Warriors: The predator
Book 1: Red Storm Rise
Prologue:
The nursery lay devoid of life in some kind of horrified scene. Outside the den, stunned warriors crouched on the grass, some with eyes closed, others staring emptily in to space as though their world had just come to an end; and in some cases, it had. They all shared something in common. No one was moving, and it was as though time had stood still within the ThunderClan camp. No one knew what to say. How could someone do this? The thought was shared only by the few capable of thought. It wasn't right. A warrior would never have done this, a single cat thought, head raised to stare desperately in to the brambles of the nursery. The small tom was one of the few stirring, his entire body shaking was guilt and sorrow as he slowly came to terms with the chaos that had descended upon them. They are dead. Although no one had the courage to speak out loud, the words were fresh in the minds of all of those crouched around the clearing. It was true, they knew. But how? No warrior, no, not even a rogue, would be capable of this.
He knew he was the medicine cat. He was supposed to make everything better. Others looked to him for guidance. But he had nothing to say, and the others knew that. He knew it too. And he hated himself for it.
I'm their medicine cat! Why didn't I warn them? Why didn't StarClan warn me? Anger flared through him now, the full force of his fury now released on his ancestors. They were supposed to help the clans. But they just stood by and did nothing while queens and kits were slaughtered in their nests while they slept?
He wanted to snarl with fury, and felt the prickling on his back as his fur rose. This is their fault! He knew it wasn't true. He knew he was the one who was supposed to understand the messages from StarClan and use them to help his clan. He had failed, hadn't he? But what message was there? He shook his head sadly, his fur slowly lying flat again as he tried to focus, his head nothing more than a whirl of thoughts and emotions. Could he truly hate his ancestors? He closed his eyes once more, breathing hard at the bile rising in his throat. This was only the beginning. StarClan hadn't warned him. Ark had warned him. The mysterious tom had come only a few days before.
The silence was broken.
"Cloudfur!" Mudpelt cried. The dark brown tom had pushed his way forward, blundering in shock past his clan mates towards the nursery.
The tom stiffened, his tail shooting up, but could he bring himself to intercept the tom? He had lost the single most important cat to him. So had others, and for them, their kits had died too. Black fur barred the tom's way, and the medicine was relieved that Blackstar was their for the cat. Better the leader than himself.
He began to pad slowly forward, uncomfortably aware of the strong aroma of death and blood coming from the den. Just the night before the kits had been squealing and playing happily and the queens had been dreaming about what great warriors their kits would become. He struggled to swallow the grief that rose in his throat. It wasn't right. They were kits for StarClan's sake! They had their entire lives ahead of them! What would killing harmless kits and a couple of happy queens do to help whomever had done this? Whatever had done this. His pace became painfully slower and he was hardly away of the confrontation between his leader and Mudpelt. Normally he would step in to stop it; he didn't like cats fighting. But none of his former self seemed to be pulled together for this. Had his clan ever suffered such a traumatic loss before? No, who cared about the clan? A life was never worth that of a single place that others deemed to be special! They were just a band of cats, nothing more. And no life was worth a place.
His head found the entrance of the den. Strangely he was able to look and instantly a wave of revulsion so strong that he visible cringed, his legs almost buckling beneath him from the shock, washed over him. Oh, StarClan, no!
He backed away, unaware of a clan mate pushing up beside him, his head swimming with the words Ark had spoken. The storm has risen he thought, and the horror of the scene scent him spinning in to darkness.
