ˁᴵᴳᴴᵀᴸᴱˁˁ ᴱʸᴱˁ

StoneClan is aptly named. Hard as stone, their survival instincts have helped them survive in their snowy, icy, mountainous home. They reject the weak and welcome the strong. Any warrior who retries from their duties is forced to leave. Any warrior who is lethally injured in battle abandoned. Any kit born with some hindrance that would make it difficult to provide for the Clan is left alone to die.

Spiderkit is born blind, and is subject to such a fate. His mother tries desperately to hide it, but fails. The poor kit is abandoned out in the snow to freeze to death, but is discovered by a rogue named Sansa. Sansa recently lost kits of her own and decides to raise Spiderkit as her own. As he grows, he is visited by StarClan and soon learns that he may have a destiny unlike any cat before him.

I apologize ahead of time if you see any of these [I][/I] in the writing. I posted this on another website and in order for italics to work there, those need to be placed. Please just ignore them. I try to take them all out, but I may have missed one, so... Sorry.

I do not own the idea of Warriors. I created these Clans and the cats inside them, but the credit of the idea of the Clans and the cats goes to Erin Hunter.

Prologue

"Hang on, little ones," a tortoiseshell she-cat pleaded as she slid into an abandoned badger set. Her flanks rose and fell rapidly as she struggled for breath. She sank her claws into the musty, decaying leaves that were littered across the floor as another contraction ravaged her body. She gritted her teeth together to keep from crying out. Giving birth to kits had never been her favorite thing, but the rewards far outweighed the pain... usually. She loved kits in general, and spent all the time she could in the nursery. All she wanted was to be a loving, gentle mother, and so far, she had fulfilled that desire. This was going to be her fourth litter now, but she could feel that something wasn't right. Of course, she was older now—about thirty-eight moons, but that didn't mean that she wasn't physically capable of giving birth. There were queens in her Clan that were much older and had had many more litters than she, and they had been able to do so without complication. Despite this, she feared that this foreboding feeling had something to do with her body's condition. She had been so sore lately around her haunches, but it hadn't worried her—she was pregnant and she-cats would have aches and pains during that time, but this was a different kind of pain. Before, she had dismissed it, but now that it had intensified, it was impossible to ignore. Normally, she would have remained with her Clan and would have had the Clan healer, or medicine cat, look after her. He would assess her condition and help her through the birth, but she had refrained from doing so. She could sense that there was something wrong here, and she did not want her Clan to witness this birth.

StoneClan was a Clan with survival instincts as hard as stone. They were the strongest out of the four Clans, and were the best suited to their environment. StoneClan inhabited the high, icy mountain ranges of the north, and patrolled a large, barren territory daily. They hunted eagles, hares, mice, lemmings—anything they could find and sink their claws into. Survival was their goal, and to achieve it, they had to make sacrifices. Even though the other Clans sometimes viewed their practices to be barbaric, they did nothing to stop them. They knew that StoneClan had the harshest territory and had to do whatever it took to stay alive, so they allowed them to toss out the cats that could not look after themselves; the old, the lethally wounded, and the young that had little chance of living. Every time a cat retired from their warrior duties, they were sent out of the Clan to fend for themselves. Whenever a kit was born with any hindrance that would prevent them from helping the Clan, they would be taken out of the Clan and abandoned to whatever fate StarClan gave them.

The tortoiseshell she-cat had been thinking of this before she had gone into labor. She could not explain the feeling she had received, but she just knew that something was wrong. As she lay in the badger set, beleaguered with pain, she could not help but think of a small, helpless kit, abandoned to die in the middle of the snowy, mountainous region. The image soon disappeared as another contraction brutalized her. She could focus on nothing now, but the task at hand; she could not afford to think of anything else.

After about half a sun-shift of grueling pain, she felt one of the tiny bodies inside her edge its way into the world. The newborn slipped out onto the damp leaves, and the she-cat rushed to attend to it. She picked it up by the scruff and brought it to her belly. After she gave it a few quick licks, the tiny thing let out a squeak in response to her rough tongue. The queen let out a small purr and nudged it toward her belly. The kit was a mottled black tom, and she immediately came up with a fitting name: Spiderkit.

Shortly afterward, she felt another kit move, and she began to push. A second kit slid out into the den, but this one was practically drenched in afterbirth. She gave the young kit a few licks, but she soon found that it was no use: the kit was still-born. This is what was wrong, she she-cat thought with horror. knew that there was something foul going on inside of me! Is StarClan punishing me for something? Why else would my kit be sent to our ancestors before it could take its first gulp of air?

The queen had little time to grieve for her dead kit—another was on the way. Bracing herself, she pushed for a third, and final time. Her efforts were rewarded as a third kit was born. To her dismay, this kit was also a still-born. Great StarClan, no! she thought pleadingly, a contrite wail rising in her throat. Do not take two of my kits from me! Her thoughts were in vain—the spirits of the two were long gone now and were not coming back. The mother pulled her two lifeless kits to her belly with the one surviving tom and licked the afterbirth off of their pelts. She cradled them close to her body as her first-born suckled hungrily. At least he was alive and strong.

"You look so strong, Spiderkit," the she-cat breathed. She was relieved that at least one kit would be alright. "You will be an asset to StoneClan. I know you will be. You will be a great, fantastic warrior! The Clan will hail you and your deeds and one day, you will be our leader. You are strong, Spiderkit. You are a survivor."

With a heavy heart, the she-cat left her two still-born kits in the badger set when it came time to leave. She had spent two days in the smelly hole and it was finally time to return home. The she-cat carried him easily by the scruff up the mountainside. She had traveled quite a ways down so that she would have less chance of one of her Clan-mates stumbling upon her birthing site, and now she had to scale the mountain to get back to her camp.

Spiderkit dangled from her jaws, limp. The queen knew how to handle kits, and she knew that carrying him this way would relax him—he wouldn't fuss or make noise, but be quiet and enjoy the journey. The one thing she did worry about, however, was the icy air that constantly slapped her in the face. It was still leaf-fall—leaf-bare was about a moon away—but the wind had an unforgiving, chilling slice to it. The last thing the queen wanted was to have her one, surviving kit freeze to death. My other two kits lost their lives because of me… I do not want Spiderkit to die as well because of my stupidity!

The she-cat had tried to keep going, but when ominous, leaden clouds gathered overheard, the she-cat had no choice but to find shelter. It was underneath a half-uprooted spruce that she found it. Where the tree's long roots had once burrowed into the ground was now a relatively large crater that would protect them from the storm that was brewing in the sky. The queen had her son huddled close together in the small shelter as thunder boomed and lighting flashed across the sky, illuminating the open, almost barren forest that lay just outside the den. Water poured down from the sky, splattering against the mountainside. The she-cat had picked a good place to rest—the rainwater did not flow inside of the den, but around it; the part of the tree that was still firmly planted in the hillside provided as a buffer, causing the water to go around rather than to drip inside the den.

The squall lasted the night, and by the time dawn broke in the east, the clouds had mostly moved on, taking the rain, the thunder, and the lightning with them. The queen emerged from the den, alone at first, and surveyed the surrounding area. She gazed up at the mountain and could just barely see the large ledge that jutted out from the mostly smooth surface. That ledge led into the cave where the StoneClan warriors lived. It was about half a day's travel, but the she-cat would have to stop periodically to nurse her newborn, so it would take even longer. She suddenly began to regret picking a den so far away from the camp to give birth—she didn't remember it being so far when she had reached it. In fact, it seemed rather near her Clan. Of course when that went on, you were going downhill and you were running as fast as you could, she reminded herself.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the day ahead of her. She was exhausted from the physical strain she had been under the past few days, and she couldn't even remember the last time she had eaten or drank something. A part of her was tempted to seek out those necessities, but she soon dissuaded herself. She couldn't just leave her kit here alone! The sooner she got him back to camp, the better. But will they accept him? I don't even know if they'll take me back. My actions have been a little more than suspicious… Shaking her head, she returned to the makeshift den where her son slept peacefully. She gazed down at him fondly and determination suddenly flooded her. She could do this, and if her Clan refused him, she wouldn't let him die. She would take care of him no matter what they said.

"Berryfur!" a warrior hailed the queen as she finally reached the camp entrance. "It's good to see you again! Where did you run off to? We all thought that you had been carried off by an eagle or something!"

Berryfur didn't reply—she dared not set her kit down on the cold stone ledge. She simply walked past the young warrior and stepped into the dark tunnel that led into the camp. Here, she had to rely on her senses to lead her to the main cavern where the Clan lived. It wasn't difficult—she knew their home like the back of her paw—but she didn't want to make a mistake now.

She reached the main cavern without any problems, but all conversation came to a sudden halt when she entered. The cave, which was mostly made up of monotonous, gray stone was full of cats of different colors, breeds, and sizes. The roof of the cave was studded with gems and crystals that reflected off one another and provided a minimal amount of light. It took a cat a few moments for their eyes to get adjusted to the new darkness, but once it happened, they could easily see their surroundings, and the cats that were present in the main cavern could clearly see Berryfur standing there with a single kit in her jaws. No one moved or spoke for a few heartbeats before one of the other queens bounded over to her. Berryfur knew the she-cat well, and trusted her enough to follow her into the nursery.

The nursery was in a separate cave that branched off from the main cavern, and was relatively safe from predators, but Berryfur knew that it wasn't safe from the predators within her very own Clan. Once Spiderkit was situated in nest made of moss and feathers, Berryfur looked to the queen who had greeted her and took a deep breath. "He is the only survivor," she admitted, trying to keep her voice void of emotion. "He is strong."

The other queen—a pretty tawny-furred she-cat—gave her a quick nod. "I understand. I believe you when you say he is strong—Falconwing is a strong tom. I'm sure he'll be proud of his son. What happened to the others?"

Berryfur avoided the she-cat's gaze as she replied, "They were… still-borns."

Sympathy flashed in the other queen's eyes. "I see… Nettlestar will want to look at him personally," she mewed, flicking her tail to the small black tom.

A jolt of fear shot through Berryfur at that. Nettlestar, the Clan leader, was as cold and as hard as the mountain itself. He was very strict about who lived in his Clan, how healthy they were, and how they performed as warriors. If he found one thing wrong about her son, who came from a litter of still-born kits, Spiderkit would have no chance of staying in StoneClan.

Berryfur heard her leader's paw-steps as he descended down the small shaft that led to the nursery. She saw him a few moments later, his green eyes shining in the shadows of the small cave. The large, golden tabby tom entered the cave slowly, gazing around in a systematic manner—he knew why he was here, and he saw that Berryfur aware as well. There was no need for explanation as the broad-shouldered leader padded over to Spiderkit. He gave him a quick sniff before looking to the mother. "Was he the only kit?"

The queen gulped nervously and looked to her companion for help, but the tawny she-cat remained detached from the affair, staying close to her own litter that squirmed about in their nest. She took a deep breath before looking at Nettlestar evenly. "He is one of three… The other two kits…" she paused; she could tell him that they had died of the cold, but even that would indicate weakness. If she told him differently, the tawny-furred queen would surely correct her. "They were born dead," she finally finished with a heavy heart. Did she just sentence her son to death?

Nettlestar narrowed his eyes and nudged Spiderkit with his nose. The tom let out a squeak of protest. Berryfur prayed that he could tell that the cat near him was not his mother. Spiderkit must have realized that he did not bear his mother's scent of milk, for he bared his tiny fangs at the leader. The older tom let out a small chuckle. "He seems like a fighter."

Berryfur let out a quivering breath that she had not known she had been holding. Nettlestar looked at her coldly and walked away from her kit. She relaxed as he headed toward the den exit, but he paused at the mouth of the tunnel and turned to face her. "I will be keeping an eye on him," he meowed simply before disappearing back into the tunnel leading main cavern.

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