Summary: Seasons after the Three of ThunderClan, false peace has settled over the four Clans of the lake. A new prophecy is born, along with two very special kits. A new horror stalks the forest, said to be worse than Tigerstar himself, and no cat is safe.
Here is a new story I have written that was inspired by...something or other, maybe boredom brought it up. Please, please, PLEASE review, 'cause that'll tell me if I should write more. I should stop typing and let you read now.
Enjoy, my friends of the Internet.
Prologue
A white tom watched with rapture as the tom beneath his feet writhed and shrieked in pain. Only a couple of moments, and the tom would have bled to death.
"Had enough?" the white tom growled, his lips curling in a snarl as the tom gasped and gulped for air.
He looked at the white tom with stunning blue eyes. "You shall never triumph with death so cold in your heart." He took a sharp breath, then breathed his last words. "Before the Moon, blue feathers will fall, and the Dusk will be avenged." His head collapsed again into the sand, the last of his air sighing out of him. The white tom felt the hairs stand up on his spine as the familiar sensation of a spirit joining StarClan upheld him, and he watched as the stars of Silverpelt still glimmered coldly, taking no notice of the medicine cat who just joined them.
"You think you're so great," the white tom spat to the sky, his green eyes unblinking. "I am the only one who knows of your lies." He flicked his tail toward the bushes, and a black she-cat slunk out, followed by a ginger tabby.
Far away in ThunderClan, a newborn kit struggled into life beside its mother's warm flank. One other squirmed beside her, while one more lay still and unmoving as the mother licked it fiercely. A gray tabby tom laid his tail-tip gently on the mother's shoulder, and she nodded sadly; she tucked her two remaining kits up to her belly, where they began to suckle.
Across from the kits and outside in a small clearing, lay a leader, rasping and coughing, taking his last breaths. A ginger she-cat lay beside him, and tried desperately to comfort her mate as StarClan took his last life. He whispered something, then finally he lay still. With a tear in her eye, the ginger she-cat slowly got up and heaved the dead tom up on her shoulder. She carried him outside, sorrow in her every step.
Please review! I would really appreciate your comments and (constructive) criticisms. NO FLAMES, THEY BURN!