The Clash of Stars Book 1: The Key

Prologue

ONE YEAR AGO

Stars and claws alike flashed, teeth biting down on flesh as cats of both the shadows and the night sky clashed against one another, with the intent to kill.

Before the fight began, the rows upon rows of warriors had crouched on their respective sides, the differences between them impossible to ignore — one side was filled with cats that had starlight clinging to their pelts, eyes glowing with honor and justice; the other was lined with skinny, underfed cats filled with hatred for the other, and only the desire to destroy keeping them going. Now they were at war, and any outsider watching wouldn't be able to tell one from the other.

It wasn't the first raid the shadowed cats had launched in recent time. And it wouldn't be the last, for the ranks of the Dark Forest wouldn't stop until they were in control of StarClan's hunting grounds and the influence of the Clans below.

Despite the unrestrained power put against the starry cats, ultimately they outnumbered their enemies. They managed to overpower the Dark Forest cats, sending them back into the spindling trees they'd streamed from.

From the ranks of StarClan cats, a black and white splotched molly watched them go, ears flattening as she saw not one of the Dark Forest cats stop to mourn their dead. She turned to remark to one of her comrades, but stopped in surprise as she saw that StarClan, too, was leaving without pause. Leaving their Clanmates' bodies to dissolve into stardust, mixing with the billowing shadows that became of the Dark Forest cats.

NINE MOONS AGO

A pale ginger molly made her way down a hill from the mountains, leaves crunching underpaw as she entered a thick forest at the base of it. Between her teeth was the scruff of a newborn kitten, the small body dangling limp in her jaws, its legs scraping the floor like dead weight.

The molly raised her head with a grunt. Her short legs were not doing much in the way of helping her here. She'd considered tucking the stillborn kit into the pouch all BlossomClan couriers wore with the intention of carrying herbs to the other Clans, but thought better of it — the poor thing deserved a little bit of dignity in death.

The ginger molly veered in a different direction of the trees, flicking her tail in satisfaction as she saw the forest begin to thin out. She was searching for an appropriate resting place for the kit, as requested by its mother.

A relatively secluded tree came into view, its trunk housing a hollow close to the ground. The molly approached, setting the kit down among the tree's roots and began searching under the layer of dead leaves for soft feathers or anything else to line the grave with. She wanted to make sure the kit was comfortable in death, if it couldn't be granted so in life.

She felt something soft moving at her haunches, and her maw twisted into a frown as a feather she'd just spotted drifted out of sight on a sudden breeze.

"Not now, Thornkit," she said with an edge of annoyance, and then froze.

Thornkit!

Frantic, the molly turned to the kit she'd believed was dead, seeing that the small black-furred body was very much alive, and not enjoying the experience one bit. It shivered against the breeze that had blown away the molly's feather, whimpering.

The molly was wrapping herself around Thornkit in an instant, lapping at its coat with fervor in an attempt to warm it up. If she'd known Thornkit was alive, she wouldn't have come all this way! She groaned inwardly at the thought of the long trek she'd have to make back up the mountain, and then froze at the thought of what Thornkit must've gone through the whole way down here. How long had it been awake?