Shadows of Stars

Chapter 8: Full Moon

It was the eve of the Gathering. All around the camp, a feverish excitement broke out. Especially in the apprentice den.
"Do you think we will go?"
"In your dreams, kittypet! No, it will be us older apprentices that go, cats who are less likely to embarrass their clan."
"Shut up Sandpaw! At your first gathering, you sat around with your mouth flopping open like a wet fish!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Be quiet both of you! Honestly, I expect more of you Greypaw, and you Sandpaw, not arguing like kits!"

The squabbling apprentices spun around to find a slightly annoyed Lionheart standing at the entrance.
Greypaw's eyes widened in shock.

"S...sorry Lionheart." he stuttered, hanging his head.
"I should think so too. Anyway, I was going to tell you who Bluestar is sending to the Gathering, but I'm in a right mind to stop any of you going to it."
"No! Please Lionheart! We promise not to argue any more!"
"Please Lionheart!"

The deputy looked at their pleading faces. He smiled.

"All right, Sandpaw, you're going and so is Dustpaw"

Sandpaw bounded to her paws, then remembered herself and flashed a smug 'I told you so' look at Greypaw and Firepaw. Dustpaw followed, tail waving eagerly. Ravenpaw stumbled in and flopped down on his moss.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked, taking in Greypaw's fuming silence, and the look of disappointment on Firepaw's face. Firepaw shook his head, and Greypaw just sat, lost in his revengeful thoughts. Deciding he would be best ignoring them, Ravenpaw curled up in his nest and fell asleep.

Thinking Ravenpaw had the right idea, Firepaw followed suite. His head hit the moss, and not long after breathing in the musty, earthy scent, soothing blackness overcame him. His last vision was that of Greypaw hunkered over in his nest, muttering in-distinctively.

            ~~~Soulblaze~~~
Again the call sounded. The spirit bolted upright in surprise at the strange yet familiar sensation. For a few mousebeats, the world was swirled silver and black. Finally, it resolved itself into a net of silver and black, moonlight peering through the gaps in the den front.

It padded into the silver bathed clearing. The sky was clear and the moon full. Cooling breezes shifted through the silent air. The pull came again, an invisible strand tugging at the spirit, a cord of ethereal music emanating from high in the ether above. Power radiated from what could only be called a summon, and Soul did not think it was wise to ignore it.

However, there was the small problem of getting to the other end of the call. Soul was pretty sure it was impossible to jump that high, and unless it suddenly was granted the power of flight (unlikely), or teleportation (even more unlikely), nothing short of a miracle could get it there. But then came the voice in the back of its head, the typical nagging voice of doubt, logic, your conscious, or whatever other voices come from dark, forgotten places in your mind. In Soul's case, it was the useful voice of instinct, telling it to jump. To jump upwards, until it reached the summoner. As impossible as it seemed, Soul had no better alternatives. And so, feeling a bit of a fool, Soul jumped as high as it could, expecting to fall straight back down to the ground. But the floor never reappeared beneath its paws, instead Soul found itself flying (in a sense) through space.

But what would have happened if it did ignore the summons? It had wondered that a fair few times since it followed that call. But no, the possibilities were too grim to linger on. Sooner or later it would've had to choose sides, and it was glad it chose the clans. It sighed and prepared itself for the madness that followed this moment.