The Shooting Star That Fell [UNFINISHED]

stranger

A female cat, he could see clearly now, appeared from the undergrowth. Her pelt was a pale ginger, almost tawny, that reminded him of the misty sunrises over the mountain. Lithe and muscular, she took a step towards him. Fear shot through Falcon's spine as he braced himself for a brutal fight. She looked like she was well-trained in the art of killing, with a pair of sharp amber eyes and a half-smile plastered on her muzzle.

"Who are you?" His voice wavered.

The cat tilted her head. She didn't answer at first. She simply look at him, searching him up and down with her eyes.

There was something strikingly familiar about her movements and her expression. It tickled the back of Falcon's memories, grasping at something blurred and misty. He felt like he knew who she was, but he was also certain they'd never met before.

Falcon gathered the courage to take his step towards her. She didn't even flinch. "Who are you?" he repeated, thanking the stars that his voice was getting stronger now. "Why are you here?"

She blinked at him. "That's none of your concern," she replied cooly.

Now that she'd spoken, Falcon realized that she wasn't much older than he was, even though she clearly didn't act like a kitten of six moons. He definitely couldn't have known her. And yet...

Falcon felt annoyance flare up inside of him. "None of my concern?" he echoed, shaking his head. "You're in Mist territory."

The cat looked surprised. "I am?" she mewed. "Well, I apologize."

But she didn't move.

Falcon studied her, narrowing his eyes, before he cleared his throat. "You have to leave our territory," he explained. "And..." His eyes drifted to the half-eaten squirrel carcass lying at her paws. "You can't hunt here. Don't you know that?"

The cat's muzzle curled back into her half-smile. "Yes, I do. But I was hungry. I didn't want to starve out here."

Falcon was thoroughly confused. "Where are you from?" he demanded.

"That's none of your concern," the cat repeated back to him, straightening her back.

"Look, if you don't tell me who you are or what you're doing here, I'm going to get the leader and you're going to pay." Falcon bared his fangs at her.

"There's no need for that," she said, her voice still icy cold. "I can tell you I'm not here to hurt you or your colony."

"Then what are you doing?" Falcon growled. "Your scent is all over that squirrel, by the way. We'll track you down if we want to. You won't get out of here without answering Leaf unless you answer to me first."

The ginger queen lashed her tail, before settling on her haunches. "You're persistent." She chewed on her whiskers, falling deep into thought.

Falcon stared. How many cats had he seen do that? None. Mouse would always comment on how bad it was that Falcon constantly chewed on his whiskers when he was thinking, and it was some weird habit nobody could get him out of. Falcon just couldn't put a paw on it. Now he was fully convinced he knew this cat. But from where? How? She was too young to have formed any acquaintances with the Mist colony cats. He was puzzled, yet bits and pieces of her mannerisms, her pattern of speech, the way she chewed on her whiskers as her amber eyes glazed over pensively, made him almost jump to the conclusion that he was looking at--

"I'm... looking for something," was all she said to break the silence. "And I've heard that I can find it here."

"Here?"

"Your colony. Mist."

"W-What are you looking for?" Falcon sounded like a mockingbird.

"It's very important for the outcome of this war," the cat replied, narrowing her eyes until they became amber slits. "And that's all I'm going to say."

Falcon repeated her words at the back of his tongue. "You mean this... thing you're looking for... can end this war?" he asked in disbelief.

"It's very likely," she responded in a curt mew. "It's the best shot we've got nowadays."

"How do you know about the war?" Falcon asked suspiciously.

"Who doesn't know about the war?" The ginger cat snorted. "Even the unaffiliated cats know better than to walk into a bloodbath between the Altereds and the Originals."

Those names rang unfamiliarly in Falcon's ears. "Altereds? Originals?" He'd never heard these terms before. They sounded foreign, like words that were pulled out of the earth and forced into creation.

The cat looked smug. "Oh, I forgot you don't use those words here. But you know what I mean."

With a tremendous leap, she landed in front of Falcon and started on the path down the mountain.

Falcon panicked, scrambling to his paws and racing after her. "No, I don't know what you mean. And stop! You're not allowed to go this way!" He cut in front of her, blocking her way. "I'm serious. If any cat from Mist catches you, you're dead."

This was the first time he got to see her up close. They were practically nose to nose. He could smell her wild scent, picking up hints of flowers and hay, and the underlying fresh scent of water. She had a tiny scar over her left eye, barely visible through her fur. Falcon caught her gaze, and couldn't help but stare. He could see his reflection in her piercing amber eyes, and he felt surprise and fear ripple through her as she studied her reflection in his eyes.

It was an eerie moment where they both held their breath and looked at each other's faces, both realizing at the same time that they were looking at themselves.

"Who are you?" the tawny cat murmured, her brow furrowing into a frown.

A bloodcurdling screech almost made Falcon jump out of his skin. The two cats whipped their heads towards the direction of the sound, ears pricked, straining to catch where it was coming from.

"What was that?" the queen asked nervously. He could feel a tremor go through her skinny body.

Falcon opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by another caterwaul that echoed off the surrounding mountains. It was followed by the unmistakable howls and screams of a fight, barks of commands and terrified shrieking of old and young cats alike. Falcon had only heard it once before in his life, but it was enough to immediately recognize the sounds of an attack.