Introduction

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There has always been three clans, one of which was believed to have been demolished ever since the Great Fire that swooped across the land. Not much had survived. FallenClan had suffered a great loss in prey, land and cats. Bones of the fallen clan cats can be found scattered around, even the rotten corpses of those who were unfortunate, and couldn't escape it in time.

The clan had originally been known as PlateauClan. When the neighboring enemy clan, TundraClan was touched by the fire, they could only imagine what had happened to PlateauClan, and to no surprise, it was no more.

Once the flames had died down and the ground wasn't burning to the touch, TundraClan investigated and did confirm that the clan had experienced a devastating fall. Word spread around and soon cats began calling it FallenClan, which resulted in it being adopted by the current cats who stalk the charred land.

The current clans are not aware of the growing clan, and often see the cats who attend a gathering as a threat.

Elders enjoy telling the tale of what had gone down, kits often enjoy it and ask for more.

The surviving cats of the clan had taken refuge in the other clans, and are usually asked many questions. One of the youngest being an apprentice, with little to no memory of what happened, as she was just tossed aside by her mother.


It is now up to the current leader of FallenClan to prove themselves not a threat, and to bring it back from the ashes. But with it being so forgotten, is it even possible?


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It was the dead of night, no stars visible in the sky, as it was blanketed with dark gloomy clouds. The breeze was rather chilly, it kicked up bits of ash, as the wind raced around the dead moor. Prey was incredibly scarce, making it hard for anyone to survive. Though, plants had been growing back, none of it was growing back as fast as anyone would want it to.

Green patches of grass were covering parts of the forbidden territory, flowers forcing their way up from the freshly grown spots. The place smelled rather bad, especially after the rain had swept by. Charred trees were clawed at, some even laying dead on the ground, busted into pieces.

Uninhabitable for those picky clan cats, however, a couple of rogues and a few former "clan cats" deemed it good enough.

A small group of cats made their way into the charred territory, stopping occasionally to look around.

"Smells worse than rotfood," Snarled a scrawny tom, who was barely able to keep himself up straight. He was leaning against another cat, who was much more plump than him.

The cat that he was pushed up against for support let out a slight chuckle. "Surely its no worse than the putrid smell the twolegs used to spray aroun' my den. Had me hackin and wheezin' for days."

"No way." He rolled his eyes.

"Uh-huh." The cat replied, keeping a steady walking pace. "Was a pain in the behind to clean off my fur. My beautiful fur! They ruined it." Their tone changed to a rather annoyed one. They shook their head slightly and kept on walking.

The cat in the front of them all, was a tall, slender tom. His coat was pretty ragged, and colours faded terribly. He used to be a clan cat, so he has some knowledge of how to lead. Or, at least has a pretty good guess on how to, since he was exiled before he could even become a leader.

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