I wrote this on a whim, after I finished re-reading A Dangerous Path for the ten millionth time. The ending is rather pathetic, but believe me, the other one I thought of was a hundred times worse.

Disclaimer: If I owned Warriors, Brindleface wouldn't have died. -sniff-

Beautiful

The day I died was a beautiful day, I can't deny it. Just as the sun rose, a warm breeze crept into the warrior den and tickled my nose, gently whispering 'Wake up; wake up, Brindleface, wake up'. Truth to be told, I was reluctant to obey it. The tension and fear that loomed over the camp like a monstrous thundercloud was beginning to affect my normal happy-go-lucky outlook on the world. It seemed like a lifetime ago when my only worry was whether my fur was groomed neatly enough. Now, I, along with the rest of the Clan, was in constant terror that each day might be the last day of my life; each day might be the day that the vicious, snarling dog pack crashed through the gorse tunnel.

But today the sunlight streamed down like golden rain, and the air smelt sweet. I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the drowsiness that still clung to me. Most of my Clanmates were already fully awake, stretching, glancing at each other, trying to see if their apprehension was mirrored in their friends' eyes. Fireheart was by far the most stressed, but of the course that was natural. I could see that he was trying to put on a mask of confidence to boost the Clan's morale, but it was failing. He exchanged a meaningful look with Sandstorm, who softly touched her nose to his cheek understandingly.

I caught sight of my dear foster son, Cloudtail, his tail lashing back and forth. He wasn't afraid, only angry, angry that the monsters that had hurt his beloved Lostface were not caught and dealt with yet. My heart swelled with pride as well as dread, and I followed him to the edge of the den. I was unable to refrain from the motherly gesture of grooming the moss from his fur. I met his eyes; clear, steadfast blue eyes that were brimming with determination.

"May StarClan go with you," I mewed, keeping my voice level. He purred, pressing his muzzle against mine. "Don't worry," he assured me. "I'll tell you about it when we get back."

It would be the last words we ever spoke to one another.

I watched him pad away to join the other courageous cats who would be confronting the menacing dogs. I knew I had to be brave, for his sake and for the Clan's, but at the moment I wanted to wail like a newborn kit. Suddenly, someone brushed against my side. I turned my head sharply. It was Whitestorm, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

"I'm..." he began, slowly trailing off. Instead of speaking again, his eyes flickered from me to his paws and then back to me.

I stood completely still. I knew what he wanted to say. Those two innocent words: I'm sorry. But it was too late for them, and he knew it. A certain pale gray queen with three fluffy kits was proof of that. "Good luck," I said icily, inclining my head slightly.

He dipped his own, paused, then silently joined the rest of the patrol. I felt no regret, no ache inside that had bothered me for so long. Whitestorm no longer had me wrapped around his paw. Later, after I had joined StarClan, I wondered if I had been too harsh on him, that maybe I should have accepted his apology. But by then it was too late.

As the last cat bounded into the gorse tunnel, I finally stepped out into the sun. Not many cats were in the clearing. I did see Goldenflower emerging from the elders' den, her head bent. I trotted in her direction, but before I reached her, she lifted her head, saw me, and put on a bright smile. "Hello, Brindleface."

"Hello! How are you doing?" I purred, watching her face carefully. My sister had suffered so much, especially in these past few moons, with the gruesome death of her son Swiftpaw. Ever since then I had thanked StarClan that my own kits were still alive and well.

Goldenflower returned the purr weakly. "Oh, you know. Still marching on."

I nodded, licking her ear comfortingly. "Do you want to go hunting?"

"I'm sorry, I promised Willowpelt I'd watch over the kits for a while," she replied, to which I notably stiffened. She hurried on, "But should you be hunting, with those...the danger around?"

"I'll be fine. I'm tough," I meowed, baring my teeth and swiping at her playfully.

Goldenflower laughed. "Well, just be careful, you silly furball. I'll see you later." She turned around, padding in the direction of the nursery.

Making up my mind to go hunting alone, I headed out the gorse tunnel and into the shadowy forest. It wasn't too long before the scent of mouse was evident, and I eagerly started the chase. But I noticed something odd. The scent wasn't getting farther and farther away, as it would have if the prey had been scurrying away from me. It stayed in one place.

I finally found it, crouched by a clump of bushes. I lowered myself onto my haunches, creeping forward stealthily. And in one swipe I caught it in my claws. But as I turned it over, I saw that the mouse I had caught had already been killed-very recently. Who could be around? I couldn't smell any of my Clanmates.

And then, behind me, I heard a smooth, deep, quiet chuckle. "Beat you to it."

I spun around. A pair of amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, staring straight at me. I was paralyzed by fear; my mind told me to attack, but my muscles wouldn't listen. I was faintly aware of the distant sound of barking.

"Why, you haven't changed at all, Brindleface," Tigerstar meowed, stepping out of the shadows. "Still as beautiful as seasons ago, when I was still a part of ThunderClan. As beautiful as this day. It's a wonderful day to die, isn't it? I handpicked it, Brindleface, just for you. Just for you." With those last words, he pounced, pinning me down, and sank his teeth into my neck.

The last sound I heard in my precious life, as my vision faded to black, was not my kits' warm meows; was not my mate's soothing voice; was not even the calm rushing of the river close by. The last sound I heard, before I joined the ranks of StarClan forever, was the howling of a dog.