Warrior Cats: Sprout || Book One

Prologue

The peaty forest earth was soft under the tom's paws, which were scratched and worn from their constant exposure to harsh concrete. He sighed, relishing the refreshing tranquility of the leaf-bare forest. Overhead, bare branches rattled in the wind and their appendages tangled and interlocked. A chickadee chirped gaily from the security of a hidden nest, its calls reverberating throughout the calm.

The tom was a ginger tabby, with a graying muzzle and round eyes. He swished his tail for balance as he leaped off the system of overlapping roots he was perched on and landed the thick layer of sleet blanketing everything. Usually, his spirits would have been dampened and suppressed by the chilly air, but the day had been good to him and he intended to remain out of the doldrums.

His goal was to catch a mouse for dinner. He was tired of the dry, tasteless pellets his housefolk gave him and longed for something that did not turn to ash in his mouth. The tom was familiar with the forest, despite living somewhat far away from it. He often ventured out of the comfort of his home to explore his town and during green-leaf, he adored languishing on the outskirts of the forest, while gazing loftily at the lush canopy and undergrowth.

Now, however, the memories of green-leaf were clouded and long-forgotten. The tom would often joke that the only season he could remember was leaf-bare to his sister, who lived with him. The cat stepped daintily over the mulch-choked slush, taking care as not to slip through the powdery drifts.

Swish. A rustle alerted the tom to another entity's presence. Dropping into an instinctive squat, his leg muscles tensing, the tom lumbered across the forest floor.

"C'mon, Buddy," he mumbled absentmindedly to himself. Opening his jaws, Buddy allowed the scents of the tiny rodent to bathe the roof of his mouth. "Mouse," he muttered as he identified the tantalizing aroma. He could almost taste the succulent flesh of his prey and hear its minuscule beating heart.

There! Buddy pinpointed his prey; it was a scrawny thing, nibbling conservatively on a pumpkin seed. To him, it was the equal to the plumpest rabbit. Excitement getting the better of him, Buddy leaped, uttering a thrilled shriek. He landed in a heap, his tail on his nose and his legs squashed awkwardly beneath him. Stumbling to his paws in a daze, he glanced around. He had miscalculated his pounce, and the mouse had escaped.

"Stupid mouse," Buddy snarled, his good mood having vanished. He tasted the air for more prey, and smelt nothing.  He wheeled around, making a beeline for the distant lump that was Twolegplace. I should just go home.

A sudden, piercing shriek split the forest and Buddy balked. His tail snagged a trailing bramble and the ginger tabby fell, his skin splitting as his chin smashed into the ice. Slowly, he hauled himself to his paws, gazing numbly at the blood trickling down his chest. Lowering his head, he lapped up the scarlet fluid, curling his muzzle with distaste.

What was that? An owl?

Buddy stared up through the overhead net of intertwining branches and twigs. Wispy tendrils of clouds drifted sluggishly across the rich navy sky, marbleizing the heavens with ivory veins. "It's getting dark..." he murmured out loud. He flicked his tail with indecisive ire.

Missy will be expecting me, and the housefolk will be worried. He cast an amber glance beyond his shoulder, at the opaque twilight-blackness of the forest. But that sounded like a cat's yowl. Some cat could be in trouble!

With a last ear-twitch in the direction of Twolegplace, Buddy lugged himself determinedly towards the cat's anguished caterwaul. A jumpiness settled over the wary tom and he kept his claws permanently unsheathed. A vole stumbled ignorantly over his paws and Buddy blundered onward, too agitated to react.