Warrior Cats: Sprout || Book One

Chapter Two

Five and a Half Moons After Petalbreeze's Death

Lily rolled restlessly over, her pelt simmering in the tepid greenleaf air. With a gusty sigh, she recalled that newleaf day where she had sat with Buddy and watched the rain fall. There had been a comfortable chill in the air then; now her flesh was slicked with sweat. Turning once again onto her side, she stared vacantly at the whitewashed wall before her; she subconsciously hooked her ivory claws into the plush carpet.

Screw it. I'm getting up.

The silver tabby stumbled wearily to her paws, blinking away the foggy remnants of sleep fringing her brain. Sluggish thoughts moiled in her head, stewed by the suppressing heat. Shaking out her fur, she shoved her way through the cat door, hissing as the slippery plastic trailed over her head.

Outside was no better. Not a breeze stirred the neatly-cropped garden shrubs; the grass, usually lush and fragrant with the promise of flourishing life, crumbled under her paws. It was a unattractive brown shade, and scratched her soft pads. Lily sniffed at her blemished paws, wincing as she set them down on the sterile turf.

The night and the distant roar of traffic had awakened the primal nocturnal instincts in her and she hauled her way up the way with replenished vigor. The pavement was warm from a day bathing in the rich sunlight, and she padded across it without a second thought, halting at the gritty curb. She peered curiously at the distant treetops of the forest and flexed her claws experimentally.

I am hungry, she admitted to herself. Maybe I can try my luck. Catch a bird or something.

Lily lashed her tongue over her parched lips, conjuring the taste of the succulent flesh of forest prey. Buddy had lamented over the deliciousness of mice and birds inhabiting the tangled undergrowth. His words swam through her head, They're the best thing you will ever taste, if you can catch them, that is.

"The forest it is," she mewed to the darkness. She cast hasty glances left and right along the Thunderpath, her eyes flashing in the shadows. Streetlights were placed at regular intervals, which cast golden beams of illumination down onto the anemic cement. There was no tell-tale roar of an approaching monster, and she crossed the greasy road in quick bounds, her claws skittering over the stone.

Lily traced her way through the mace of housefolk dens, eyeing the glossy windows for movement. Her tail, still short and fluffy from kit-hood, was curled over her spine, almost cockily. "There!" she muttered absentmindedly when the Twolegplace edge swam into view.

She broke into a brisk trot, and unhurriedly changed her pace into a rhythmic gallop. She hared towards the forest edge, heart racing with anticipation and pride. I own this forest, she thought gleefully.

The kit did not stop her swift gait, instead barreling her way into the foliage. She thrust her muzzle through the bracken, quashing a brazen whoop. Her paws barely skimmed the mossy ground; she felt like she was flying, out of the reach of any forest predators.

And suddenly, the scenery was altering, becoming foreign; the woodland became more rugged. Vines snarled up massive ocher trunks and snaked through the leaves of the trees. Unruly clusters of brambles dotted the landscape, clashing with elaborate flowers that looked poisonous compared to the garden blossoms she was accustomed to.

Veins of apprehension crawled through her coat; her legs trembled fearfully. "Hello?" Lily called daringly. "Is anyone there? I'm lost!" A wave of distorted voices reached the silver tabby's ears, and she whirled around, hackles raised. "Hello?" she repeated nervously, a wave of premonition swamping her.

She tromped forwards to the the general vicinity of the voices, ears pricked. She squatted low to the ground in a wary hunter's stance, her eyes shifting side to side. She crept over the earth, her belly collecting swabs of pungent mulch.