PROLOGUE

Baddum… baddum… baddum…

It was so rapid that he barely had enough time to listen. That pounding, that life, that flicker–so strong, yet so weak, as if it could be taken away in an instant. For a long time, the cat didn't know what was blaring in his ears. He just listened to it, trying to calm the fear in his chest and overcome the blind darkness around him.

Baddum baddum… baddum baddum baddum…

Now there were more pounding noises. The weaker one, the flickering one, was joined by many more, its symphony of pounds scarce against the others.

"W-what's going on?"

That was his voice, he knew deep down, but for a long time that notion barely connected. He had been trying to talk, trying to free himself from the dream prison, and yet, even as the muteness began to subside, nothing had come out except for squeaks. It was as though a thief had stolen his voice, replacing it with those pitiful noises. Now, after all of his effort, a feeble whisper resulted. The strong, mature voice of a warrior had shrunk into an apprentice-like yelp without him even knowing.

There was no answer as the beats, one by one, became quieter. Their strength was somehow still evident, even as the noises squelched into thin whispers. And then there was only one—the first. Its rhythm was slow and weak, as minute as one blade of grass among millions. One second between the next beat became three, then nine… until there was nothing.

Again, the warrior spoke, this time saying, "What was that?" and again his voice barely stood up to a newborn kit's weakest mewls.

"You should know, Grassheart, my loyal servant. Any hunter of prey would…"

The warrior's voice was stolen once again, as though this black world was making sure that he had time to think. That voice—he knew it. That voice was so familiar. It was kind and gentle and tender, a voice that he'd heard so many times… a voice that he loved without end.

That was when, in a pop, the blackness dissipated so quickly that Grassheart uttered a sharp gasp. In the darkness's place was a vast stretch of land. It formed before his eyes—bit by bit, flower by flower, one blade of grass and then the next—until everything was crafted and all was still.

Warm sunlight fell on Grassheart's cheek, weaving its way through his soft cream fur and caressing his skin like a queen's tender lick. In contrast, a cool breeze hit his side, blowing in blossom-scented curls that weaved and wrapped. By then, it should have left, and yet it remained, its chill sinking away to reveal a glow of warmth. Comfort lulled Grassheart's worries and he turned his head, curious as to the source of this happiness, life, and presence.

There, at his side, the wind solidified, its transparent life filled by blood and wrappings of flesh and muscle and bone. The wind was a clear outline around the flesh, flourishing in place until it found perfect form: soft, thick brown fur covered in the faintest of swirls.

In place of the wind was a she-cat that smelled of the forest. Leaves and branches clung to her thick fur, but never did she seem unclean—on the contrary. This cat seemed refreshed and renewed by the forest. It was a part of her.

And there was only one cat that Grassheart knew that wore the forest like an accessory—

"Larkstar?"

The she-cat turned her head and directed that piercing sapphire gaze into Grassheart. He could see so much in those eyes—past pain, motherly love, intelligence beyond her many years. No matter how ancient Larkstar really was, Grassheart had never seen her as old. Age never crossed his mind when he saw her. When Grassheart saw his leader, he saw elegance and beauty. He saw the young leader that had made him blush as an apprentice.

"Grassheart," she whispered, her lighthearted tone strained, her blue eyes filled with a sadness that Grassheart had never seen. "There is so much to explain and so little time. In minutes, my journey will be complete."

Grassheart felt a cold hand of fear clutch his heart. He couldn't say why he was scared or why his voice was shaking when he said, "Larkstar… what are you talking about? What journey?"

His leader smiled, as though she knew so much more than her clanmate, and looked forward at the landscape before her.

"Ah. The journey that every cat walks, some shorter, some longer, is the one I speak of. I can see the end of my own—but yours… yours is filled with more hardships than you could imagine. It will be long and pained, I can tell you. And I am so sorry that this weight must be passed to your shoulders."

"L-Larkstar… this isn't the time to be speaking in poems—"

"Listen closely, Grassheart…" she murmured tenderly, her long tail flicking as it always did when Larkstar silently called for quiet. With another small smile, she sat down, gesturing for the warrior to do the same, and looked at the sky. Rapidly, the sky was darkening and the sun was lowering, but Larkstar looked as if she was savoring each unnaturally fast moment.

Then she opened her mouth to murmur in her melodic tone:

"During calamity, four will turn to five, and wind will finally join the incarnations of shadow, sky, thunder, and river...
But vying for a home will be two, not one, and only a single Clan can prevail.
Each has a rightful place, but there cannot be two.
A battle that cannot be escaped will follow, and during this time water will turn to blood in the land saved for wind."

Grassheart opened his mouth but, as always, Larkstar acted faster. Her gaze darted to the ever-darkening sky above, and she shook her head. "This is what StarClan has told me. If all is chosen correctly, seven seasons of peace shall ensue—but what shall happen after that? One wrong move and seven moons of destruction will come to pass—but the same question remains as the last. What shall happen after those seven moons? Everything will be in danger—your Clan, your family, your life, and the life of all others, no matter what you choose."

A thin stream of words came from Grassheart's lips—babbles of confusion—and, yet again, Larkstar silenced him: "Time is of essence, Grassheart. In my own words, I ask you to remember one more thing…"

An explosion of stars burst through the sky, and with it Larkstar looked upwards, her eyes twinkling with delight. "Yes, my love… I'm coming to you," she whispered absently. There, just below her paws, a trail of gold, silver, and white constellations met in a trail towards the sky. As if in a trance, Larkstar took a step forward, and then another, before abruptly snapping from her fantasy.

Larkstar's sapphire eyes twinkled like the stars that were below her feet as she turned to look over her shoulder. The longer that she stayed on the trail of stars, the more stars jumped into her fur like fireflies.

"Follow your heart, as you have always done," Larkstar called, her voice raised as high as it would go, but still distant. "Just because your name will change… doesn't mean that you should forget the reason why you were Grassheart!"

With a shivering gasp, Grassheart's mind whirred into wakefulness. There he was, perfectly warm and comfortable in the middle of the mass of warriors.

One thing that he did know was that the dream was not just that. "Dream" couldn't even begin to explain what Grassheart had just seen. Some of that was real. And he forced himself to think some instead of all because that would mean…

His heart skipped a beat, leaping into his throat. He pulled himself up, ignoring the moans of warriors around him, and shook sleepiness from his eyes.

Grassheart's paws barely worked, but he forced them to move forward. Tripping and falling became common by the time he had thrown himself from the mass of warriors.

The tom burst into a run, cold air nipping at his shoulders, stars blinking above him. He heard someone—her—asking him things, trying to keep up with his pace, but just couldn't stop. Grassheart had to get there.

He had to get to the Great Cedar. He had to see…

Then the smell—a strong hint of death mingling with the sweetest forest scent…

No. Please, StarClan, no.

Grassheart could hear the cat that he loved choke down a sob as she ran alongside him. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see tears filling her brown eyes. She'd been through too much—she didn't need to see what was coming.

What isn't coming, Grassheart forced.

But the death scent was getting stronger and stronger… He could feel tears filling his own eyes…

Grassheart tore through the brambles reinforcing Larkstar's den, disregarding the warm blood that trickled down his back.

He heard Smallsong's sob before he could connect what had happened. He felt the sprinkling of Smallsong's tears before his own eyes could fill completely. He heard his love scream, "Not you, too, mother!" before he could even think of comforting her.

Grassheart's knees gave out beneath him and he fell headfirst into Larkstar's soft fur, trying to hide the tears—the tears of sadness, the tears of confusion, and the tears of being overwhelmed.

If this came true, then what else would?

AUTHOR NOTE: I hope that you enjoyed, but heck, even if you didn't, I want you to tell me why! Remember that critiques, reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated, and that I also appreciate that you read! There's a lot more to come!

DISCLAIMER: The series that this is based off of, Warriors, belongs to the one and only Erin Hunter – however, the characters, Clan, and most of the setting belongs to me, Miss Kisharoo.