This takes place whenever you please: in the far past or the far future. Nevertheless, in this tale the clans are ruthless. Killing all but their own, they have massed now in great numbers.
In the wilderness, a small group of rebels finds themselves leaderless. With their desire for revenge on the warrior clans, they go plod on- until they are caught in the most deadly and betraying war of mortals that has ever existed...
DISCLAIMER: Plot and characters are mine, but the basis of Warriors and the clans belong the the Erins. Yes, I also admit that I used Strider's (Aragorn/Elfstone's) name from LOTR, so Disclaimer that too! :D Read and review as you please; this will be updated all in its own time!
"And if you do come back, you will not be the same." -Gandalf the Grey from the Hobbit by JRR Tolkien
Chapter One; Whispers Under Black Skies
Their leader had set out to the strange smoke plume days ago, and there had been no news of him since.
"He is-s-s dead and gone," said Amaranth, her crystal blue eyes glittering with fear and her fierce curiosity. "He had left at the dawn of s-s-spring to s-s-see that mons-s-strous fire. He is dead, dead, dead!"
"Don't speak badly of him! Did you forget about how he saved you? How he brought you from the very depths of hell? If not for him those horrid clan cats would have set you to die on the Thunderpaths!" It was a tom that spoke, a brown furred tom with fierce dark golden eyes. "Or did you forget about your sister, Amaranth? Your sister that still lies crippled and feverish, and you are here completely ignorant!"
Icy blue eyes flashed suddenly, and in that instant a reddish hint was revealed in them.
"Do not mock me, S-s-strider!" I am Amaranth of S-s-stockhelm, and all will bow down before me. My s-s-sis-s-ster is too weak to rule. But I am not weak! No, not like my younger s-s-sibling. Never!" shouted she, and a great fluttering and scrabbling was done in the minute, before a faint voice was heard quavering in the midst of their shouts and claws.
"Amaranth! Amaranth!" Strider was there in an instant. Of the small, abandoned barn they had found days ago, there was a stack of fresh hay by the corner. There the elder, but weak black cat of Stockhelm lay, shivering despite the heat of midsummer. She lay there still, as through a milky white film pale blue eyes gazed at Strider. She gave a contented sigh and fell back into her disturbing tangles of nightmares and paradise.
"She has gotten worse," said Strider as he had every day, but now his tone was dry. "She does not recognize me, nor you. I don't think she can see faces at all." With a great cough to mask a sound of disgust, Strider marched up to Amaranth who was licking her wounds with a wounded pride.
"She needs a sister, not a leader," Strider growled viciously. The echo of it raised the she cat's fur on an end, but she cackled like a maniac.
"No, no, the weak blood runs-s-s only in her veins-s-s. I do not join her in her parting with this-s-s world. See! How when he is not here, (and dead most probably), when you, the almighty Strider, is no more than a puny kit. You can't hold me back, you can't heal, you can't find him. You can not fight the clan cats-s-s-s-s." As she drew out the last word and her voice ended in a brittle laugh, her words hit home. Through the last years that the group had been together, their leader, Hunter, they called him for he told no true name, had led them through bogs, swamps, forests, and treacherous stretches of hot and dry sand. Each and every one of them were recruited for a special skill they all had, and the same hatred- the warrior clans. But they had done nothing at them even with Hunter's promise at revenge for something they all wanted, but travel and talk and travel and talk.
"I brought food." a voice said through the tension. A young tom with large, green eyes and dark brown and cream colored fur entered with a two mice in his mouth.
Strider had nearly forgotten about Thunder, their oldest recruit yet barely half the age of Strider. He had sorrowful eyes, but he was an exceptional hunter and scout. He had been with Hunter since the very beginning of the group.
He goes out each done to see if his leader has returned. Strider thought with a wistful smile. Too long was it since he felt he touch and warmth of-
"Give one to Muli and eat the rest yourself." Strider said without thinking. He regretted the choice inwardly, no matter how right it was. His stomach would curse him harshly for the rest of the journeys.
"And when would that be, when Hunter comes back?" Strider murmured as he watched Thunder gently prod Muli on her arm. "Our little troop is broken. One of us is deathly ill, the other is yet green and young. I am getting old, and all of us are mad. Where are you when we need you the most?"
In the harsh argument with Amaranth, he had not noticed the black skies outside. Thunder crackled in the air, and all around animals scurried for cover.
Strider shut the barn door.
"Something is happening." he said gravely.
"The war has begun!" said Amaranth, and this time Strider did not detest her remark. He wondered what she meant by war. Surely there was no such thing? But as the night grew old, the gleaming orbs of the tom remained lit. His heart was troubled, and he was no longer sure.