Midnight

Epilogue

"Little Pebble!" A mother's desperate cry rang through the blood-red sky, sending prey scurrying into their holes and birds fleeing into the clouds. "Soft Cry! Gentle Wave! Come here!"

The cat's dark fur was streaked with mud, turning her black coat brown to hide her from preying eyes. Other cats joined her, their own voices calling for the missing litter.

"We will never find them," a black cat growled. "We must give up the search, Quiet Night, the kits will not be here."

"No, Screeching Eagle!" Night snarled, rounding on the cat. Her eyes were round with fear and her whole body trembled at the thought of losing her kits. Another cat, a brown tom, approached her, resting his head on top of her own. The two stayed like that for a few moments, seeking comfort in each other.

"The ancestors will protect them," a small brown she-cat murmured, brushing her tail against Quiet Night's flank. "Let us return home. Your kits will find their way."

"Little Pebble, Gentle Wave, and Soft Cry are strong kits," the brown tom soothed. "They are to be cave-guards, just like us, and our future Stoneteller, no less. They will not let this destroy them."

"Sharptooth has already taken its prey," another cat put in. "It will not be looking for another meal tonight."

Quiet Night didn't respond, neither did any of the other cats. They all knew it was very unlikely that they would find the three kits alive come morning, but perhaps if they prayed hard enough and Stoneteller spoke to them, the ancestors would protect them until they are found. But a part of Quiet Night knew something that she would never admit to herself; her kits were already dead, she could feel it. Call it a mother's instinct, or just her knowledge of the beast threatening her home, but she knew deep down that she would never see her kits again.

The group of cats padded home empty-pawed that night. No cat spoke to them as they entered the cave, everyone knowing what happened despite no words being spoken.

Quiet Night curled into her nest alone that night, curling into a tight ball, tears blurring her vision as she cried herself into a nightmare filled sleep.

"Quiet Night! Slow down, an eagle might find you!" The brown cat from last night called after her. The moment the sun rose into the sky, Quiet Night had leaped from her nest and bounded out of the cave before anyone could stop her.

All her training, everything her own mother had ever taught her, had disappeared from her mind. The only thing the desperate mother could think about was finding her kits and bringing them home safe to their nest, where she would curl around them and smother them with licks and nuzzles until their little giggles filled her ears once more. Then, and only then, would she be happy again.

A small brown she-cat, Small Brook, ran forward ahead of her, scouting the area before Quiet Night ran head first into danger. At least, that was until Small Brook rounded a curve and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Small Brook?" a white cat called. "What do you see?"

Small Brook didn't respond, but her fur slowly rose until it was standing on end, and her tail twitched uncontrollably behind her.

Quiet Night growled impatiently. "Enough of this, we need to hurry," she hissed. Quiet Night pushed around Small Brook, and at that moment she saw what had made her so terrified.

Covering the rocks and hard ground in front of them, was what Quiet Night could only describe as the most horrific thing she'd ever seen in her life. There was so much blood, like something had been torn apart ruthlessly, like the predator didn't even try for a quick kill and it instead tried to make it as painful as possible. At first, Quiet Night had thought it was simply a prey kill, until she finally noticed the other things covering the ground.

Clumps of gray, white, and brown lay in the bloody pools, barely visible from how soaked they were. Quiet Night had even seen a tiny brown paw laying in a thick pool of blood, now stained forever red. The bloody splatters still dripped from the rocks around them, running slowly down the cliff, painting the mountain red. Whatever the beast had done, it had done it recently. Which means her kits had tried to return home, where she wasn't waiting for them. What mother did that? What kind of mother abandons her kits out there when she knew something was hunting them? A high-pitched wail echoed across the cliffs, Quiet Night crumbling to the ground in grief. Her kits, her poor, poor little ones had been caught by the vicious beast and met an untimely fate. If only she had kept better watch over them. If only she hadn't let Tiny Peak convince her into taking a walk. Maybe, if she'd been a better kit-mother, her kits would still be alive.

"No," the brown tom gasped, rounding the curve to see what had happened. He too, recognized the shreds of fur as his own flesh and blood, the same blood that now soaked the lands of their home. "What happened?"

"You know what happened, Sheer Path, don't be foolish," the white cat growled. But even her words were broken in her pain. They all felt the grief of losing kits, but no cat felt greater pain than a mother losing her kits all too soon.

Quiet Night could still hear Gentle Wave's cheerful giggles as he rode Sheer Path's back around the cave, or Soft Cry's playful growls when she wrestled with her brothers. But most of all, she could still see Little Pebble, trotting proudly around the cave as he recited what Stoneteller had taught him. But those were all memories now. She could remember how proud she had felt only a few days prior that her kits were growing into fine young cats, not close enough to become to-bes, but still training on their own nonetheless. She remembered how proud she was to show them off to Dark Shadow and Morning Glow, but now their kits would train alone. Her three little ones would never know the joy of earning their titles as to-bes and leaving the cave on their first hunt or patrol to protect the prey-hunters.

The little wonders would never curl up beside her again, she could never share prey like she always wanted to with them—she could never watch them grow up. Sheer Path pressed his pelt against hers, but all Quiet Night felt in that moment was an ice-cold chill running through her pelt. The great beast had taken her happiness away from her, and now she wasn't sure she could ever feel happy again.

"Why have the ancestors cursed us?" she choked around her tears. "What have we done to deserve such pain? So much suffering. . ."

"I have no answers for you, Quiet Night." A new voice had joined them. An old tom with patchy, dark brown fur covered in mud had silently approached from behind, his eyes holding more knowledge than any of them could dream of having. "But I do know one thing. This will be the end of our Tribe. Our kits will be stolen from us, our to-bes will never complete their training, and without the young, the rest of us will perish soon after. Return back to the cave—at least we can prevent a few more deaths this day."

A/N: As I'm sure you noticed as soon as you read the names, I decided to keep the naming traditions from Dawn of the Clans. I wanted something from all that time before the modern Tribe to stay, and the names were the easiest to choose. I was also never too fond of the Tribe names from the original series. "Brook Where Small Fish Swim" is fun to say and all, but when she's just called "Brook" the entire time, the rest of her name just seems meaningless, at least to me. It's also hard for me to remember what their names are, so I decided to shorten them. I've kept their names as close to the originals as I could, such as "Quiet Night" for "Night of No Stars" and "Sheer Path" for "Sheer Path Beside Waterfall". I hope you like it!