Silverpelt shone on the silent forest below. It was an especially dark night for the moon had waned. In the looming forest stalked five cats, wide eyed with ears pricked. Leading the group was a large brown tom with a single black stripe along his spine. His eyes paused in their restless search and he opened his jaws to taste the air.
"Come on Duststripe," a small black-and-white she-cat hissed. "Let's head back. Thunderclan wouldn't dare attack us at night."
The cat called Duststripe narrowed his eyes. "Don't be mousebrained, Sharpears!" he snapped. "We were beaten last time because we were too soft." He uttered a low snarl. "I will not allow us to be defeated again!"
A golden she-cat shuffled her paws restlessly before speaking up. "This is Mudpaw's first moonhigh patrol, Duststripe," she murmured, nodding at a small brown tom with similarly coloured eyes. He lifted his head in acknowledgement but said nothing.
"Leopardclaw is right," piped up a grey she-cat with green eyes. "There isn't any sign of Thunderclan anyway."
Duststripe let out a long sigh. "Alright Streamfur, let's head back."
Before the band of cats could move, however, Sharpears suddenly stiffened. "Wait," she hissed. "I hear something."
"What is it?" demanded Dustripe.
"This way!" she called as she turned and pelted farther into the forest.
"Wait, you reckless mousebrain!" yowled Leapardclaw.
The group of cats followed their companion until they erupted into a marshy field. The buzzing of flies and the croaking of toads echoed throughout the bog.
Sharpears splashed forward into the marsh, determined to find the source of the sound. Her companions hesitated, more reluctant to get their paws wet. Then their ears pricked as they heard the sound of pitiful mewing close by.
"I smell blood," Mudpaw whispered to Leopardclaw.
"Over here!" Sharpears beckoned the rest of the group impatiently with her tail. She was crouched a few fox lengths from the lakeshore. Duststripe led the group forward to stand beside Sharpears, surprised with what he saw wriggling before them.
A tiny ginger kit with lighter golden smudges was splayed out on the muddy, wet ground. One of its ears was deeply nicked, and blood pulsed from it, pooling around its small body.
Sharpears' lip curled in disgust. "It smells like crowfood!"
"He's all alone, the poor scrap," Streamfur meowed pityingly.
"What should we do, Duststripe?" asked Leapardclaw.
"Bring him back to camp of course!" Streamfur cried.
"We have to look after ourselves, not this tuft of fur!" snapped Sharpears.
Mudpaw said nothing. He bent and sniffed the kit curiously. The others turned to Duststripe. He silently scrutinized the kit as it whimpered helplessly.
Finally he growled, "you're carrying it Streamfur," before turning to stalk away, motioning for his companions to follow. Streamfur delicately dug her teeth into the kit's scruff and scrambled after the others.
The cats padded silently back into the confines of the pine forest. They walked deeper through the gloom until they pushed through a tunnel of brambles and into a large clearing. It was empty except for one small ginger tom crouched in the center. As the group pushed through the thorns he jumped up and padded purposefully to them.
"What do we have here?" he drawled, "Did a Windclan mouse lose its way?" He flicked his tail lazily at the kit whom Streamfur had placed gently at her paws.
It was Dustsripe who replied. "No Littleblaze. We found him on the edge of our territory, in the marshes near Horseplace."
Littleblaze raised his nose and sniffed disdainfully. "Why did you bring it back?"
"We couldn't just leave him to die," Streamfur snapped.
Littleblaze turned on her with eyes lit up with fury. "Unlike you, some of us are loyal only to our clan! Loyal Shadowclan warriors know better than to waste prey on this useless reject," he snarled. Streamfur's hackles raised angrily. Duststripe stepped between them.
"The deed is done," he said to the orange tom. "You should go to Froststar and ask him what to do with it." Turning to Streamfur he murmured swiftly, "take it to Nightfrost."
The grey she-cat glared at Littleblaze for a few more heartbeats before picking up the kit and disappearing into a rocky den a few fox-lengths away.
Littlebaze watched her go before turning his icy blue gaze on Duststripe. "Remember who your deputy is," he murmured quietly before stalking across the clearing and slinking into a crack at the bottom of a large tree.
A large cat with fur as dark as the night sky was curled up in a mossy nest. His dark blue eyes opened when Streamfur pushed her way into the small clearing with a kit in her jaws. He stepped out of his nest as she placed the kit in a patch of soft bedding.
"We found him in the marshes," Streamfur explained as he quietly examined the kit, careful not to touch its dirty fur. "Will...will he be alright, Nightfrost?" She mewed over the black tom's shoulder.
At first Nightfrost acted as if he hadn't heard her. But he sniffed the kit for a moment before he said in a deep voice, "Go fetch some moss filled with water."
Streamfur raced out of the clearing without hesitation. As soon as she left, Nightfrost dipped his head and nosed the small kit between its ears.
He stiffened. He remained crouched and rigid for several heartbeats before lifting his head again. The kit had become silent and it aimed its big amber eyes at Nightfrost's starry ones.
"I will watch over you, for the future of our clan, little rogue," The medicine cat vowed.