Chapter 1

Tigerstripe had been especially distant during the last moon, and Wrenfeather couldn't figure out why.

Not only had she snapped at her about showing up late for the dusk patrol, but she'd eaten alone more often recently. She'd looked absent and uninterested, and Wrenfeather found herself unnerved. Tigerstripe had never behaved strangely before – sure, she'd always been a little more rough-around-the-edges than Wrenfeather, and she'd always been a little ignorantly rude. But this? This was new. And it was worrying her.

I wonder what she's dreaming about, the tabby found herself wondering one chilly leaf-fall night as she watched her sister in her nest by the den's entrance. The patterns the white moonlight made on the calico's fur made her look splotchier than she already was, creating the illusion that she had been splashed with twoleg paint – a very unfamiliar coloration, as Wrenfeather was used to comparing Tigerstripe's fur to a black blanket laid out over her shoulders and spine. She was asleep, whiskers twitching and paws shuffling every few seconds. She was obviously more at peace than Firestorm, who lay in his nest beside Wrenfeather's.

Perhaps the orange and white tom was the cat she should have been worried about, and not Tigerstripe. He was snorting and growling in his sleep, one foreleg hanging over the edge of his nest as he scraped at the sand with his claws. Maybe he was fighting some RiverClan warrior in his sleep, or chasing a rabbit through the forest. Wrenfeather purred.

On the other side of the den was Grayfoot, lying flat out on his back, belly-up in his nest. The hollow was filled with his soft, rhythmic snoring, a familiar sound which had been heard by every cat in the clan at least once or twice. His mouth half-open, he looked like a youngster pretending to be defeated in a kitten game of 'turf-war'. Wrenfeather could remember playing the game with him and Bleakcloud when they still lived in the nursery, and the thought made her nostalgic. She sighed wistfully, laying her head between her forepaws.

It was almost moonhigh, and Wrenfeather knew it was time she was asleep. So she closed her eyes and wrapped her tail more tightly around her body, shutting out Grayfoot's soft snores, Firestorm's grumbles and Tigerstripe's shuffles.

It was a moment later that she was awakened by the crackle of bracken and the sleepy mumble of another cat. She opened one eye and was greeted with the sight of a calico cat half-standing in her nest, staring with huge amber eyes out into the clearing. Tigerstripe? She questioned silently. What are you doing? Were you awake this whole time? Go back to sleep, mouse-brain, or Blackstar will have your tail. But she didn't say what she was thinking, fearing that she would only receive back lash as a response. Instead, she squinted, trying to look as if she were sleeping.

The she-cat looked around as if to check that every other cat was asleep. Seemingly satisfied, she crawled out of her nest and shook out her fur – if she were really covered with twoleg paint, it would have splattered everywhere. The thought made Wrenfeather purr, and she stifled the chuckle in her throat.

Tigerstripe glanced around again. A moment later, she slipped out of the den and was trotting across the clearing. Wrenfeather sat up, following the small, lithe shape moving across the center of the ThunderClan Camp with her eyes. The calico looked as if she'd crept through camp a dozen times, her half-raised tail an obvious sign of nonchalance.

Wrenfeather waited with a twitching tail until the warrior was gone. When she'd left camp, the tabby followed without hesitation. The emptiness of the camp felt strange and almost wrong to Wrenfeather, but she shoved her anxiety away in favor of her concern for Tigerstripe. She was determined to figure out what the she-cat was up to, despite the butterflies swarming her stomach.

And so she followed the calico's scent from the bracken entrance of camp through the forest. She had been trailing her for nearly five minutes before she caught the scent of another cat in the air – a cat that didn't belong to any clan, as it seemed. Without a clan, but clearly not a kittypet. She tested the air again to be sure. No, not a kittypet. A loner. A rogue.

Wrenfeather shoved away her resentment toward the clanless cat. After all, she'd been a loner herself before ThunderClan had found her and her littermates as kittens. She shook her head and refocused. As she stooped in the bracken, she peered through the orangey-red fronds to observe the scene before her. Tigerstripe was sitting beside a half-rotted stump with flicking ears, and although Wrenfeather couldn't see her face, there was a nervous feeling stirring in the tabby's chest.

Out of the bracken came another cat. A she-cat, like Wrenfeather had scented. She was truly beautiful, with long, silky black fur and dazzling green eyes that glimmered in the moonlight. She looked as if she was just about Tigerstripe's size, matching the calico pound for pound. Still, there was a suspicious spark in the stranger's gaze that made Wrenfeather's fur stiffen up – a dishonest, hateful glint in her emerald eyes, and Wrenfeather didn't like it.

Because Wrenfeather never lied.

And she couldn't stand cats who did.