Mist in the Ripples *Rewritten*

Prologue

A figure drifted through the fog, swirling silvery fur blending into the landscape as crystalline eyes struggled to see beyond a little gray nose. The land was murky, wet, dark, and cold, laden with a substance that seemed to be like a mixture of moss and mud. As the poor feline trudged quietly, nothing was heard but the squelching noises of her paws in the ground below.

"Silverstream... Silverstream..." a voice called out to said feline. It was wispy and struggling to say more.

Silverstream had no clue what she was doing, following something she couldn't even see, feel, or smell. The land before her, as far as she could see, stretched endlessly, with only muck acting as bedding for a void of darkness. Her sensitive feline nose was dulled in this land, as if either there weren't any scents at all, or the scent of sheer nothingness was incomprehensible to her scent glands.

It had all started when Spottedleaf - may she shine the sun's rays upon us - had declared that Silverstream, of all cats, had been chosen by the Skies above Starclan - their name spoken with absolute authorization - to start and monitor a new clan.

Silverstream scoffed, thinking it a joke. An entirely new clan? In an entirely new place? Did they expect the cats of Starclan to accept that the Skies Above had managed to reach another piece of land with cats they deemed worthy of upholding the warrior legacy?

So the Starclan cats had tried to reason with the Skies Above, arguing that the five clans could never be remade or copied, and that the clans of Riverclan, Shadowclan, Thunderclan, Windclan, and Skyclan would uphold the Warrior Code forever, and that they didn't need anyone else to do so as well.

But at that point Windflight - may he shine the sun's rays upon us - had joined in with Spottedleaf, asserting that there was no way they would change the decision they had made. From each corner of Starclan, dead cats protested, yowling mutiny and rage, to which the Skies Above did not reply, or, it seemed, care. There was nothing a few resting cats could do against the all-powerful gods they worked under.

During this time, Silverstream had been having a peaceful nap in a sun-drenched clearing. She was briskly awoken by the yowls and not even able to fall back asleep - because she'd been told that she'd been chosen to create the first new clan.

So there she was, miserably dragging her limbs through the unexplored western-most area of Starclan, the opposite direction from the Place of no Stars. It was reassuring to know that the dark forest where all the evil and horrid cats of the clans lived after their deaths did not surround the paradise where good cats went, sure, but then that brought up another question: if there was no Dark Forest in the west, what /was/ there?

It had been two nights since Spottedleaf had informed Silverstream of the condition of travelling that way: that a living being was not allowed to stop walking, and if they did, they'd sink into the ground - never to be seen again. So, the blue-eyed cat had walked an entire 48 hours since then, and yet she wasn't hungry or thirsty, only tired. So, so tired. It seemed that those above could prevent the hunger and the thirst, but not the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her. At that thought, her feet began to drag.

Maybe the Skies Above had stretched the truth? Maybe they only said to keep going nonstop because they wanted her to get there faster? Silverstream slowed. It was probably fine to stop for a minute... Right? 30 seconds, even. Not even quicksand could pull a cat down that fast, right? Two more steps, and she'd sit.

One step later and the fog began thinning. Smells of the forest - of rivers, of small animals, of pine needles - were returning. A light breeze could be felt, caressing her face like her mother's grooming tongue. It gave her new life, and, as if acting upon their own impulses, her legs skipped forth and put on a burst of speed in the direction of a light shining ahead.