Warriors AU: The Darkest Hour

Chapter 4

All was darkness and cold. Sandstorm had never been so cold. He felt as if every scrap of warmth and life were being sucked out of his body. His legs twitched as painful cramps clutched at them. He imagined that he was made of ice, and if he tried to move he would shatter into a thousand brittle fragments.

But no dreams came. No sight or sound of Starclan. Only the cold and the darkness. Something must be wrong, Sandstorm thought, beginning to panic.

He dared to open his eyes a narrow slit. At once they flew wide with shock. Instead of the shining Moonstone in a cavern far below the ground, he saw short, well-trodden grass stretching away. Night scents flooded over him, of green, growing things moist with dew. A warm breeze ruffled his fur.

Scrambling into a sitting position, Sandstorm realized he was in the hollow at Fourtrees, near the base of the Great Rock. The towering oaks, in full leaf, rustled over his head, and Silverpelt glittered beyond them in the night sky.

How did I come here? he wondered. Is this the dream that Cinderpelt promised?

He raised his head and looked up at the sky. He could not remember it being so clear, Silverpelt looked closer than he had ever seen before, scarcely higher than the topmost branches of the oaks. As Sandstorm gazed at it, he realized something that sent the blood thrilling through his veins like liquid fire.

The stars were moving.

They swirled before his disbelieving eyes and began to spiral downward, toward the forest, toward Fourtrees, toward him. Sandstorm waited, his heart pounding.

And the cats of Starclan came stalking down the sky. Frost sparkled at their paws and glittered in their eyes. Their pelts were white flame. They carried the scent of ice and fire and the wild places of the night.

Sandstorm crouched before them. He could scarcely bear to go on looking, and et he could not bear to look away. He wanted to absorb this moment into every hair on his pelt so it would be his forever.

After a time that might have lasted a hundred seasons or a single heartbeat, all the cats of Starclan had come down to earth. All around Sandstorm the hollow of Fourtrees was lined with their shimmering bodies and blazing eyes. Sandstorm crouched in the center, surrounded on all sides. He began to realize that some of the starry cats, those sitting closer to him, were achingly familiar.

Oakstar! Joy pierced him like a thorn in his heart. And Raggedpelt! Then he drew in a familiar, sweet scent, and turned his head to see the tortoiseshell fur and gentle face that he had dreamed of so often.

Spottedleaf—oh, Spottedleaf! His beloved medicine cat had came back to him. Sandstorm wanted to spring to his paws and yowl his joy to the whole forest, but awe kept him silent, still crouching.

"Welcome, Sandstorm." The sound seemed to belong to all the cats Sandstorm had ever known, and yet at the same time it was one clear voice. "Are you ready to receive your nine lives?"

Sandstorm glanced around, but he couldn't see any cat speaking. "Yes," he replied, forcing his voice not to shake. "I'm ready."

A white cat rose to his paws and strode toward him, his head and tail high. Sandstorm recognized Frostfur, who had become Oakstar's deputy when Sandstorm was still an apprentice, and who had died soon after in a battle with Shadowclan. He had been an old cat when Sandstorm knew him, but now he looked young and strong again, his coat shining like pale snow.

"Frostfur!" Sandstorm gasped. "Is it really you?"

Frostfur did not reply. When he was close enough, he stooped and touched his nose to Sandstorm's head. It burned against him like the hottest flame and the coldest ice. Sandstorm's instinct was to shrink away, but he could not move.