Warriors: Impending Storm (ON PAUSE)

Chapter Two

The leaves on the trees were falling. Falling like snow, dead and cold, littering the ground with rotting flesh crumbling wetly upon the forest floor. The rain fell heavy and hard, pounding upon the mossy ground like the sound of thousands of paws thrumming in harmony. It was as if the sky was falling, and with it came the stench of death. The fear-scent of drowning.

Waning Moon turned her gaze to the stars, watching the darkness with narrowed eyes. For several hours bruised rainclouds had swallowed up the sky, their tears falling to the earth in heavy sheets too thick to see through, especially in the accursed darkness of the new moon, when not even a sliver of moonlight flickered in the blackness. Their intensity had been unrelenting since dusk, and Waning Moon, stuck within the novices' den for half of the day, knew she would have no opportunity to sneak out during the night. She bared her teeth in a snarl, her ears flattened in disgust and frustration.

He said he would be there, at the edge of the Starpool, with his father and his Tribemates, to welcome her as one of their own. But not even the most powerful cat in the forest would dare venture out in this deluge. Her claws sliding in and out, Waning Moon let out a loud hiss, gazing forlornly up at the dark, wet sky.

Why are the Ancients punishing me like this? Surely this is what they wanted...

A familiar scent gave her pause. There was a quiet shuffling behind her, and suddenly the warmth of another cat was pressed up beside her. Her sigh was cut short by her companion's soft mew.

"What's got your tail all tied up, Moonface?"

"Rising Wind." Waning Moon flicked her ears irritably. "I told you not to call me that. It's disrespectful to the Ancients."

"The Ancients are up there, and we're down here." Rising Wind turned his gaze upon her. Bright like stars, his moss-green eyes lit up the darkness with their unnerving glow. Waning Moon turned her head away.

"They can still hear us, and see us, and know what's in our hearts. We—"

"Oh, just let it go, Moonface." Rising Wind stood to his paws. Lanky and long-legged, the young novice was spotted like a fawn, his brown coat flecked with pale gold. He turned his gaze upward, as Waning Moon had done, staring up at the rain as it pattered down from black skies too dark to see through. "Something's bothering you, and it isn't your nickname."

Waning Moon stifled another sigh. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you're attached to my hip," she mewed, meaning it in jest. But Rising Wind's gaze snapped towards her, and the hurt in his eyes was apparent. The fur rising along his spine, he turned away from her, and began to pad back towards the edge of the novices' den from which he had come.

Waning Moon felt guilt prickle her fur as if a thousand red ants were stinging her beneath her pelt. For two moons, Rising Wind had been a near constant companion for her—bringing her fresh-kill from the prey pile, gathering water for her with moss from the healer's den, keeping her company when the other novices left the den for their daily duties amongst their Tribemates. Even when Quail Feather could not waste any more time alone with her, Rising Wind was there to fill the emptiness. Was it right to let her frustration over the rain soil what friendship had developed between the two?

"I'm sorry, Rising Wind," she whispered. "That wasn't fair."

"No, it wasn't." The long-limbed tom answered, from across the den.

"Do you forgive me?"

"I suppose I must." More rustling accompanied his words, and suddenly Rising Wind was there again—right next to her. "Now will you tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to fight you for it?"