A/N: Yes. I know you hate me. Yes. I know you want me to update Blood. But honestly, plot bunnies are irresistible and this one just needed to be written. I will try my best to update weekly.

If you already read my stories you must be preparing yourself for a boatload of typos, but thanks to my awesome beta reader ExplosionsAreFun, it's all good and edited and revised and stuff.

No prologue. Too boring. (Though really, the junky paragraphs in here might be just as boring... XP)

Word count for my later reference: 2307

Begin.

Chapter One

If only the moon could bear my burdens

A young dappled ginger she-cat sat in a clearing, keeping a respectful distance away from the other cats' territory. Her head hung low, shadowing her closed eyes; the only movement she made was to quietly inhale and exhale the air, which was permeated with silt a

nd other smells that she didn't know or recognize. Impatience dragged at her the way currents of water tugged fur. One white ear flicked upwards to listen as another, older cat sitting beside her spoke:

"Come. We were invited, and so we are free to walk right into my friends' den."

She took this as an call to speak, as well as permission for her to stand up from her position; it was making her start to feel uncomfortable. "It's an... an unusual den," the she-cat commented lightly, biting back the other, less desirable words on the tip of her tongue; weird, stupid, boring. It was built entirely from strange yellow stones —bricks, her father had called them.

"Of course, Spark," the older cat —a tom— replied. His whiskers where turning white at the tips, but his yellow eyes were as bright as ever. "It's a Twoleg den. They —the Twolegs— call it a house."

"Twolegs?" The ginger she-cat, Spark, winced at the scorn in her voice; she hadn't meant to let it slip through. She'd heard an awfully large number of tales about them; tall, long-limbed pale pink creatures that wouldn't hesitate to croon over a cat and shut it up in their dens —houses, she reminded herself.

Her father must have heard the disdain in the word, because he reminded her for the umpteenth time: "Remember, I expect you to behave yourself when we arrive at our friends' house."

Spark inhaled a rush of sooty oxygen, hoping the sudden influx would stop her from vocalizing the thought running through her mind; I know, father. You've told me already, for stars' sake.

Apparently it worked, because she said nothing as she followed the tom around the wooden barrier —fence— to the stone slab that was in front of a flap. What was that thing called —a porch? Darn these strange Twoleg words, Spark cursed, though it was less of a curse than a bad-tempered complaint. Cats belong in the forest. It's downright unnatural to be dwelling in these—

"We enter here," her father meowed, interrupting her train of thought. They slipped through the flap one at a time and entered the house. Spark's hackles rose as she entered behind the gray cat, in case a Twoleg leaped out at her; she wasn't going to become a tame kitty any time soon! The whole place was thick with a foreign scent, and Spark could tell there was lots and lots of dust. She held back a sneeze.

"Minnow, Mickey. Thank you for letting us come here." Spark's father stopped and dipped his head politely to the two cats before him; a calico she-cat and a mottled brown tom, respectively.

The two cats —littermates or mates? Spark wondered inwardly, though it would be rude to ask— acted just as wary as her own self, but for some strange reason their chariness seemed to be caused by her. Spark felt confused, but pushed the emotion away as the tom spoke.

"It's our pleasure," he said, almost like he was forcing himself to —as if there was some sort of bone lodged in his throat. "Come on," the tom continued. "I'll get you two some food."

"Oh, no, Mickey, you don't have to—"

"We insist," the other cat —Minnow— added. She swept her bushy white-black-orange spotted tail, stirring up dust.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Spark piped up. Inwardly, she wasn't very hungry; the nauseating tang of the "traveling herbs" Father had forced her to eat prior to the trip was still sharp on her tongue. Both cats jumped when she spoke and she quickly shut her mouth. Minnow paused, then nodded.

"You're... very welcome." Spark cocked her head at the words. Why was there a pause? Why did Minnow not make eye contact with her, the proper way to speak —or so Father had told her? It was as if neither cat wanted to speak directly to her; as a matter of fact, Minnow seemed to be looking at everything except for her. Her gaze flitted around the spacious area like a nervous bird.

Mickey turned and headed down the huge den, a jingle echoing throughout the home as he walked. Spark noticed a dark purple collar around his neck and a golden bell that hung from it. As she looked closer at the two she could see Minnow had one, too, though that one was a pale red, like water diluted by blood.

Father followed the two, beckoning Spark to do the same. She walked slowly after the others, placing one paw carefully in front of the other so she didn't trip and make a mess of herself.

"Here we are," Mickey announced as they reached a section of the den. It smelled somewhat like food, but with a heated scent to it; almost as if it had been burnt. He walked over to two strangely shaped things that looked like hard yellow leaves, with a container full of rabbit droppings attached to them. Both cats went to a leaf and pushed something that looked like a blue stick —a lever. The droppings came falling out, hitting the leaves with a hard crack and releasing a slightly fishy odor.

"Come on, help yourself," Minnow mewed. She leapt on to a slab of stone, right above the leaves, and Mickey followed. They both bent down, apparently to eat something and signify that they had food as well.

Spark's father walked over to one yellow leaf and started to eat. Rather awkwardly the younger cat followed, wondering if she should decline or say thank you, but she'd already thanked them and she didn't want to be redundant. Finally she ate as well, trying to crunch the pellets whilst making as little noise as possible. The food, believe it or not, had a faint foresty tang to it; it had a meaty flavor as well as the fish she'd sniffed out earlier.

After both she and Father had finished, the latter looked up at the two cats above them. "Thank you once again. Would you mind if I... chatted with you for a while, until your Twolegs come back?"

"No problem at all," Mickey said hastily. Spark's heart nearly stopped as he angled a sideways glance at her, looking more than slightly distrusting... and even afraid of her. The fur on the back of her neck rose, but the look was over as quickly as it had come.

With that, Father leaped onto the same strange stone slab. Spark wanted to see if she could reach it, too, but didn't dare and she squashed the desire as soon as it had come. She noticed that neither Minnow nor Mickey called her father by a name and realized that she'd never, either; to her he was just Father, plain and simple.

Well, whatever. It wasn't important anyway. Probably.

Bored, Spark sat up and rocked back and forth on her paws. She took the time to pay more attention to her surroundings, though what she saw she couldn't describe. The stone slab stretched around the whole "room" —she remembered the word for these little compartments now— of the den, only breaking where a shining silver thing was. As Spark looked, Minnow pushed one of the two levers on the silver thing and a stream of something —was it water?— poured out and she skewered her head in a strange position so the running liquid could fall into her mouth. She pushed the lever again after having had drunk her fill and the stream stopped. Above the water dispenser there was a transparent thing that let her see the sky, which had turned a slight pink Even though the sun was still high in the sky.

Spark cast her attention to another shiny object; there was, she mused, an awful lot of them in here. She was unamused this time and swiveled her head around to see behind her. There was another "room," scattered with colorful Twoleg objects.

Rather stultified by the lack of things to do, Spark decided to do the only thing she could; eavesdrop. Besides, her father hadn't told her that she couldn't...

They were speaking in low voices —not exactly a whisper, but she couldn't heard any words either. Suddenly, as if he had noticed her listening intently, Father meowed loudly: "So, how's your sister's kits?"

Minnow purred, speaking at the same volume. "Rascallions they are, but they're growing up nice and strong. Apple and Timmy are as proud as ever."

Mickey nodded vigorously. "You know, I..."

The voices trailed off as Spark stopped observing them. Disappointed, she laid down and curled up, ready for the long haul.

After it seemed like forever had passed, the three grown cats' conversation wrapped up and Father left the stone slab. Spark could feel eyes burning holes into her pelt and wondered if it was Mickey, Minnow, or both.

"Thank you. We will be leaving now," her father meowed formally.

A hop, skip, and a tiring trek later the two reached their own den. It was a simple thing, no more than a slightly roomy area beneath huge protruding roots of a beech and an even less spacious hollow that Spark's father had dug beneath the crook.

"Why were they looking at me like that?" Spark asked after she finally found the right words to use.

Her father looked surprised. "Who?"

"Don't act like you didn't notice it! Mickey and Minnow!" the she-cat snapped, her temper already aflaming at his stupid "I-don't-know" act that he'd used ten thousand times too many. A small, niggling voice in her head told her that she was being stupid for getting angry over such a little thing, but she ignored it.

"All cats are wary of strangers in their territory," Father meowed gently, though to Spark's ears it sounded like he was just trying to coat the actual answer in honey.

"But not with you. And plus, they invited us!"

"Even if you invited someone, you'd still be careful."

"No, because I would only let someone I trust into my own land."

Her father watched her silently.

"Well? Answer me!" A thought sprung into Spark's head, and she added stiffly, "it's the same reason, isn't it?"

Father looked even more confused, but his daughter ranted on.

"That's why she abandoned me! That's why everyone I meet in the forest doesn't trust me, as if I'm suddenly going to murder them!" Spark fluffed up her pelt, hissing. "Mother left us for some reason I don't know, some reason I probably can't help, and I'm not even accepted. You won't let me get anywhere near other cats unless it's for your sake!" The ginger cat growled deep in her throat, suddenly feeling the emptiness of having only one parent even stronger. She wanted to cry out: It's not my fault! But instead she just stopped, breathing heavily, waiting for an answer from her semi-stunned father.

The tom closed his eyes, suddenly looking older and wearier than he was. Spark could hear a sharp inhalation.

"I'll tell you when you're ready."

Well, this time he wasn't denying it. But he wasn't giving any answers either. Frustrated, Spark tore at the ground with her unsheathed claws, unrooting strands of grass and tossing them aside in swift movements. The sharp weapons on the end of her paws left gouges in the compacted earth. "How long will that be?"

"Quite a while."

"I'm not going to wait that long! How long will it be? Moons? Seasons? Years?"

"Then prove to me that you can handle it early," Father replied steadily. He slipped past her into the dugout —it was her turn to sleep in the fork— and curled up, ready to sleep. "You're going to rest for a few days, and then we'll have another lesson," he said, his voice slightly muffled, his tone that of someone who didn't want to discuss anything anymore.

Things seemed to have calmed down a bit, and Spark was subconsciously aware of her rapidly thumping heart as it slowed down to a normal beat.

She sighed quietly. "Yes, father," she meowed, her mind clearing itself of her earlier rage; all she felt now was shame. Spark looked up at the sky, seeing stray strands of red streaking through the dark —though moon-lit— firmament. It had a slightly ominous look to it, a pale silver unguis illuminated with crimson blood. The she-cat tried to shake away the disturbing thoughts pricking at the edge of her mind like sinister, teasing fangs. It was just the sky. It had nothing to do with her Father's... secret.

She didn't feel sleepy, but nestled herself in to the crook of the beech root nonetheless and shut her eyes, willing for sleep to come quickly and rid her of her unease. But it didn't, and as the moments passed, Spark silently made a vow:

I'll prove it to you, Father. I'll prove that I can handle this truth, what ever there is to handle... or else I will find out myself.