Entry for Flamespirit-eth's, now known as Little Black Inkblot, one-shot challenge at Tainted's Domain. Go there for details.

"Darkstripe."

I turn over in my nest, my ear flicking irritably at the voice. It continues murmuring my name, over and over, hauntingly familiar.

"Darkstripe."

The voice grows insistent, louder, harder, I turn over trying to block it out. Through clenched teeth, I mutter, "Stop ... stop ..."

"Darkstripe!"

The voice is different now. I look up. I see a white tom standing over me, his eyes full of contempt.

"What are you doing?" he asks coldly. Without waiting for an answer, he continues, "You've been saying 'stop' all night. Go out and hunt or something, so that some of us can get some sleep!"

I nod and oblige, though I don't want to. It's just past moonhigh. The shadows, all those shadows, frighten me. They didn't use to, but that was before her voice started to follow me. I can't help but think that ever shadow might hide her.

I slip out of camp, listening to the river that surrounds it gurgle. Down river, it is choked with the carcasses of prey, the animals' bones removed to build the Bonehill.

Eyes narrowed, I pad in the opposite direction of the Bonehill. I always feel vomit creep up my throat when I see it. Maybe a night-time hunt would calm me down ...

I scent the air every few steps. It takes me a long time before I catch the smell of mouse. It comes from a clump of grass ahead. I drop into a hunter's crouch, and prowl forward. I see the little gray-brown animal now. It scuffles sleepily in the grass, unaware of the danger it is in – with a purr of delight, I pounce and feel my claws sink into its flesh. It squeals, then falls silent.

I smile, and bury it so that I can take it later. As I do this, I begin to think. The voice I heard – it could have been an after-affect of a nightmare. Yes, that must be it. An after-affect of one of those strange nightmares you can't quite remember when you wake up ... what was I worrying about?

"Darkstripe."

Oh yeah, that was what I was so worried about.

All the breath disappears from my lungs in fright. What's going on?

"Darkstripe ... you left them ..."

The voice, so soft, so full of hate ... I try to walk away from the voice, but it is in vain.

"Darkstripe, why did you help Tigerstar?"

I quicken my pace, staring straight ahead. The voice grows more insistent, rising in volume.

"Darkstripe, are your friends and their kin more important than your kits? So much more important that you would leave your kits behind to be attacked by dogs, just so you could save your friend's son and daughter?"

I begin to run now. I want to hide, I want to hurt whatever belongs to that voice, as much as it hurts me now.

"Are they more important than me?"

"Who are you?" I screech suddenly. "Whoever you are, stop it!"

"You know who I am," the voice replies quietly. "Or are you as stupid as your actions suggest?"

I stop. I know that there is no longer a point in running, so I try and steady my trembling body as I sit down. I look around, the stark white full moon washing everything within my field of vision with silvery light, but there is no sign of another cat here.

"W-Why?" I ask the voice. "Why are you following me?"

The voice contemplates its answer for a moment before responding. "'The road to hell is paved with good intentions.' You might have started out with good intentions. You might have thought that there would be no harm in helping your friend, but you knew about the dogs. If you had remained loyal to your Clan – to me – you could have stopped mine and Bluestar's deaths." The voice stops for a moment, choosing its words before it continues. "I'm going to haunt you until the day you die, for leaving your kits – our kits – behind."

I knew the voice was going to specify who I'd left behind, and where.

"Ashpaw and Fernpaw needed your help to cope with my death. But you left–"

"I was exiled!" I object loudly. "I had no choice!"

"You were exiled for attempted murder!" the voice shoots back. "You tried to kill a kit who saw you speaking with a cat from an enemy Clan, something you could avoid!"

I flinch. The voice has a point, but still I say, "I can explain ..."

"No, you can't. There's nothing to explain." Then, the voice stops for a moment, before adding, "Darkstripe, welcome to hell."

—

I open my eyes. Sunlight pours into the den, revealing the fact that I am the only one still there. I get to my paws and stretch, still blinking from that strange dream. Why would she haunt me after her death? She can't, even if she wants to. She hunts with StarClan now, after all.

As I leave the den, my stomach rumbles. I head in the direction of the fresh-kill pile, passing a litter of frolicking kits, a small group of heavily-pregnant queens, a knot of elders, and a few warriors on my way. I'm nearly there when a flurry of movement catches my eye. I turn my head to look in the direction I saw the movement, and my heart skips a beat.

Standing in the shadows of RiverClan camp is a gray tabby she-cat, her blue eyes gleaming in the darkness. There is a smile on her pretty face ... yet she does not seem real. I can see right through her, to the reeds that surround the camp. Suddenly, the smile of her face transforms into a snarl, her hackles rise, her teeth bared.

I take an alarmed step backward. But, as soon as she had appeared, the tabby was gone. Mind reeling, I stared at the spot where, moments before, she had been standing. There is no sign of paw prints there. I know who the tabby is.

Brindleface.

My mate.

My mate who had been slaughtered to feed the dogs.

I remember the dream I had last night. Was it really a dream? I wonder, still staring at the place Brindleface had been standing. Or was it real? And is Brindleface really haunting me ... or is just my imagination?

"Darkstripe!"

I jump at the sound of my name, and whip around. Blackfoot and Jaggedtooth are standing behind me. Blackfoot has a grumpy look on his face, but Jaggedtooth is smiling.

"Hunting patrol," Blackfoot says with a jerk of the head in the direction of the camp entrance. I open my mouth to say that I want to eat first, but he snaps back without waiting for my reply, "And don't think you can weasel out of it because you went hunting last night!"

I suddenly stop. So ... it wasn't a dream after all?

As Blackfoot turns away to leave camp, Jaggedtooth jerks his head in the same direction before following. I stand there for a few minutes. Was that voice actually Brindleface? Was what happened real? Or am I going insane?

I would just have to wait and see.