A CRESCENT MOON hung low in the midnight sky, pouring eerie white light into the forest. The floor was dappled unevenly and shadows lingered warily at the edges of each tree, shrub, and blade of dew-moistened grass.
High above a pure white she-cat crept along the branches of an oak with bark turned silver. Her own usually bright pelt was worn to a ghostly pale in the moonlight. Every sense was flooded with the sight, smell, and even taste of a plump, juicy squirrel that rested only tail-lengths from her paws, nibbling obliviously on a scavenged nut. She carefully raised a paw and planted it firmly but delicately on the rough tree branch beneath her. This process was repeated over and over until she came to the last of the foliage hiding her stocky frame. The she-cat was still successfully undetected by her prey. She carefully leaned onto her haunches, bunching and tautening her muscles, preparing herself to make the final leap.
Finally it was time. The squirrel was but a few pawsteps in front of her, it's back squarely directed toward her face. She uncoiled her haunches and launched herself into the open air. Her prey scrambled frantically in attempt to flee death, in its most literal awaiting jaws. Its distinguished tail thrashed wildly as it moved. While it might just have been lucky enough to escape another cat, this was not such cat. The she-cat swiped a forepaw in front of the squirrel and deftly pulled it to her mouth, where she quickly snapped the creature's neck. The branch wobbled beneath her as she landed, but her balance was easily kept. Too many a time had she made that exact kill.
Readied to soar back to the forest floor - padded with the first of leaf-fall's name-giving creation - the she-cat started at the sound of the undergrowth rustling. She froze, her snowy neck fur bristling while she scanned the bushes immensely and tilted her ears forward to listen more accurately for an identifying sound.
All at once the tension in the she-cat's muscles receded as a familiar face poked its way out of the undergrowth. The white she-cat perched herself on the oak's branch and laid her bounty beside her. Ice blue met that of deep water as the two cats' gazes collided. "You shouldn't surprise an aging cat like that, Pinefeather." the white she-cat meowed.
The other cat fully emerged from the bushes. "You're not an aging cat, Whitestar. You have many moons head of you," the cat purred. This she-cat was a beautiful muddy brown tabby with powerful shoulders and tufted ears. Her only imperfection was a nick in her ear. Her rich blue eyes shone brilliantly in the dim light. She sat down and draped her large plumy tail neatly over her paws. "May I ask why you are stalking the Thickets in the middle of the night?" Pinefeather queried, cocking her head slightly to the side.
"Do you ever tire of asking such rhetorical questions?" Whitestar asked in response. Her eyes gave a mischievous glint as she patted the squirrel with her tail and turned her head to look down upon the little body. "The warmth is beginning to fade," she murmured.
"Do you ever tire of meowing to yourself?" Pinefeather returned affectionately.
Whitestar's whiskers twitched in amusement. Looking back to Pinefeather, she said, "Oh, what a deputy I chose."
Pinefeather rolled her eyes and rumbled an audible purr. "And what a leader I chose to follow."
"Again, such rhetorical comments," Whitestar chided lightly, smiling. Her companion couldn't help but laugh softly at her remark. Moments passed before Whitestar asked, "What do you aspire for, Pinefeather?"
The she-cat shook her head, fixing her eyes at her feet. "I aspire," Pinefeather met her leader's gaze again, "to someday obtain your wisdom, Whitestar. You are going to be a leader that stories are told of for seasons and seasons to come. You are a great, yet you don't let yourself recognize it. Never have you disappointed the Clan. In leaf-bare, when fatal hunger strikes the smallest kit, you give us hope. In newleaf, you encourage the Clan to restore our home. In greenleaf, you let us prosper and enjoy the time we have. In leaf-fall, you spread determination that we will survive to see the next leaf-fall. Wisdom courses through your veins, and I just hope that I will take part in your legacy." Pinefeather finished with a dip of her head, then looked back up to meet Whitestar's expression.
Instead the white she-cat sent a thoughtful gaze into the forest. "Some cats can prophecise others to lead a Clan to greatness, others can simply hint a sneaking suspicion. Me, Pinefeather - well, I know you will lead BrookClan to greatness. In other words, I believe you will share my wisdom, and glory that you insist I bring." She turned her head back to Pinefeather with a warm look. "I know," she purred.
Pinefeather's voice was a bit uneven when she replied, but she didn't stutter. "Thank you, Whitestar. I shall always carry that with me - into the hunting lands, into battle, and back into camp."
Whitestar nodded. "Speaking of which," she meowed and knelt down to retrieve her fresh-kill. Her prey securely in her mouth, she prepared to leap back to the leaf-strewn forest floor. She crouched but could proceed no further as a terrible coldness racked through her body. The last thing thing she knew before she was engulfed in blackness was that that she was falling. A pain that could induce a screeching caterwaul pulsated throughout her body relentlessly. Through the pain managed a voice to ring in her ears:
"The trusted will no longer be proven worthy. Danger lurks in every life saved. Your past is not just hidden in betrayal, it is betrayal itself."
Shortly after her surroundings came rushing back to her. Her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably for a few seconds, but she blinked the fog away. Pain, like claws of stone and fire, still raked through her body remorselessly. She lay on the ground, writhing, gasping for air when it felt she couldn't breathe.
Distant, it seemed, Pinefeather - huddled over Whitestar - yowled down to her leader, as she desperately licked her ears. Panic illuminated her gaze. "Whitestar! Whitestar! Tell me what happened!"
Her reply thundered throughout her head, but her breath was too ragged for her to have acted on anything. She gasped more, her breathing still tirelessly labored. Finally, she was able to speak. Whitestar screeched out into the night, still fighting for both her breath and voice, "StarClan! They have spoken!"
