Prologue
Five cats walked through that forest. With practiced ease and agility, they weaved through clusters of undergrowth and leapt over fallen logs. However, their pace was slow. Cautious. None of them dared make a sound, ears pricked intently on their surroundings. The only thing breaking the uneasy silence of the group was the low hum of crickets and the restless movement of night-dwelling birds in the canopy above. Slivers of moonlight peeked through oak and maple leaves, casting pale cat-claw markings on the cats' rugged, longhaired coats.
In lead was a tortoiseshell-and-white molly, golden eyes piercing the darkness. Unlike the others, her body was relaxed, her face placid—almost vacant of emotion. Her long, thin whiskers twitched only occasionally when she happened to detect the movement of a mouse nearby.
An aged tom, who looked anything other than tranquil, remained at her flank. His orange hues flickered to their surroundings, even at the slightest of sounds. An intense, nervous expression was etched across his silvering features. He was the first to break the tense quiet, though his voice was hardly above a whisper. Behind him, a ginger tom startled. "Are you sure you know where you're going?"
As if she'd anticipated the question, the calico molly responded immediately, "We're nearly there. I wouldn't drag you out here if I couldn't remember."
"I hope to StarClan above this is worth it," a tortoiseshell grumbled behind them, golden eyes flashing. "You ought to know that I was assigned for dawn patrol tomorrow, so I can't waste precious shut-eye on cats who cry fox…"
The ginger tom at her side murmured his agreement in an equal amount of bitterness. He was still making an attempt at smoothing his fur down.
"I take these matters seriously," the calico assured, struggling to keep the edge out of her voice.
The gray-and-white patched molly at the far back looked the least concerned, aside from the cat in lead. "If it means anything, I trust you," she called.
"Well, I'm her sister. I get to be pissy with her as I please," the tortoiseshell spat. The patched molly only giggled softly in response.
As the ginger tom opened his mouth to add in his opinion, the gray tabby cut in. "Quiet, all of you. I understand that we've interrupted your sleep, but this is a serious case and—"
"We don't even know what this serious case is, though," the ginger tom butt in, looking irritated. His voice was still hoarse with exhaustion. "You just said that you'd elaborate as we got there, but you haven't explained foxdung."
The gray tabby shot him a glare, and he flinched. "I mean—with all due respect, sir…" he added quietly.
There was a long stretch of silence in return. Having leapt over a large, moss-covered log, and all but the calico jumping in alarm at an undetected mouse, the gray tabby and the molly apparently felt no need to respond. The other three shared puzzled and annoyed looks.
When it became almost suffocating, the gray tabby finally opted to speak, "Well-"
"No. They can use their eyes," the tortoiseshell-and-white said flatly, pelt prickling with irritability. "The longer we doddle with chatter, the longer it'll take to get there."
The four other cats gave her an almost dismayed look, losing the voices in their throats. Wordlessly, they obliged to her word, and continued trekking after her. The forest's eerie ambience only made the dread pooling in their stomachs fester.
. . . . . . .
It felt like moons had passed by the time they reached their destination.
A tunnel, made out of a hard, almost stone-like surface yawned before them. Lying several whiskers above it was the Thunderpath. It was silent. Vacant of life.
"Is this the place?" the gray tabby asked slowly. He wasn't the only one that looked nervous.
The molly in lead took a step forward to sniff at the damp ground before the tunnel's mouth, her brows creased in confusion. She didn't respond.
"Well?" her sister huffed.
"It…" She lifted her head, staring at the entrance. For the first time in the entire night, true emotion etched her features. Dismay. "I could have sworn…"
The ginger tabby tom groaned, "StarClan's sake! I knew we shouldn't have trusted her!"
"Silence, Foxfur," the gray tabby snapped. He then shifted his attention back to the molly. He frowned at her quizzically as she continued to pace, sniffing at every corner of the entrance. Her tail began to lash as she became more and more agitated. "This is the place, isn't it?"
The calico whirled to face them, hackles raised. "Of course it is!"
"Then what in Silverpelt's name is so special about this place?" the tortoiseshell asked, eyes narrowed. "Was this really worth dragging an entire patrol over here?"
"They have a point…" the gray-and-white patched cat murmured, striding closer. Her tone was significantly gentler than the others'. "Why did you bring us here?"
She stared at all four of them. Her mouth was open, as if she were struggling with an answer. Now that they were at the edge of the forest, the night seemed more blatantly silent. Not even the crickets dared make a sound. Nothing moved on the Thunderpath's surface. The tunnel was equally as still. Finally, she heaved out a breath. She straightened up to recollect herself. She gazed at them all flatly, her face resuming its empty expression.
"I found a body here. A cat's body, but of which Clan they belonged to, I couldn't tell. They were ripped to shreds so brutally that I couldn't make out any specific details, and their body was covered in the scent of ShadowClan."
They stared at her, stunned. They then stared at her paws, where they assumed the body might have been.
"But…" The patched molly was the first to speak. "If they were covered in ShadowClan's scent, wouldn't they be a member of ShadowClan?"
"Their pelt wasn't dark enough," the molly elaborated. "And, seeing as the body was located right in front of ShadowClan's tunnel, it'd be fair to assume…"
"...They were chased out and murdered," the gray tabby finished. His orange eyes were as wide as full moons.
She nodded slowly. They all exchanged nervous glances.
"But if a body was here, where's all the blood?" the tortoiseshell asked quietly. Her voice wavered ever so slightly. "And I don't smell anything but the rank scent of the Thunderpath..there's no signs of a scuffle…"
The tortoiseshell-and-white sighed, looking back to the tunnel. "I have no idea. That's the one thing I can't tell you. It was here when I left to fetch you. That's...that's all I know."
Foxfur stepped back, fluffed up to twice his size. "I-I don't like this," he whimpered. "W-we should head back, before...s-something happens to us, too."
"No." The gray tabby didn't look in his direction, his voice firm. "We're investigating every stretch of this area. If what she says is true, we need to get every scrap of information possible."
The calico looked away, directing her attention to the Thunderpath as they began to converse. Her tail swished idly behind her, claws sheathing and unsheathing into the soil. The only sign of her rising anxiety.
Grinding her teeth, she put her paws on the small, grassy slope. She began to heave herself up to the 'path, her breathing shallow. When she finally reached the top, her golden eyes traced the glossy black surface. She averted her attention to either end of it, in search of the telltale eyes she'd heard in folkstories. Up here, she felt exposed. The rank scent of toxic, hot fumes muffled her senses and made her eyes burn. Even so, she remained.
A loud voice split the air, jarring her from her concentration. "Hey! Be careful up there!"
She glanced over her shoulder. Down below, the patrol was looking at her with concerned eyes. It was her sister who had spoken, looking especially on edge.
"I'm investigating. Keep your tail on," she retorted. She shifted her attention back to the road. Her lungs constricted.
"Can you see anything?" the patched molly queried.
Her response was delayed. After staring at the Thunderpath for a little too long, she eyed her far right. Something in the distance caught her attention. "...Graystar, I think you should take a look at this."
Her sister asked slowly, "Should we head up there, too?"
"No! Nope!" Foxfur interrupted, voice high with fear. "We'll, uh, we'll s-stay down here and watch your backs, just—just in case!"
"Foxfur's right. You three stay down here. We won't be long," Graystar commanded.
The calico's eyes still hadn't strayed from the Thunderpath. Graystar heaved himself up after her, leaving the remainder to stay put. They shifted nervously into defensive positions, eyes locked onto the undergrowth and the tunnel. When he finally got up beside her, he knitted his brows together. His snout wrinkled in revulsion at the smell. His orange hues traced the surface, following her gaze.
After a pause, he said, "I don't...see anything."
"Follow me," she murmured, voice void of emotion. She began to walk onto the Thunderpath, her pads burning on its uncomfortable surface. Hesitantly, the aged tom followed suit.
They'd nearly reached the middle, when—
A blazing white light showered upon them, spotlighting their forms.
Graystar whirled to face the source, eyes wide and mouth agape. The molly turned, blinded by instinct, and sprinted at him.
Before she could make impact, however, a blurred figure appeared, grabbing the leader roughly by the scruff. They heaved the gray tabby out of the way, leaving the calico out in the open. Her eyes went wide with alarm as a horrible, muffling roar filled her ears, making them ring and her head throb. Panic sliced through her, making her legs pump faster.
The grass was only several fox-lengths away.
She made one last desperate leap...
"Ch—!"
A scream rang out.
A thud.
Darkness.