious caterwaul as Mistleheart applied pressure. Finally, growling with defeat, the loner went limp. Mistleheart relaxed her grip, but the tom reacted immediately. He rolled onto his back and kicked the silver tabby she-cat hard in the stomach. Mistleheart gasped and released her hold on the eavesdropper, rolling safely away. For a moment, all Spider could hear was blood roaring in his ears. He sprang at the stranger, his instincts taking over. His friends watched in suppressed awe and fright as the loner dropped to avoid Spider’s swipe. The scrawny black tom anticipated the move, however; he leaped on top of his opponent, trapping him to the ground. The loner screeched in fury and slashed at Spider’s underbelly. Spider jumped out of harm’s way, leaving the loner to shred a piece of dry moss. The black tom returned to the attack, pummeling the patched loner with his paws. He managed to slice the loner’s pricked ear. His opponent ducked a few vicious slashes and delivered a blow of his own. Spider whirled, avoiding the flurry of claws. One of his forepaws crashed against the loner’s head, knocking him to the side. Seizing his opportunity, Spider pinned him down. The black-and-white tom thrashed and bucked, but Spider held him down until he finally relented with a growl. Carefully, Spider stepped off the tom, his senses swiftly returning. The loner stood, glaring around the group, but didn't flee or attempt another attack. He hissed defensively as a growl rumbled in Mistleheart’s throat. “How did you do - when did you ever - that was amazing,” Cinnamon stammered. The loner’s gaze passed scornfully over the still-plump kittypet. “It was instinct,” Spider meowed modestly. He returned his glare to the black-and-white tom. “I was preparing to speak to you,” the loner growled reproachfully. He winced from the scratches that Spider had inflicted upon his short coat, as if they were stinging. Mistleheart prowled toward Spider. She stood at his side with a hostile hiss. “A very likely story, loner.” Snowpelt glared at her Clanmate witheringly. “Who are you?” she demanded to the loner. Now that Spider had a closer look at the tom, he saw he wasn't only black-and-white. Among other the patches were small splotches of mud-brown, and scattered throughout his pelt were flecks of dark russet and ginger. The skinny loner straightened proudly. “My name is Mottle.” Suits him, Spider thought wryly, eying him. “What do you want?” “I've watched you,” Mottle admitted. “I see the way you live. I like the idea of a Clan. I've always been fending for myself, and I'm good at it, but cats would do better watching out for each other.” He spoke the words hurriedly. Sounding outraged, Mistleheart hissed, “You've been spying on us this entire time!” She whirled around, her searing amber haze narrowing. “Have you been conspiring with this cat?” To Spider’s horror, she was flicking her tail in his direction. But I haven't done anything wrong, other than following her scent to a private conversation! How could Mistleheart distrust him so easily? “Stop making mousebrained accusations, Mistleheart,” Snowpelt ordered barely a moment after she had finished. “You saw Spider and Mottle just fighting. Spider was defending us, not this loner.” The contempt in her voice was unmistakable. Mottle nodded. “You hear my explanation,” he mewed coolly. “Now will you let me join your group?” Snowpelt and Mistleheart exchanged a dubious glance, while Bark and Ace glared at the loner who had been battling their father. Cinnamon simply looked petrified. Finally, Snowpelt nodded. “Fine. But you will have to prove your loyalty.” Mottle twitched his ear-tip. With a pang of regret, Spider noticed the fresh nick in it was still oozing dark blood. “Don't worry,” the black-and-white tom meowed, pushing himself to his paws. He winced as his scratches continued to bleed lightly. “I know a lot about herbs. You might find it handy.” Mistleheart scowled, casting the tom a dark look. “That could be useful,” she confessed, following a tense moment of silence. She flexed her long, hooked claws. “But put one whisker out of line, and you'll have me to deal with.” Her amber eyes glittered. Mottle waved his tail. “You shouldn't worry.”

Spider sighed softly, his breath rustling like leaves in the warm breeze. He had been assigned the duty of accompanying the group’s new recruit by Snowpelt, and was fully aware Mistleheart did not approve of this rather surprising decision. She'd seemed quiet and distant toward the rogues at first, but now, she was plainly hostile. “You trust him to guard Mottle?” the silver tabby she-cat had challenged, fur bristling and claws unsheathed. Snowpelt’s eyes had gleamed, betraying her impatience. “Of course. It will be a fine opportunity for him to show his loyalty. You've been short with him ever since we caught him eavesdropping.” “Why not send me or Cinnamon, then?” Mistleheart had spat. Her amber eyes blazed with anger. “Cinnamon is dismal at stealth, but at least she's trustworthy.” Spider had flinched at her scornful tone. He didn't find Cinnamon particularly skillful either, but if Mistleheart found the only positive trait the kittypet possessed was trustworthiness, even Spider had to admit that was harsh. Now, the skinny black tom crouched a few tail-lengths away from Mottle in the wide den they rested in for the night. His leg wound didn't ache anymore, thanks to the black-and-white loner; the only sign of the serious gash was a pale, faint scar. Yet Snowpelt insisted Mottle was still to be guarded daily. Spider heaved a long-suffering sigh. Before he realized his eyelids were drooping, he found himself succumbing to sleep. Where am I? Almost instinctively, Spider rose to his paws, glancing around its uncertainty. A terrible screech ripped through the air, shredding the peaceful silence in a moment. Spider leaped back, twitching his tail. After a moment, he managed to scent strangers approaching, trampling through thick leaves - Enemies? Allies? A scouting patrol, perhaps? He might be on others’ territory. Should he flee, or stay to battle? Bracing himself, he plunged through the scraggly trees, bounding away from the cats that were headed in his direction. The shadows lengthened as he ran, his heart thudding in pure terror. Mistleheart would call me a mouseheart if I told her, but I don't care! He was far too terrified to think about his own pride, let alone the tabby warrior’s expectations of him. I don't want to die, and neither should she! He forced himself to run faster. Memories of his bitter kithood flashed through his mind: rogues plucking him from his mother’s warm, comfortable nest, along with a little brown-and-white tabby she-kit and a small gray tabby tom. The three kits had been separated before they were two moons old. “Mother! Mother, save me!” shrieked the tiny gray tabby. Spider, with a pang of loss and pain, remembered that his smaller brother had always been sickly and weak from lack of prey. Their mother, a sleek black tabby she-cat, was writhing at the entrance, forced to the ground by merciless claws. “I won't let you take my kits!” she howled, hurling the rogues pinning her down off. One crashed into a wall and toppled to the ground, unconscious. Spider’s mother surged toward the trapped kits. The brown-and-white tabby she-kit was snarling between her wild screeches of fear, her teeth bared. But her paws were trembling, and her eyes were bright with fear. “Help!” the young tabby kit yowled, snapping at her attacker’s nose with her teeth. Spider himself was screaming, his throat burning in agony. He was more frightened than he was hurt; he only had a few scratches along his throat. He tried to be brave like his sister, but he found himself whimpering, his voice fading. With an alarming flash of recognition, Spider recalled his mother’s name: Crow. A few rogues lunged for the black tabby she-cat, but a huge, scarred white tom was the first to reach her. His claws slashed Crow’s throat, releasing a spurt of blood. Crow tried to scream, her breath ragged; all three of her kits watched in stunned disbelief as the white tom attacked once more, his claws slicing cruelly across the black tabby she-cat’s throat again. Crow staggered backwards, her eyes flickering with horror and astonishment. “You…you monster,” she croaked, stepping away. “You'll…never…get my kits.” The tabby she-cat drew in a shuddering breath. “I will always be with them!” she declared. The white tom sneered. “Really? Even when you're dead?” Spitting with rage, he snatched Crow’s tail between his teeth and jerked his head, flinging the smaller, bony she-cat into the opposite wall. Spider screamed as she slid to the ground, coughing, sinking into herself. “Yes…you're right,” she rasped. “Even…even when I'm…” Her mew faltered as her head lolled back, her green eyes dulling. The white tom spat. “Good riddance.” He flicked his tail commandingly. The rogues marched over, snatched up Crow’s limp, lifeless body, and hurled it across the den. Then they briskly marched over to the kits and gathered them up. A young she-cat glanced pitifully at Spider and his littermates. After a long moment, she darted forward, picked up the brown-and-white tabby she-kit, and bounded out of the den alone, ahead of the other rogues. The she-cat went unnoticed. The darkness enveloped Spider as he jerked out of the flashback. A realization had dawned in Spider’s mind. This is why I seem to remember Cinnamon; why she seems so familiar. He hunched his shoulders. He was related to a kittypet? And yet, that she-kit in the flashback had been braver than him or the sickly, gray tabby tom-kit. Cinnamon is my sister.