Erin Hunter's Warriors...

     The Mountains Stand forever, by Riddleheart.  ~description coming soon~

Chapter 1

      The frigid dusk was quite silent. Nothing, not the tiniest scrap of prey, moved. The first, faint stars overhead shed a subservient light onto the frosted ground. But Daggerclaw was quite used to this, this strange illness of the forest. Everything, plants and animals alike, seemed to have died.
      Yet the illness of their beloved woodland was nothing to the one that raged within camp. Leaf-bare, as always, had brought with it whitecough, greencough-and dire blackcough. It had been barely a moon of frost and six cats; three elders, two kits and one warrior, had been lost to StarClan because of the wicked spell of plague.
      And to make things worse, all the prey seemed to have declined from the world. At sundown each day, the cats who could still hunt brought back about an hour’s worth of hunting- three or four shrews, maybe a mouse or two, and if they were quite lucky, a chaffinch or vole. Hardly enough to sturdy a Clan of desperately sick cats.
       Daggerclaw was definitely impressed, however, at the strength of her Clanmates. The frail elders carried the scrawny, lifeless bodies of departed ones out of camp, the apprentices and warriors were working their tails off trying to find enough prey to feed them all, tirelessly patrolling the borders in case of intruders.
       Perhaps, Daggerclaw thought dully, if I manage to catch enough prey, Coalstar will let me go to the Gathering tonight. She didn’t know whether this bout of ill had struck the other Clans as well. And she would see Islandbird and Sheerfall, her friends from RiverClan, again.
       Hopefully, their Clan would pull through this leaf-bare. Surely the kits born two days ago- Lightkit and Mellowkit- were a good omen? She tried to push away the fact that tiny Mellowkit already had whitecough.
       And maybe when Aridkit, Sloekit, and Mountainkit were made apprentices, she, Daggerclaw, would mentor one of them! Her first apprentice! She brightened a little at that. Yet her miniscule excitement did not last long.
       An hour and a half later she returned to camp empty pawed, not having seen so much as a whisker of any prey. Everything was dead quiet. Fearing the worst, Daggerclaw padded nervously towards the warriors den.
      “Hollowshard! What’s going on?” The dark tabby tom looked at her sadly.

       “It’s Moltfeather. She’s-”
       “She’s not dead?” whispered Daggerclaw, thinking of the slender gray-and-white queen, who happened to be the mother of Aridkit, Sloekit and Mountainkit.
       “Blackcough.”
       “No!” Blackcough. Fatal as yew. Moltfeather wasn’t dead. But there was no escape for her.  Several moments of silence. Then,
       “What about her kits?” Daggerclaw murmured.
       “Larkflight’s taken them.” he replied hopelessly.
       “Of course,” she whispered. Another despairing silence. A painful thought struck her.
       “Do her kits know about her condition? Does she know she’s going to… die?”
       “Know?” A pained expression crossed Hollowshard’s face. “Daggerclaw, she’s dead.”
It felt like a clot of moss had been stuffed down her throat.
       “Dead?” she choked.
“Just an hour ago. In Nightgleam’s den. They buried her already.”
       How could StarClan be so cruel? “She only had whitecough this morning,” Daggerclaw pointed out glumly.
       “I know.”
       His head and tail drooping, Hollowshard padded out of the den.
       Deciding she’d better go and comfort her Clanmates, Daggerclaw padded miserably towards the medicine cat’s den. Much of their Clan’s cats were confined there these days.
More than usual were crowding around Nightgleam, the elderly medicine cat, and his apprentice Direpaw, today. They were all whispering in anxious, hushed mews.
       “How could Moltfeather have died? You said she would get better!”
        “I can’t predict the will of StarClan, Oatpelt.” The medicine cat’s voice, tired and wary, sounded exasperated. His amber eyes were strained and sad-looking.
        “StarClan didn’t mean this to happen!” argued a large tabby she-cat, a warrior named Acornspots.
        “There’s no hope!” wailed a small pale gray queen, lying in a nest at the edge of Nightgleam’s den.
        “Of course there is,” soothed Direpaw. “This leaf-bare is just a little more bitter than others. We’re ThunderClan, aren’t we? We’re brave and stalwart cats of the woodland, not a Clan of sick and whiny worrywarts. We can pull through anything.”
        Daggerclaw could tell the young she-cat had comforted the angry and fretful warriors. But how long would it last? Acornspots and her friend Snagtooth still looked mutinous, but luckily Whitefang, their deputy, stalked in just then.
        “You shirkers had better get back to work,” she snapped. “There’s fresh-kill to be caught-“
        “Says who?” muttered Snagtooth glancing grumpily at his deputy.
        “-and borders to be patrolled. Leave it to ShadowClan to try and launch an attack while we’re so weak. Brackentwig,” she addressed a pale ginger tabby tom, “you lead the dusk patrol. Oilwhisker, you take Hollowshard and Flamepaw out hunting.”
        “Of course she’s in a bad mood,” whispered Moistleaf, Daggerclaw’s best friend. The young tom’s eyes were dull with grief. “Moltfeather was her sister.”
Daggerclaw nodded, watching the pale she-cat scolding Runningpaw, a light brown tabby apprentice.
       “Moistleaf! You can join my patrol.” Brackentwig padded towards the skinny tortoiseshell. “I’m taking Acornspots, too.”
       “Coming.”
Daggerclaw watched the three cats leave. I wish I could go with them. I’d make up for being out doing nothing while… while Moltfeather…
        “Daggerclaw! Enough moping around!” Daggerclaw whirled around to see Coalstar padding towards her, his dark gray pelt ragged and clumped. “Make yourself useful. Nightgleam’s running low on herbs, and you can go out with Direpaw to collect some. And take another apprentice with you.”
       “Yes, Coalstar,” she mewed dully.
       “Take Runningpaw. About time my apprentice had some exercise.” Whitefang added grudgingly.
Nodding sadly, Daggerclaw called the young tom, and had just made to set out with Direpaw when Coalstar called,
       “You’ll be coming to the Gathering, Daggerclaw. So don’t be out too long.”
The tight lump of moss seemed to loosen just a bit.

Chapter 2

        After a short search for herbs with the two apprentices, (which had prospered in little more than some wiry chamomile, several juniper berries, a pawful of burdock root, and , thankfully, some seductive catmint) she prepared to leave camp with the cats who had been chosen to attend tonight’s island Gathering. Moistleaf was staying behind, but Brackentwig, Oilwhisker, Coilpaw (Runningpaw’s brother), and Snagtooth were coming, as well as Direpaw, Nightgleam, and Whitefang.
        The subdued group padded slowly through WindClan territory. Nobody spoke; each was endorsed in their own brooding thoughts as they trekked across the moorland. The only one who seemed remotely excited was Coilpaw, this being his first Gathering. When, finally, they arrived at the old rotted log that bridged the land to the island, WindClan and ShadowClan were waiting.
         “Hi,” she panted, glancing at a muscular dark brown tom of ShadowClan, her friend Sparrowflight.
         “How’s the prey running?” he asked.
         “Awful,” she replied sadly. “Everything’s hiding in their dens, and there’s sickness everywhere. A third of the clan are sick, and one of our queens, Moltfeather, died-” Her voice broke.
         “I’m sorry,” Sparrowflight murmured.
         “It’s- all right,” she mewed. “But I was out hunting, and when I came back…” She trailed off. Sparowflight nodded in understanding.
          “RiverClan here yet?” she asked, purposely changing the subject.
          “Nope.”
It was not long. Soon Hazelstar, the RiverClan leader, had arrived with her warriors. They looked almost as woebegone as the ThunderClan cats. Daggerclaw searched the cats padding cautiously in for her friends Sheerfall, a small black tom, and Islandbird, a beautiful tortoiseshell she-cat. Neither was there.
         “Eelpaw,” she greeted a thin gray tabby she-cat. “How are Islandbird and Sheerfall?”
         “They both caught greencough. Sheerfall died,” she whispered miserably. “Islandbird will most likely live, but…” She gazed despairingly up at Daggerclaw.
Disbelief and fresh despair washed over Daggerclaw. Not Sheerfall as well? They, and Islandbird, had been friends since apprenticeship. He was young, far too young… she could remember so well the energetic little apprentice he had been, listening in on all the senior warriors’ conversations, butting in, quite by accident… and she would never, ever see him again.
        “I shall start the Gathering tonight!” announced Nettlestar, a dusky tortoiseshell she-cat with amber eyes. She looked very fit, her fur sleek and her muscles lean and sturdy. WindClan were obviously not feeling the leaf-bare as they were, Daggerclaw reflected bitterly. All the cats seemed to be quite healthy.
       “WindClan are doing well, prey is easy enough to find, or, rather, easy enough for us.” She paused, glancing contemptuously around the clearing. “Two new litters of kits were born in the last moon. Swiftgrass had four, and Lillywhisker had two. And only five days ago, Mottlepaw and his sister Orangepaw were made warriors. They are now Mottlepelt and Orangepetal.”
        Calls of congratulations echoed around the hollow. Daggerclaw glimpsed two pale brown-gray tabby cats with distinctive dappled fur and rather large ears.
“Half a moon ago Briskpaw and Quellbrook chased away an old badger. He raced into the distant moorland, it seems, far beyond our territory. We hope to never see him again.
“That is all. Coalstar, you may speak.”
“Thank you, Nettlestar,” the ornery old tom growled. He shoved his way forward, glaring about the hollow.
“Blackcough has hit us very hard this leaf-bare. Only this very evening, a brave queen named Moltfeather fell ill. She was dead within the hour. Let us all pause for a moment to honor the memory of Moltfeather.”
A shocked and mournful silence followed. Most of the ShadowClan and WindClan cats looked particularly horrified. That any cat could die so early in leaf-bare? Daggerclaw snorted. Wait till they heard that six other cats had died as well in this past moon!
The thought had only entered her head when Coalstar continued gravely, “We have not only Moltfeather to mourn. Not a quarter moon has passed in ThunderClan that is not marked by a death or two. Shabbystep, Dapplefur, and Stiffclaw are no longer with us. May these venerable and honored elders find their worthy place in StarClan.”
Without waiting to watch the effect this had on the assembled cats, Coalstar plunged ruthlessly on. “Wirykit and Twirlkit also died of greencough, and poor Hawkwing joined StarClan as well.”
The other clans, even bedraggled RiverClan, were now staring openly at the cats of ThunderClan, with what Daggerclaw assumed to be pity and terror. Coalstar stepped backward, and his gaze said quite plainly, Spoiled. The lot of them. Daggerclaw, in spite of her downcast gloom, could not help stifle a laugh.
A lean pale ginger she-cat raised her head. Hazelstar, the old and loyal leader of RiverClan, looked grave as well, yet by no means differing from her usual haughty and uppity self.
“RiverClan is suffering too,” she mewed loudly. “We are, of course, ready for anything, but we cannot pretend that leaf-bare has not taken its toll.” She glanced meaningfully at Coalstar. “One of our warriors died last quarter moon. Three more are still in danger of following suit.
“Hopefully the newleaf will bring new prey and kits. We will pull through, but who knows how many more will not see this leaf-bare to the end?”
A chilling silence swept over the clearing. Everyone was glancing covertly around, trying to see how everyone else had responded to this gloomy sentiment.
“I suppose we’d all like to know,” Daggerclaw muttered to Oilwhisker, a tabby she-cat with green eyes.

Chapter 3

A large black tom, Jaggedstar of ShadowClan stepped forward.
“ShadowClan is doing very well. Greencough is coming; three kits have fallen ill, but Opalheart says they will recover.”
A pretty silver-gray she-cat nodded primly, almost gloatingly.
“Prey is becoming harder to find, but we’ll make it. We always have.”
“Oh really?” muttered Oilwhisker sarcastically. “I’d never have thought that, seeing as you’re all alive.”
Daggerclaw snorted agreement.
“One elder, Bumblefoot, was killed by a fox, however Sparrowflight and Swampflower killed it.” He swiped his tongue about his lips. “That is all.”
“Come, ThunderClan,” Coalstar growled. He leaped down from the tree, beckoning with his tail.
With an exasperated glance at Oilwhisker, Daggerclaw followed her leader out of the clearing, and slowly across the timeworn tree that had fallen so many years ago, they said, on an over-ambitious WindClan warrior, whose name had long been forgotten.
It was all too plain why Coalstar was calling such an abrupt ending to the meeting. He was obviously worried someone else had fallen deathly ill. What if, next time, it was Moistleaf… Daggerclaw didn’t think she would manage to move on, as everyone expected her to do without complaint… it was all just too much…
The journey home was not pleasant. Whitefang was firing up at the smallest misdemeanor, and Coalstar wasn’t talking at all. The dark moors seemed foreboding and endless…. But finally they arrived at the silent camp. Nothing, it transpired, had improved- or otherwise- while they were gone. Moistleaf was waiting for her in the warriors den
“I saved us a scrap of fresh-kill,” he mewed, pushing a scrawny mouse towards her. “It’s not much, but I thought you’d be hungry. You didn’t eat before leaving.”
“Thanks,” she meowed gratefully. It was true: she was ravenous, and since she hadn’t caught anything she’d gone off eating. It only took a few gulps for them to finish the mouse, yet it was the best meal she’d had in a quarter moon; mostly fresh-kill was saved for the sick cats.
“Night, Moistleaf,” she mewed sleepily, sinking into the thin and disheveled moss.
The next morning, the cold had become so bitter that even burly Acornspots and Snagtooth were shivering and leaning against each other. Raising her head, Daggerclaw noticed that many a warrior was missing from the ones gathered here, cowering in the blood-curdling wind…
It took a lot of weary effort to lift her stiff legs and stump out of the icy den. Her whole body ached- the warrior’s sleeping quarters was a hard and chilly place to sleep; completely frosted over with brittle icicles. What wispy scraps of moss remained were not nearly enough to blanket the cold and slippery ground. If you put your paw on the ice for a minute or two and kept it there, it would stick fast.
Thankfully, Whitefang was not yet awake. Daggerclaw sincerely pitied the cats who would be prodded out of uneasy sleep by that grouchy furball. She’d be up soon; it wasn’t long until the dawn patrol would need to be organized… For lack of anything better to do, Daggerclaw padded towards the nursery.
Larkflight, a slim dark brown tabby, was in there nursing her son, Pondkit, and three tabbies: Moltfeather’s son and daughters. The largest kit, a gray-and-white pelt like her mother, was Sloekit. Her brother and sister, two tabbies with white chests and paws, suckled next to her. By far the smallest of the three was Mountainkit, barely bigger than four-moon-old Pondkit. Yet it was not long until the orphaned trio (there father Oakthorn had died in battle before they had been kitted) would be apprentices.
“How’re they coping?” Daggerclaw asked Larkflight quietly.
“Fine,” she snapped. Her pretty blue eyes were clouded with grief and misery. “They’re fine kits. I’m fine with caring for them. Anything not fine?”
“Don’t worry about her, Daggerclaw,” murmured a pale tabby in the corner. “Ever since her little Bouncekit died…”
It was Elkheart, the mother of Lightkit and Mellowkit.
“When newleaf comes, it’ll all go back to normal.”
How do you know? Daggerclaw thought grumpily. She’d never much liked Elkheart; she was always certain she had the perfect solution to everything… But perhaps her faith was just what the Clan needed.
Absorbed in thought, Daggerclaw only resurfaced when Mountainkit barreled into her leg.
“Mountainkit!” she scolded happily, as he gazed up at her with triumph in his eyes. “Naughty Mountainkit!”
“So?” he replied coolly. “I’m almost an apprentice! When I’m an apprentice, I can do what I please. Coilpaw says apprentices can do anything.” His eyes gleamed mischievously.
“Coilpaw is having you on, then,” Daggerclaw told him. “I was an apprentice once, too, you know, and it’s no piece of fresh-kill.”
Mountainkit studied her, sizing her up. “Were you really an apprentice once?” he asked finally.
Daggerclaw let out a mrrow of laughter. “Of course!”
“Wow,” he whispered in awe.

Chapter 4

A few dry, cold days passed. Nothing differed; each sunrise bore the same hopeless feeling of loss. No on else had died yet, but several cats were ill with greencough. A heavy shade of foreboding seemed to hang over the Clan, reminding them that there was no stopping StarClan in taking one of their friends and family next…
Morale was definitely low. Everyone grouched at each other, wherever they went, whatever they did. Nobody seemed in the mood to thank cats for their troubles, either. Oilwhisker and Coilpaw had both caught whitecough, which could easily become greencough…
The only thing that kept Daggerclaw going these days was the thought of possibly mentoring Mountainkit. She had visited the nursery every morning for the past quarter moon, in order to know the kit better. He was clever, eager- and sassy. Not at all afraid of the coming leaf-bare, or anxious about who might be leaving them to join StarClan… Mountainkit had quickly become the sole bright spot in an endless ocean of misery and worry.
“What would you like to do when you’re a warrior?’ she asked him, another bitterly frozen dawn. The faint pink beams of watery leaf-bare sunlight trickled slowly into the small bramble den, tinting his gray-brown pelt to rose mauve.
His dark eyes glinted. “I’d like to go on lots of quests. Exploring dangerous places. Recovering captured Clanmates. Trekking deep into enemy territory…” he trailed off, lost in his wide imagination.
“Maybe someday you’ll explore those faraway mountains, where they say there lives a Tribe of wild cats whose dens are in dank, hostile caves.” She pointed with her muzzle to the distant peaks, barely visible in the early sunrise.
“Then I’d live up to my name, even if I’m not as tall as a mountain,” he joked. He’d often been teased with ‘How could your mother have named you Mountainkit? You’re barely as big as a mole!’
Daggerclaw purred, flicking his tiny ear with her tail. His sense of humor, his wit, and his comprehension were so far beyond his age…
“Daggerclaw!” yelled Mountainkit. “Wake up, Daggerclaw!”
“Sorry,” she grunted, shaking her head.
“Tell me a story,” he ordered.
“Oh, all right!” she meowed, pretending to glower.
“Once, many moons ago, so many moons ago that I wasn’t even thought of yet…”
“That’s a long time,” agreed Mountainkit, grinning.
“Shut up.” Daggerclaw told him. “All those moons ago, there was a brave young kittypet named Rusty, yet he dreamed of the forest…”
By the time the faint yellow sun had risen, most of the Clan had awoken. She rose from the mossy floor of the nursery, and told Mountainkit, “I’ve got to go, Mountainkit. Whitefang probably wants me on the dawn patrol.” He nodded sadly, and she padded gloomily out.
“There you are, Daggerclaw,” barked Snagtooth. “Just in time to join my hunting patrol!” She dipped her head respectfully to the older warrior, and brightened slightly when she saw that Moistleaf was coming, too.
They crept through the snowy forest, ears and eyes pricked for prey that might never come. Large dollops of snow and ice drooped from the prickly pine branches of the lone evergreens. Her heart leapt as a squirrel scrawny and grizzly gray, dashed up one of the trees; Moistleaf surged up and managed to clamber up between the withered nettles and pin it down. Bounding lightly down from the stiff branch, he gave it a swift bite to the neck. In the warm abundance of greenleaf, he might have buried it, but now, it simply couldn’t be risked.
“Good catch,” Snagtooth mewed approvingly. Even he couldn’t deny that it’d been a spectacular, smoothly paced move. Moistleaf flushed modestly.
Eager to prove herself to the battle-scarred tom, Daggerclaw kept her senses alert and her muscles tense. A couple times she thought she saw a sparrow flitting by a thornbush, but it was merely the shadow of a leaf, whipped in the piercing wind. Once she was quite sure she’d glimpsed a mole quickly shuffling into its hole, having scented the approaching cats.
And then, finally, after hours of trekking through the woods, by the time the sun was high in the pale, foggy sky, Daggerclaw saw it. An amazingly plump little fish, caught between two shards of ice in a small brook. It had evidently been swimming towards the lake… and what a stroke of luck it was that she should find it! Neither of her companions had spotted it yet… Daggerclaw pounced, catching the struggling fish between her claws.
Snagtooth stared as Daggerclaw raised the fat silver thing in her jaws. Moistleaf gaped. She held her head high. She’d really done it. She’d impressed the old, muscular brown tabby tom, who was so hard to please. It was the best she’d felt for a moon and a half.
They returned to camp, their bellies rumbling. The rich, luscious scent of the fish was making them ravenous. Of course they wouldn’t have a nibble of it; the rare and tasty morsel would be saved for the queens and elders.
As they pushed through the thorny gorse tunnel, the camp was not quiet as the grave, as it had been the day Moltfeather had died, but buzzing with frenzied activity.
“Where’d she go?” wailed Larkflight. “I’d gone behind the nursery to make dirt, and when I came back, Aridkit was gone!”
Daggerclaw’s heart, which had moments ago been filled with unexpected weightlessness, plummeted like a painful and heavy stone to the depths of her stomach. “Aridkit?” she gasped, staring at the dark brown she-cat in utter disbelief.
“That’s right,” moaned Larkflight. “I don’t know where she could’ve gotten to! She’s so young…” Her eyes filled with worry. “I doubt she’d last an hour in the open woodland…”
“There, there,” mewed Oatpelt softly. He licked his mate’s shoulder reassuringly, but she pulled away.
“It’s all my fault!” she whispered. “I can’t protect a kit to save my life!”
“Don’t worry.”
It was Coalstar.
“I promise you, Larkflight, we’ll find that kit. I’ll send three patrols out right now.” He turned to his Clanmates, all waiting with baited breath. “Acornspots, Oatpelt, and Brackentwig- I want each of you to lead a search mission. Choose two warriors and an apprentice to go with each of you.” A grim glance flashed between the cats.
“Coalstar,” rasped an old tabby she-cat, “we’ll have none left to guard the camp if nine warriors and three apprentices are out sniffing ‘round for Aridkit…” Her eyes clouded with despair.
“Very well, then,” he hissed, whirling around to face the tabby elder. “We’ll just let the poor kit bumble off into ShadowClan territory, and freeze to death!”
“I didn’t say that!” the wiry she-cat snapped. “I just said we can’t afford to have three patrols out at once; there’ll be no one left to guard the camp who’s readily fit.” She glared defiantly up at her leader.
His gaze softened. “I suppose so, Ivywhisper,” he mewed dully, his tired shoulders sagging. “Brackentwig, you stay and guard camp.”
Acornspots and Oatpelt hastily assembled patrols; Acornspots found Hollowshard, Oilwhisker and Flamepaw. It seemed that Daggerclaw would be staying behind to guard camp, but Oatpelt chose her to accompany him, Whitefang, and Runningpaw.
“Come on,” he mewed urgently, and they set off.
It was a slow, uncomfortable trip. Whitefang kept telling her apprentice off for treading on crunched, dead leaves, making a conspicuous snapping sound, pausing when they should be moving quickly, and getting distracted. Daggerclaw didn’t think he was being any more or less distracted than any other young apprentice. Oatpelt was daunted-looking and tense; he jumped at the smallest disruption of the surrounding, eerie silence.
“Kitscent!” Runningpaw glared defiantly at his mentor. She gaped back at him, bewildered. “Aridkit was here!”
“You’re right,” muttered Daggerclaw, sniffing the icy ground. “Aridkit can’t have left here ten minutes ago.”
“Well I- I don’t think- I mean to say, oh, StarClan, behold!” Oatpelt’s eyes were round. He’d obviously doubted they’d find a trace of the missing kit. Daggerclaw’s spirits soared.
“We’ve got to find her!” hissed Whitefang. “We’ve simply got to find her now!” And she bounded off. Her companions followed suit.
Several minutes passed. The four cats sped through the snowy woods. Following the faint yet prominent trail of kitscent, they were led to a small, snowy clearing. And somehow, they knew, Aridkit was here. She was here. She had led them here.
They searched rapidly. Finally, after many tense moments, Oatpelt gave a low wail. “Aridkit!” he moaned.
It was Aridkit. Buried in a flurry of snow. And she was dead.
“No,” Whitefang breathed, her eyes filling with despair. “No, no, she can’t be-”
“She is,” choked Oatpelt. “We’ll bring her back- let her siblings- say good-bye. Or perhaps…” His sorrowful voice cracked.
“Perhaps what?” Daggerclaw mewed dully.
“Well… would it be better to just leave her here?” A shadow crossed his face. “They’ll all just think… she’d wandered… never know…”
“We can’t do that!” gasped Daggerclaw, staring at him. “They can’t not know what’s happened…”
Whitefang nodded silently, eyes fixed on the small, lifeless body before them.
“We’ll bring the poor thing back. It’s the b-best we can d-do for her, and-” The deputy’s voice cracked. “W-we owe her that.”

Chapter 5

The four cats trudged miserably through the wood. Oatpelt held the limp kit in his jaws, and Whitefang stalked silently beside him. Runningpaw looked depressed as ever, perhaps even more so. It was the most awful moment of Daggerclaw’s life. How would Larkflight... how would Mountankit- how would the Clan cope...
They shivered collectively as the leaf-bare wind whistled through their pelts. The stars of Silverpelt, which glowed eerily, had never looked more sinister. Do you care for us, StarClan? Daggerclaw wanted to yowl to the sky. Or do you want to see us stripped from our souls, one by one?
After what seemed like moons, or perhaps a matter of hours, or perhaps it was years and years, they reached their camp. A few cats flicked here and there, mostly keeping to their would-be warm dens. Moistleaf spotted them trudge in, and yowled to the Clan, “They’re back!”
A moment of pause. Moistleaf padded over quickly. “And they’ve got Aridkit!”
And the Clan swarmed out of their dens, brushing their thin flanks against the frosty pelts of the patrol. “Acornspots arrived an hour ago!” “We thought you’d gotten lost!” “How ever did you find her?” “But- is she- she’s alive, isn’t she?”
Oatpelt looked sadly at Larkflight. “No,” he murmured. “I’m sorry...”
“Sorry?” screeched his mate, eyes widening, flinging her head back and staring at the starry heavens. “It’s StarClan who should be sorry! First Bouncekit, now Aridkit! Do they have no mercy?”
“She’s no dead until I say she’s dead.”
It was Nightglow. The old medicine cat heaved himself into the clearing. “I’ve seen more than you, I’ve seen more than your mother. I’ve seen leaf-bares and I’ve seen hardships and I’ve seen dead kits. And there are many more to come before I go.”
The silence was painfully intense. It seemed as if the fate of the Clan depended on this small tabby body.
He prodded Aridkit gently. “Aridkit,” he meowed softly. “Aridkit, wake up... you’re with your Clan, Aridkit... wake up now...”
Daggerclaw heart thumped sharply in her chest. She wouldn’t wake... she had left them... she was with her mother and father now...
And then, she stirred. In the thick moss bed, the tiny, underfed kitten’s eyes blinked open, as if she was just staring out at the world for the first time.
And it was as if the world had begun again.
“Aridkit!” Larkflight swept up the little she-cat, setting her into the warm curve of her body, suckling her like a newborn. “Aridkit, you woke up!”
“No,” whispered Aridkit, gazing up at her foster mother. “I came back.”
Larkflight sighed happily, looking over Oatpelt’s head to Nightglow, her beautiful blue eyes saying, Thank you.
He grunted awkwardly.
The Clan began to babble all at once. Whitefang licked the young queen’s ear affectionately, herding her back to the nursery. Coalstar, who Daggerclaw hadn’t noticed, skulking in the back of the cramped den, chuckled to himself. Acornspots and Snagtooth were congratulating Nightglow, while Oatpelt was telling Moistleaf all about the search mission.
“I found her scent!” Runningpaw reminded him, bouncing up and down. “If it wasn’t for me, we’d never have found her!”
“That’s right,” meowed Moistleaf kindly, smiling at the small apprentice.
Daggerclaw felt as happy as if Aridkit was her own daughter. Why? She didn’t know the kit very well. True, she was Mountainkit’s sister, and yes, she was bright and lovely, but what made her feel so connected to the kit all of a sudden?
It was a victory over StarClan. They were fighting back. They were fighting their way through the frost.
But there were still two moons to go.

Chapter 6

Ever since Aridkit had recovered, Daggerclaw felt as if something was pushing the Clan along. True, many warriors, like Snagtooth and Acornspots, grouched around and complained about the cold, but they were propelled by the simple desire to exist. It was their motivation.
Life was by no means improving- each day was colder than the one before it, and prey was getting excruciatingly difficult to come by, but they were getting better at finding it. They learned slowly how to find small burrows, how to scent the places where moles might be scuffling about, and how to catch hibernating creatures in their sleep.
And their coats were thickening- they were not as stiffened by the cold as they had been. Each morning they awoke to the same prospect- a blizzard-cold day that offered no comfort, only cracked pads and stiff joints and very little prey.
But they were pulling through. In fact, Daggerclaw thought things were going as well as anyone could hope for.
Until she overheard Oilwhisker and Hollowshard.
It was a week after Aridkit had been lost, one of those bitterly icy days in the warriors’ den. Daggerclaw had just returned from a hunting mission with Coilpaw, and had plopped down in the den for a nap. In her thin nest of moss, she was just drifting off when she caught the low mew of Hollowshard, huddled just outside the den with Oilwhisker.
“This camp can’t last us much longer.”
“Not just the camp- the whole forest,” muttered Oilwhisker. “There’s no prey, and instead of the usual leaf-bare silence... everything is dead.”
“So we have to go.”
“Are you sure?” Oilwhisker sounded doubtful. “The Clan couldn’t manage such a journey.”
“We can’t stay here,” he pointed out grimly. “And the rolling forests in the north are surely much colder.”
“The mountains will be even more cold.”
“We could live there. We would learn.”
“Why not just learn here?”
“You said it yourself. The forest is dead.” His mew was desperate.
“We have no time.”
That was all Daggerclaw heard before she fell asleep.
But when she awoke, she remembered all too well. Hollowshard and Oilwhisker, two of her friends, wanted to abandon the forest.
And did they think at all of the other Clans? Were there not supposed to be four Clans in the lake territory? They had not spared a thought to them- only to ThunderClan and their needs.
Daggerclaw was miserable. This was a hard leaf-bare, but surely it was not the will of StarClan for them to merely leave. Wouldn’t their warrior ancestors want them to stay and bear the pain? How could her friends simply give up?
What if the rest of the Clan agreed? She was only a young warrior, and not particularly renowned for wisdom. If most of her Clanmates were prepared to leave, her opinion would be worth next to nothing.
Daggerclaw had seldom felt so low.

A few days passed. The hope, the inspiration she had felt was gone. Daggerclaw was too worried to be happy that Mountainkit would be an apprentice in two days. She probably wouldn’t be chosen as his mentor, anyway.
The next morning she woke up and shivered. The world was completely covered in white. Not the shining frost, but thick, fluffy snow. She peered out of the den to see Mountainkit and Lightkit diving into the sea of white. Heaving herself up, she went to investigate.
“So, you like the snow, huh?” she asked, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.
“StarClan, yes!” shouted Mountainkit, flinging a dollop of it onto Daggerclaw’s nose.
“You’re going to be an apprentice tomorrow,” she reminded him, shaking the snow off.
“You think he doesn’t tell us every waking moment?” squeaked Lightkit jokingly.
“I suppose not,” chuckled Daggerclaw. “But kits will be kits.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” protested Mountainkit.
“Never you mind,” meowed Daggerclaw primly, eyes twinkling.

And the next day at sundown, as the dusk patrol had just been sent out, Coalstar heaved his tired old body onto the Highledge.
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting,” he meowed hoarsely.
The clan filtered out, shivering and cowering against each other for warmth.
“As you all know, today is that very special day in the life in three young cats, the day when they will lose the name of kit and set their paws on the journey of becoming a warrior,” he announced as soon as the pitiful Clan had been assembled. Daggerclaw realized how thin they were all becoming- this was the first time she’d seen all of the Clan together for more than half a moon.
“Sloekit, come forward.”
The largest of the kits, a fluffy gray-and-white she-kit stumbled excitedly toward her leader. Larkflight looked on happily from behind her.
“From this moment on, until you have earned your warrior name, you shall be known as Sloepaw.
“Brackentwig, you are an honest and wise warrior, and you proved to be a fine mentor to Hawkwing- may she rest in StarClan. I trust you’ll train Sloepaw well, too.”
The older warrior stepped forward, smiling at Sloepaw. She touched noses with him respectfully, and they padded off together. The leader turned his gaze now to the scrawny tabby she-cat.
“Aridkit, from this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you shall be known as Aridpaw.”
She bounced up and down with excitement, completely recovered from her interlude in the woods.
“Moistleaf.”
The tortoiseshell warrior looked surprised; he had not been a warrior all that long, and he walked forward awkwardly to accept Aridpaw as his apprentice.
“And last, but certainly not least, Mountainkit.”
The smallest of the litter stood up, meeting Coalstar’s gaze evenly. There was something, something in the way he stared right into his leader’s eyes, some defiance in him that made Daggerclaw realize he was much more sophisticated than his sisters. Maybe he’ll be leader one day, she mused thoughtfully.
She had missed something- he was smiling, and he must have been given his apprentice name, for Coalstar said, “Mountainpaw, your mentor will be Daggerclaw. Daggerclaw, you are a young and rather naive warrior. But I have faith in you. I expect you and Mountainpaw will learn plenty from each other.”
It was not until moons later that she would fully understand how true this was.

Chapter 7

Daggerclaw stood irresolute, completely stunned. Surely she’d heard Coalstar wrong. She was far too young to be considered a good mentor for any cat, let alone intrepid Mountainpaw! Or... was she... A prickle of pride tinged her heart. Coalstar must have considered her the most appropriate option for this sparky apprentice, so perhaps... she did deserve the honor.
Mountainpaw’s eyes were questioning as he stepped forward to create the bond of mentor and apprentice. Why? Aren’t you pleased?
Of course, she tried to tell him wordlessly. But I never expected... I’m not that old, after all. He seemed to understand.

“So, now you have to teach me everything,” he informed her.
“Well, first I teach you the proper way to replace a scrawny elder’s moss,” she replied coolly. “Get to it, smarty-tail.”
He rolled his eyes at her.
“And with that comes respect. If any other cat saw you disregard my privileged learning and council, they’d have your ears off.”
He padded obediently toward the elders’ den. It had an all-time-low population of two. The other usual inhabitants were ill in Nightgleam’s den. One faced certain death; the other elder's fate was undetermined. It didn’t look good, however.
“Hello, young’un,” sighed Ivywhisper, the tabby she-cat who had challenged Coalstar the night Aridpaw almost died.
Gnarledtail, a longhaired old gray tom, merely grunted. Mountainpaw dipped his head.
“Would you like some new moss?” he asked kindly.
“Thank you, dear, but your sister just brought me some. Looks awfully much like her mother, that whippersnapper does.”
Mountainpaw’s eyes twinkled. “Sloepaw fix you up too, Gnarledtail?”
He grunted.
“Just leave him be. If he wants moss, he can learn how to speak properly.”
Daggerclaw chuckled. “I guess that means I have to actually take you out, huh?”
“And with that comes respect,” Mountainpaw meowed primly.
And so it went for four days. A blissful oasis in the terrible desert of pain, worry, and cold. It felt as if life was just the warrior and her apprentice- Daggerclaw would rise early each frosty dawn to awaken Mountainpaw, and they would set off- to train him for battle, to learn hunting techniques, or to simply explore. The vast, rolling woodlands, the gust of the moors in the southern wind, and the blast of ice from the north were their bane, their blood, and their nourishment. They flowed with their beloved forest, a part of the world with each other.
But it was short-lived.
Three cats died in two nights. The apprentice Flamepaw- she had almost become a warrior. Her mentor, Oilwhisker, had tossed and turned all night in the den. They had become closely bonded over the five moons.
A pale gray tom, Cloudwhisp. He had been in Nightgleam’s den for a very long time, and it had been quite unlikely that he’d ever get out.
But the most shattering loss was Mellowkit. She, too, had been in the medicine cat’s den for some time, but it had seemed as though she would live a long and full life. Elkheart managed to hide her distress from the Clan well, but there was a certain dullness in her eyes, a small stiffness in her movements, that suggested she was completely miserable.
And Mountainpaw fell ill. It wasn’t serious; he would recover in about a quarter moon, probably less, but Nightgleam was worried all the same.
“He’s so small,” the black tom sighed to Daggerclaw, as Mountainpaw slept peacefully in a bed of moss. “Not small of heart, no, not in the least- but I fear the cold is wearing heavily on him. It weakens him, and I don’t think you two should be out so much.”
“But- he’s my apprentice!” Daggerclaw protested. How could she not take him out? He’d never learn to hunt! True, he’d shaped up quite a bit already, but he needed moons and moons more training. The journey had only just begun.
“Do you want your apprentice to die? To wither away and shiver and shrivel up? You must protect him. He cannot be woken to early, and make sure he gets enough fresh-kill. He needs the meat on his bones.”
“He needs to learn!”
Nightgleam shook his old head. “Daggerclaw, Mountainpaw needs you most right now. He needs you to realize that he is in danger of freezing to death.”
Daggerclaw closed her eyes in pain and despair.

“I don’t care what that old raccoon says,” meowed Mountainpaw stubbornly. “I’m a warrior apprentice- and though I may be undersized, I have the right to endure the woods that are my home.”
Daggerclaw looked sternly at him. “Don’t you ever insult your medicine cat, no matter what. He saved your sister, he helped your mother birth you- and he’s helping you right now. If there’s anyone who’s not in any way responsible for this mess, it’s Nightgleam.”
“I know,” he murmured dejectedly. “I know.”
“I know you know.”
“But I can’t not train. It’s so unfair- why am I small? Why aren’t Sloepaw and Aridpaw having these problems? Why is leaf-bare so harsh? Why are my parents in StarClan? Nothing makes sense. Nothing is ever fair.” His head drooped sadly.
“You can train. But you have to stay very close to camp. Nightgleam would really prefer that you stay in camp.”
“We’ll have to make do. We’ll have to use what we have and be passive.”
Daggerclaw gazed appraisingly at the little tabby. How was it fair that he could comprehend so much more than any other cat his age? He certainly was as wise as some of the most venerable old warriors... though his deeper sides showed only when you really understood him. He really was a remarkable cat.

Chapter 8

So they made what they could out of what little they had. Spending a lot more time than would really be advisable in the outskirts of the camp, they would sniff about in the underbrush for any prey to hunt. They practiced hunting styles- though with no food to actually try them on. Sometimes they would wrestle in the apprentices’ den, in the would-be thick layer of moss covering the icy ground.
A lot of the time, they tended the elders. When Mountainpaw was feeling especially low, Daggerclaw would lead him to the old cats’ den to hear a story or two from Ivywhisper- and plenty of grunts from Gnarledtail. Mountainpaw would check their pelts for ticks, attend to any casualties of leaf-bare like cracked pads and stiff joints, and then settle down for a tale from the washed-out she cat.
And she had never seen him so down.
True, after the loss of Mellowkit, Cloudwhisp, and Flamepaw in two days, the whole Clan was down. But at least the other apprentices were in and among the trees, weaving themselves into the territory of ThunderClan. Not cooped up in the camp like a sick old pile of mousedung.
It was hard for Daggerclaw to believe that they were less than halfway through the frost. This was the longest leaf-bare she had ever endured. And it felt as if they had been stuck in this icy prison for a thousand eternities.
They plowed on. They fought through another three days. Daggerclaw taught him more fighting moves, and he was getting stronger. Perhaps Nightgleam would permit them to resume his training in full form soon...
And the night of the next Gathering loomed nearer.
Daggerclaw was frightened for the sake of Islandbird. Would she have recovered? Was she still ill? Was she among the ranks of StarClan? Did Daggerclaw want to know?
Would Mountainpaw come? Would Nightgleam deem him too weak? Surely he deserved a treat like this. But then, he deserved to be trained like a proper apprentice, didn’t he?
Nothing seemed certain.
And, in all her current worry, Daggerclaw had forgotten the deeper trouble- the lurking idea that the distant mountains would make a better home. Her anxiety returned in full measure, however, when she noticed miserable Oilwhisker creeping nervously into Coalstar’s den, followed closely by Hollowshard.
A pang of worry struck her heart. Could they be meeting with the leader to express their plan to move the Clan to the mountains? Their conversation floated into her mind.
This camp can’t last us much longer, claimed Hollowhsard.
Not just the camp- the whole forest, Oilwhisker had replied.
Why didn’t they have faith? In her mind’s eye, she saw the sturdy, pale tabby queen Elkheart. She had endured the loss of her daughter, Mellowkit, without so much as a wail of misery. She was withstanding the leaf-bare with admirable grit and resolution. She had always trusted her warrior ancestors to guide her paws well.
A wild shriek interrupted Daggerclaw’s gloomy thoughts. She peered apprehensively out of the camp, sensing that the noise came from the direction of the ShadowClan border.
An elderly, half-starved tom thrust his way into Daggerclaw’s sight. She’d never seen an elder move with such energy, particularly in this leaf-bare. He had a dappled pale ginger coat, and determined amber eyes. What in the name of StarClan...?
Sparrowflight was hot on his trail. “Wheatwhisker! Wheatwhisker, you silly old thing, get back here!”
Wheatwhisker paid him no heed, flinging his frail body over the frosty path to the lake.
“If I’s gotta go this leaf-bare, I’s gonna go with style, ya hear meh?” he screeched. “I ain’t not gonna wait ‘round fer StarClan to pick me up! I’s gonna leave y’all with a bang, I is! StarClan, bless! I is born a ShadowClan warrior, and I’s gonna die a ShadowClan warrior! Don’t y’alls try to find meh body; I reckon I’ll be somewhere freezed-up down at the bottom!”
Daggerclaw grinned, watching Sparrowflight chase him down to the vastness of iced-over water. She couldn’t resist the temptation to follow. A couple others, Mountainpaw and his sisters included, had come to see what the noise was.
The spirited old tom was shouting crazily as he lunged toward the frozen lake.
“Y’all remember this good, ya hear meh? These a’gonna be meh last words to y’all: I is an elder with style! I was a’born with style and I’s about ter die wit STYLE!” And with that, he flung his little body towards the ice. For a moment, Daggerclaw was sure he’d break his neck on the ice, but Wheatwhisker’s tired old body cracked it good and loud, and the brave retired warrior sunk through the dark waters, to join his warrior ancestors in peace forever.
Talk about faith!

Chapter 9

After several awkward moments, Sparrowflight turned his head to gaze exasperatedly into Daggerclaw’s blue eyes.
“I suppose he did, er- go off with a bang...” he meowed in a would-be casual mew, though it was quite plain that he was resisting the urge to laugh.
It was true; Sloepaw and Aridpaw were rolling on the ground, howling in glee- even Coalstar and Hollowshard (they must have been in the leader’s den moments before) were nodding their amusement at the elder’s spirit and grit. Mountainpaw was shaking, unsuppressed, with laughter.
“Well, he’ll always be remembered,” murmured Daggerclaw, her eyes warm.

The hilarious antics of Wheatwhisker’s suicide did not linger long on the cats of ThunderClan, however. It was helped on by the fact that both Larkflight and her mate, Oatpelt, fell ill with greencough. Elkheart gladly took on her son, Pondkit, next to her own tiny Lightkit.
They were now halfway through the leaf-bare, and more than half of the Clan that had existed before the harsh season was either ridden by sickness or simply dead. Nightgleam’s would-be warm den held a population of six- Larkflight, Oatpelt, the elders Rosemuffle and Tawnytangle, Coilpaw, and Oilwhisker- though the latter rarely spent any time at all in there. Direpaw was most skeptical of this.
“Would you rather miss a patrol, or join StarClan as a sickened blackcough victim?” she would ask irritably, every time Oilwhisker would rise to hunt or reinforce borders.
“I’ve only got whitecough!” the lanky tabby would protest, before scampering guiltily out.
And finally, the night of the Gathering came. Coalstar shoved his stiff body onto the Highrock and proclaimed,
“Cats of ThunderClan, tonight is the moonly night where cats of all Clans join at the island of our beloved lake to share the news of the past moon.”
There was a silence, not of anticipation, but of cold boredom.
“Whitefang, Nightgleam, Brackentwig, Sloepaw, Mountainpaw, Larkflight, and Moistleaf shall be attending tonight.”
Daggerclaw’s heart leapt. It did not matter that she would not go; she understood that it was a rare and special treat that others deserved- Mountainpaw was to receive that treat!
The lithe apprentice’s amber eyes shone with mischief. “In your FACE, Nightgleam!” he whispered.
“I’ll have you sitting in the den for a quarter moon, mind you,” teased Daggerclaw. “After a big adventure like this, you’ll be weak as a twig.”
Mountainpaw cuffed her ear.

Night progressed sluggishly. Upon receiving their herbs from Direpaw, Coalstar, Whitefang, Nightgleam, Brackentwig, Sloepaw, Mountainpaw, Larkflight, and Moistleaf hurried out of camp. A tense silence crept upon them. Acornspots and Snagtooth sat stiffly at the entrance to camp, glaring at the few cats who weren’t in their dens.
Daggerclaw shook her head, retreating to the chilled warriors’ den. Sighing, she curled into her shredded nest, and slid into a disturbed sleep.
For the first time in several moons, she dreamed.
Daggerclaw had always dreamed, all through her nursery days, in her apprenticeship, and especially as a warrior. Her night visions rarely meant anything- and yet she was always glad to escape into her secret world of void and mist, to break away from crude reality...
But since the cold had crept in, her dreams had ceased. She saw no more starry cats when she slept. She heard no more whispers of ancient times, no murmured myths in foreign tongues. No longer did she feel the mystery of StarClan in her dreamings; no longer did she taste the sweet ether of the next world.
Tonight was different.
Daggerclaw raised her head, and her breath caught in her chest. For the first time in what felt like eons, she was feeling the blissful warmth of times past. It was greenleaf, and Daggerclaw had seldom felt so peaceful.
She was dimly aware of her surroundings; she seemed to be at the island where the Gathering took place. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the beautiful coziness of the place, and Daggerclaw embraced it. All thought of battles and leaf-bares and hopeless chases was gone. The young warrior wanted to stay here forever, not knowing, not caring...
And then a she glimpsed two eyes staring at hr through the thicket. Cats’ eyes. Lifting her head lazily, Daggerclaw registered that it was a dark tabby she-cat, and she resembled... someone, though Daggerclaw couldn’t think whom.
“Brusquetail!”
Daggerclaw’s ears perked up at once. The dark she-cat’s mew was strange and echoic, but that wasn’t what pricked her curiosity. This warrior, who Daggerclaw assumed to be from StarClan, had spoken her father’s name.
“I’m not Brusquetail!” Daggerclaw called back. “Brusquetail is my father. He was my father. I’m Daggerclaw. Who are-”
“No...” gasped the she-cat. “No... no... too late... my daughter... the danger... too late... No!”
“What’s wrong?” meowed Daggerclaw, alarmed. “What danger? Who’s your daughter?” But she understood. The resemblance was unmistakable- except this cat didn’t have those great bluebell eyes. “Larkflight,” breathed Daggerclaw. “You’re Larkflight’s mothe-“
“Save my daughter!” wailed the she-cat. “Save my daughter before... it’s... too late...” And those last words reverberated around the island, echoed by other starry figures, shifting in the golden mist. “Too late, too late, too late, too late...”
The dream faded. Daggerclaw’s head shot up; all the sweet warmth was gone. She was back in her cold, worn den. “Larkflight,” whispered Daggerclaw, gazing at the gorse tunnel. “The danger...” And she bolted.
“You! Get back here! Oy! Y’ can’t leave camp!” Acornspots bellowed after her.
Snagtooth shook his head. “What’s gotten into that mousebrain?”
She raced through the forest, swerving in and out of frail trees and scrabbling on the ice. She didn’t care; all that mattered was getting to the Gathering place and stopping whatever danger lurked there... before it was too late...

Chapter 10 coming soon!