Paths of Ice (Will eventually get cover)

Prologue

Terror flashed through the tom-cat as someone tied a large vine around his muzzle, securing it shut with a tight knot. He wriggled, trying to hiss. All of his legs were tied together painfully, and he was dragged along the cold cave floor by his aching tail. His cuts left a trail of blood in its path, and he looked around, meeting a white she-cats' gaze. Frost was hiding in the crevice, her eyes wide with fear. She opened her mouth, as if to shout. He shook his head. No, He wanted to tell her. I'll see you again.

She stepped back, ears flat against her head. She looked away, backing farther into the crevice, so much that he couldn't see her pelt in the darkness of the cave. He tried to lift his head to see her, but he was yanked down, down the steep cliff. One of his captors lost grip of his for a moment, and he hit his head on a rock. As darkness clouded the tom's vision, one of the captors turned to the other. "Y'think he's dead? Owl will kill us if he is!" He couldn't see the other, but the pause told him enough. "Don't think so." It was a she-cat, and she sounded unsure, and very young. He tried to look up and get a clearer view of the cats, but a rough paw slammed down on his head. "Fools. He's fine. Keep going, or I will bite both of your tails off!" The two cats yelped, gripping the tail and began dragging. After his head hit another rock, the tom lost consciousness.

When he woke up, it was dark. Too dark. He blinked around wildly, but nothing brightened. He jerked up, realizing to his astonishment that his muzzle was free.

The first thing he did was screech. "I can't see!" He whipped his head around, blinking furiously. "I've gone blind!" He bumped into a wall, and jerked around wrecklessly, hitting another wall. Wherever he was, it wasn't very big. It was much smaller than the cave he had lived in, and his home had had light, and had at least been warm. It was freezing in here! He turned around, painfully hitting his nose on the wall. He felt something warm touch his flank, and he turned around, narrowly avoiding smashing his head on the wall again. "What are you, who are you?" He hissed, backing up. "I'm a cat, and my name is Thistle." She growled. "I'm a cat, like you, dummy." She held back her paw. "You're not blind, you're just unused to the dark. How'd you get in here? I don't recognize you." The tom blinked his eyes, squinting. This 'Thistle' was right. He was able to barely see her in the dark. She had russet fur, tangled and messy. Her yellow eyes glinted back at him, and he barely gulped down another screech. What would Frost think of him? Instead of yowling like a newborn kit, he should be trying to get back to her!

"I don't remember who captured me, but I do know that he and a few other ambushed me and my mate while we were sleeping. They caught me, and I was dragged here." He settled down, smoothing his fur and glancing back at Thistle. "I see. That certainly is depressing." She murmured, in a very matter-of-fact tone. "That's it? No telling me how to get out of here?" He looked around the small cave. "There is a way out, how else would I get in?" He looked back at Thistle, who's eyes were round with sympathy. "There's a way out, but it's suicide. Once we're in, the only way out is death, or unless those cowards that call themselves 'the Rebellion' decide to help us from dying." She huffed, and the tom-cat looked crestfallen, and felt it too. "But I have to get out. I can't just leave my mate!" He ran over to the north end of the cave, pounding his paws against the stone. Thistle padded beside him, licking his shoulder fur. "I'm sorry, but there's not much you can do, or I, for that matter. Owl is able to do anything he pleases. He's killed my whole family, my friends' family-" She broke off, staring at the cave.

The tom turned, looking at her. "You lost your family?" He said softly. Thistle shook her fur. "Yes, but I don't like to dwell on it." She met his gaze. "You know what? You're right."

"I am?" He blinked. Thistle nodded. "Yes, you are! Maybe we can do something. We need to get out of here."

Moons passed, and the two were still stuck in the cave. They had just woken up, curled around a small glimmer of sunlight they had made by pushing out small rocks on the side of the cave. It wasn't bright or large enough to light up the whole cave, but at least they knew the time. Thistle was sitting by the wall, waiting for the guards to throw in a piece of prey for them to eat. They knew when the breakfast would arrive, when a guard would come in to clean up any dirt, and when another guard would come in to take Thistle to wherever she went during the day.

Finally, the cave door slid to the side, blasting the room with painfully bright light, making the tom squint. "Here's your meal." The guard, who he now knew was named Night, tossed in a squirrel. "Oh, and I have a job for both of you." The black she-cat said, reaching down and pushing something small in. "The only rules are don't kill it, and make sure he knows not to steal prey again." She growled grumpily. "If we find him dead later, Owl will make sure that both of you will get especially gruesome deaths." She flicked her tail, moving the boulder back into place, coating the room in familiar darkness once again.

"H-hello?" A tentative voice whispered, glancing around. Thistle inched forwards. "Sand, come look at this. They threw a kit in! Poor scrap." She said, leaning down. "Sand is /not/ my name." He huffed, padding forwards. "How old are you?" He asked the little kit. "Only four moons." He squeaked, his tail sticking straight up.

"You won't eat me, will you? Squirrel would be very very mad. I'm her favorite." He said, glancing from cat to cat. The kit had light gold fur, with dark golden stripes. His green eyes were open wide, staring at the space between them. Thistle glanced at the tom. "You'll get used to the dark, don't worry. You're here for stealing prey, correct?" She said. The kit nodded. "Well, don't worry, we won't eat you. But we will teach you a thing or two about your group." She turned around, padding towards the end of the cave. The kit tentatively got up and followed, with the tom bringing up the rear. "Get comfortable." He rumbled, sitting beside Thistle. "Say, what's your name, little one?" He asked. The kit watched the smaller glimmer of sunlight, then turned to look up at Thistle and the older tom. "My name is Lion!" He squeaked.