StarClan isn't real..

Prologue

Deadbee lifted his nose to the breeze, breathing in the scent of newleaf grass. He beckoned with the rest of his patrol with his tail and the warriors began to move across their territory towards the bridge. Rabbit scent flooded the air, and the scent of water drifted closer as the cats crept closer to the bridge. Deadbee was peaceful, glad that the hardships of leaf-bare were over.

As the cats were walking, Beetleshine, a thin white tom, stiffened and pricked his ears.

"What is it?" Deadbee asked.

Beetleshine shook his head. "I thought I smelled rogue."

"Where? We'd better go check it out."

Beetleshine nodded and led the way towards the bridge. Deadbee studied it. It seemed normal, with the fishy tang of RiverClan on it. But he had to admit there was something else; a musty smell of rogue, and... blood?

"Deadbee?" His apprentice, Fawnpaw, spoke up. "You should come see this."

She was looking at a spot on the edge of the bridge, where the scent of rogue and blood was strongest. Deadbee hurried over, Beetleshine and the last member of the patrol, Heronburr, padding after. "Great StarClan!" The black she-cat exclaimed as she got closer.

Fawnpaw stepped aside, allowing the warriors to look. Laying on the ground was a light-colored she-cat, her belly covered in blood. The ground around her was red, staining the wooden floor of the bridge with crimson. Deadbee crept closer in horror, and noticed that through the blood, the queen carried the scent of kits and milk. "She must've died during her kitting," He murmered. "That must be why she's so close to our territory... she might've been trying to get help." Deadbee thought of his own mate, Nettlestem, and shuddered, imaginging her having the same fate.

"Is she dead?" Beetleshine asked.

Heronburr placed her paw on the she-cat's flank. It was still as a dead rabbit. "Gone," Heronburr sighed, shaking blood from her paw.

The patrol went silent, quietly mourning the poor molly. Then her paw shifted, and the warriors let out a gasp. But the movement didn't seem to be coming from the she-cat; it was coming from something... beneath her paw?

Deadbee tentatively reached out with a forepaw and brushed the she-cat's paw aside. He gasped as he uncovered a wriggling, mewling shape. At first, he thought it was some kind of blood-covered mouse, but when he peered closer, he realized it was a small newborn kit, covered in blood.

"Fawnpaw, clean her up," Deadbee ordered.

The young white she-cat nodded and started to lick at the kit's pelt. As she cleared the blood away, Deadbee could tell it was a she-kit, with yellow fur that faded to ginger on her ears, face, tail, and paws. He studied the rest of the blood-covered area for other kits, but he found none. The queen must've only been able to birth one kit before she had died.

"She's alive, right?" Heronburr asked.

Fawnpaw nodded.

"Let's take her back to camp. Blacktooth can care for her." Deadbee suggested. The queen, Blacktooth, already had three kits, and she was the only queen who had kitted in the nursery. Deadbee hoped she wouldn't mind an extra burden.

Fawnpaw nodded and picked up the kit. The patrol turned back, leaving the queen. I'll ask Applestar to send a burial patrol, Deadbee thought. For now, he needed this kit to live. The Clan was short of warriors after a hard leaf-bare, and this kit would be a perfect assent to the Clan. Not to mention, no kit- Clanborn or not- deserved to die, alone and mewling for help.

It's against the code for warriors to not help kits, Deadbee thought, proud of himself and his patrol. StarClan would be happy.