The sun was setting.

If the sun didn't set at the end of every day, Whitespot, the RiverClan medicine cat, would be taking it as an ill omen. For moons, he had felt darkness lingering on the horizon. For moons, he had paid attention to the prickling of his fur rising on end, to the way the night seemed more absolute and the stars dimmer.

He was the only one who had felt the storm gathering on the horizon, and he narrowed his amber eyes at all the other medicine cats walking ahead of him, clueless to the way the wind sweeping across his back seemed to whisper the plague is coming, the plague is here.

Those two statements had been hissed in the rustle of the wind in the leaves, babbled in the sound of the River flowing by the camp, shouted in every crash of thunder and every cat's yowl.

The plague is coming.

Whitespot shook his head. Yes, the plague was coming! He was listening! But what was the plague?

The plague is here.

He huffed, and hurried faster to rejoin the other medicine cats. They were flocked around Dawnpaw, his apprentice, murmuring words of encouragement. Juniperleaf padded at her shoulder, his mellow voice giving her soothing words while Smokespiral walked silently at her other shoulder. Larkwing and Dartbird were trailing, the snappish she-cat and shy tom occasionally adding their voices to the mix.

"So you finally decided to get your head out of the clouds," Larkwing said, flicking her tail at Whitespot, who glared at her in reply.

"At least my head can get up there," he snapped back. "How can a cat who's never received an omen in her life be a good medicine cat?"

"Hey!" Juniperleaf exclaimed, his voice sharp. "Behave back there!"

Both Larkwing and Whitespot ducked their heads and grumbled. Being chastised by the eldest medicine cat was a familiar but still irritating feeling.

The patrol of six continued to walk north as the sky darkened. They reached Mothermouth with plenty of time to spare, and Juniperleaf led the way through the tunnels.

How the WindClan tom could stand being in the tunnels, Whitespot had no idea. He himself had issues with not turning around and bolting out, and he spent most of his time surrounded by willows, unlike Juniperleaf who spent all his time on the open moor.

Long after Whitespot was ready for it, Moonstone and its cavern appeared, and they fanned out around it as the two RiverClan cats stepped to the front.

"I, Whitespot, medicine cat of RiverClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look upon this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of a medicine cat, and with your help she will serve the Clans for many moons to come. Dawnpaw, do you promise to uphold the ways of the medicine cat, to stand apart from Clan rivalries, and to protect all cats equally, even at the cost of your life?"

He could've said she had stars in her eyes as she answered. "I do."

"Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your true name as a medicine cat. Dawnpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Dawnheart. StarClan honors your tenacity and respect, and welcomes you as a full medicine cat of the Clans." He stepped to the side, and Dawnheart padded forward and laid down, touching her nose to the Moonstone. The other medicine cats took their own places, and moments after their noses touched the Moonstone, a shaft of moonlight hit it, illuminating the cavern.

The cats fell asleep.

Dawnheart awoke. Birdsong filled the air and the scent of green growing things filled her nose. She opened her eyes, and green flooded them. She was laying on a sweet bed of grass in a forest at the height of newleaf. A stream babbled nearby, and she turned her eyes to it. Its water was clear and bright, and sitting beside it was a silver tabby she-cat.

"Welcome, my young medicine cat," the silver tabby purred warmly, her eyes closed happily. "I am River."

"Hi," Dawnheart mewed, ducking her head. River looked amused as she stood and leaped over to her.

"Come, we have much to discuss! Your training has gone beautifully. Whitespot, although a grouch, is a very skilled medicine cat," she said, allowing Dawnheart time to stand and follow her as she walked along the stream. "You are a very skilled medicine cat."

"You think so?" Dawnheart asked, her ears perking while a heat of self-consciousness flushed in her chest.

"I know so," River replied, leaning over to give Dawnheart's cheek a swift lick. "You have grown in a time of unprecedented peace, but be careful: that peace is coming to an end. Your skills will be tested sooner rather than later, and we can only hope you are strong enough to help see your Clan through the coming plague."

"I'm going to be alone?" Dawnheart whimpered, her tail drooping and ears pinning back.

"As long as you have your Clan and your faith, you can never truly be alone," River replied, brushing against the cream tabby's fur. "But the plague is coming, it is here, and it will be the darkest time of strife seen by the Clans in many generations."

Dawnheart's fur began to stand on end. "How do we stop it?"

River's head dropped. "Only our Mother Moon knows, and she has been frightfully silent. But we shall give you all the information we have."

Dawnheart opened her mouth to reply when the silver she-cat faded away. The green forest around her withered and wilted, the clear stream turned to sludgy mud, and the skies broke with storms. Thunder crashed, and the ground fell away.

She found her paws at the peak of a mountain, surrounded by the lightning flashing across the sky and dark clouds roiling around them. The other medicine cats were with her, looking in turns terrified, defiant, and attentive. Tension filled the air and the scent of ozone flooded her nose. One bolt of lightning flashed particularly close to the group of medicine cats, and while Smokespiral would deny it later, he squeaked and pressed close to Dawnheart when the thunder struck.

A slender black she-cat padded to them from out of thin air.

"If the Clans are to survive, what was lost must become found, what once was honored must be restored and recreated, and only one under the moon can drive out the poisons that plague the land."

With one symphonic crash and howl of wind, the medicine cats woke as one, panting, their fur on end.

Dartbird launched to his feet. "I need to get back to SkyClan, I need to make sure they're alright-"

"Calm down," Whitespot said. "The plague's already here. There's no use panicking right now when it's been here for moons already."

"What do you mean by that?" Larkwing snapped. "Did you get a prophecy none of us did? Is there something you know that we do not?"

"I have been telling you for moons," Whitespot snarled, his dark grey tail lashing. "For moons about the warnings that have been whispering to me. And not even one of you have listened."

"Well, we are listening now," Juniperleaf replied, his ears perked in Whitespot's direction.

"All it's been has been some whispering, everywhere I go. I hear it everywhere: the plague is coming. The plague has come," Whitespot replied, flicking his tail dismissively. "It's really no more helpful than our new prophecy."

"You do understand what the giving of this prophecy means, correct?" Smokespiral asked, stretching and standing up. "There has not been a prophecy since my mentor's mentor was a kit."

"Momentous times are coming, that is for sure," Juniperleaf agreed. "Which direction they go, however, is up to this 'one under the moon' that Shadow spoke of can choose which way history goes."

Larkwing scoffed. "Like one cat can change the course of history itself. As if one cat can defeat this poison, this plague that's coming."

"StarClan does not lie," Smokespiral said. "We must trust that this one will make the correct decision in their time."

Larkwing scoffed again and turned to leave. "I, for one, will feel much more relieved knowing my Clan is safe. Unlike Whitespot, I cannot rest easy with the knowledge of the storm to come."

"I highly doubt Whitespot's 'resting easy' right now," Dawnheart snapped back, and then pinned her ears back in embarrassment.

"Well, now we know for sure that Whitespot is teaching her," Juniperleaf remarked, brushing a friendly tail over Dawnheart's shoulders.

A quiet tension fell over the six medicine cats as they left Mothermouth behind them. The sun was coming up in the east, bathing the moor in pale light. Juniperleaf and Smokespiral said their farewells and parted, padding in opposite directions, and at Fourtrees, Larkwing left Dartbird, Whitespot, and Dawnheart. The three remaining medicine cats walked together quietly except for the moments when Dawnheart would spot a fluttering leaf and pounce on it. They crossed the river as the sun reached its zenith, leaving Dartbird to make his own way back to his own camp.

Two silver she-cats and a lilac-and-white tom were leaving the camp as the two medicine cats reached it.

"Hello, Dawnpaw!" the smaller silver she-cat chirruped, and Dawnheart's tail flicked up.

"It's Dawnheart now," she replied, and the other she-cat's eyes widened.

"Really?" she asked, bounding over. "That's great!"

"Come on, Shinepaw," the older silver she-cat said. "You can catch up with Dawnheart later. And you know she can't share everything with you!"

Shinepaw drooped and followed the two older cats as the two medicine cats entered the camp. Whitespot headed straight for a group of five cats sitting in the shade of a large rock pile, and Dawnheart followed right after him.

The grey tom sitting in the middle of the arch turned his head to the two approaching cats. "Greetings, Whitespot, Dawnpaw. Or should I be saying Dawnheart now?"

"Her ceremony went well," Whitespot replied, flicking her with his tail as she tried to hide behind him. "But we have news."

"What sort of news?" a ragged black she-cat with orange eyes- one of them blind- asked, her tail flicking. "Did you come across any of those horrid rogues?"

"No, nothing that mundane," Whitespot replied. "StarClan delivered a prophecy. To all the medicine cats."

The five cats in their arch-formation flinched back with varying intensities.

"What did the prophecy say?" the dark grey tom asked, leaning forward. Whitespot lowered his voice.

"If the Clans are to survive, what was lost must become found, what once was honored must be restored and recreated, and only one under the moon can drive out the poisons that plague the land."

Silence fell over the group of cats after he finished speaking, broken only by the noises of cats moving around the camp and the sounds of the territory nearby.

"Dark times are coming," the cinnamon tom murmured, closing his eyes. "What will this mean for Mistfall and our kits?"

"Likely, strife," Whitespot replied, and the other tom opened his eyes and glared fiercely at the medicine cat.

"I was not asking that literally," he growled.

"Well, I answered literally," Whitespot replied, flicking an ear.

"What could this 'one' be referring to?" the white she-cat mused. "One cat? One Clan?"

"Dewfern will need to be told," the black she-cat said. "I can go find her-"

"No, Tornpelt," the grey tom ordered. "She will be back from her patrol eventually. We will tell her then. No need to interrupt her apprentice's training, especially with their final assessment and journey to the Moonstone so close."

"If they both pass-" a lilac-and-white tom began, only to be cut off by the white she-cat.

"When."

"When they both pass," he amended, dipping his head to her, "it will be odd not having any apprentices in the camp."

"It will only be few moons before Thorneye's kits are apprenticed," the black she-cat replied.

"Mistfall will be kitting any day now, so only six moons until hers are apprentice-ready," Whitespot added.

"And I don't know what you've been noticing, but I think Swiftrunner will be joining the nursery any day now," Dawnheart finished, and the lilac-and-white tom looked thoroughly corrected.

"I think you've picked on poor Lightningfoot enough now," the cinnamon tom joked, playfully batting at the lilac-and-white tom's shoulder. Lightningfoot batted back until the grey tom quieted them with a glare.

"Calm down, you two. This is serious. If we don't have enough warriors when this plague comes, we could be facing the total annihilation of our Clan," he said.

"But the prophecy says that only 'one' can save the Clans," the black she-cat said. "Unless there's some sort of double-meaning there, it seems straightforward."

"It says one can save the Clans- multiple, as in all five Clans," the grey tom corrected. "Even if the one doesn't do what they need to in order to save them all, one Clan, or even remnants of a Clan, may survive. If we can ensure that one Clan survives, even if they are driven from the forest forever, then we have not lived our lives in vain."

"No matter how different each Clan, no matter whether you run, you swim, you stalk, you leap, you slink, never forget you are Clan," the white she-cat murmured.

"Don't start turning into a Redstar on us, Lightsky," the grey tom warned, and Lightsky flicked her tail.

"Redstar never said that. Timberstar said that, after they split back into five," she corrected.

"I will just have to ask the next time I visit the Moonstone," the grey tom conceded.

"You do that," Lightsky replied, affectionately rubbing her cheek on his.

:::

"But I want to be a warrior now!" Kinkedpaw yowled, her bent grey tail lashing furiously. "I should've been a warrior already! We both should've!"

"Kinkedpaw, calm down," Tornpelt snapped, roughly washing down her ragged black fur. "You know you're ready, I know you're ready, every cat in the Clan knows you're ready. We just can't risk the travel through WindClan territory right now, so would you calm down and be patient until we're back on better terms with them?"

"We're never going to be on better terms with them," she hissed, turning and stalking away.

Shinepaw blinked, having watched the entire confrontation from behind the grey she-cat.

"That went horridly," she commented, and Tornpelt huffed.

"About as well as making a kit try to fight a badger," she replied.

"She'll come around," the apprentice said, turning to walk away. "Just give her time."

"Yeah," Tornpelt snorted. "Time." She turned and stalked across the clearing, waving her tail to the returning dusk patrol. "Hello, Frostleaf!"

The white she-cat at the front of the patrol turned her mismatched eyes in Tornpelt's direction. "Oh, hello, Tornpelt."

"How was the patrol?" the older she-cat asked, walking over and rubbing against Frostleaf, who returned the affectionate gesture.

"It was… interesting," Frostleaf replied. "The rogue scent we found was so fresh we must have just barely missed him."

"Mousedung!" Tornpelt hissed. "If I could get my claws in those rogues on our territory…"

"But we can't," Lionroar, the cream smoke tabby tom, growled. "That's our entire issue!"

"We'll get them soon," his sister, Sunfall, promised.

"I'll share tongues with you after I report to Dewfern," Frostleaf told Tornpelt, who accepted her words and sat down.

It didn't take Frostleaf long to give her report to Dewfern, and there was still light in the sky when she sat down next to Tornpelt. Without another word, the two she-cats proceeded to share tongues, washing each other and winding down along with the rest of the camp. Lightsky and her mate, Stormstar, were sharing tongues over by his rock pile. Dewfern seemed to be hovering protectively over their shoulder, but willingly shared tongues when Dawnheart rubbed against her. Over by the nursery, Redfoot and the heavily-pregnant Mistfall were sharing tongues when the queen let out a startled cry.

"Oh!" she squeaked. "Redfoot, get Whitespot, please."

Without another word, the cinnamon lynx point tom stood and padded over to Whitespot's den. He called into the den and received a grumpy "what do you want?".

"My mate is kitting," he said, and Whitespot poked his face out.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"She thinks she's sure," Redfoot replied, and Whitespot vanished back into his den. Dawnheart, seeing the commotion, left Dewfern's side and trotted over to the medicine den, walking into it and then back out of it with her jaws full of herb packets, just like her mentor's jaws.

"Alright," Whitespot said, setting his herbs down outside the nursery. "Redfoot, see if you can get Mistfall into the nursery. Thorneye, it's time for your kits to come have some more play-time."

With an excited squeal, one chocolate-and-white kit, one chocolate tabby-and-white kit, and one white kit barreled out of the den and into the clearing, headed straight for where the elders were sharing tongues. They were followed by the white-furred Thorneye, walking at a more sedate pace. She acknowledged Whitespot as she padded by him, and the medicine cats entered the nursery, followed by Mistfall and a hovering Redfoot. He settled himself down near Mistfall, out of the way but close enough to offer comfort.

"Let's hope they have a little more luck with this litter," Snowcloud, a white elder, muttered, flicking her tail and watching the nursery with narrowed eyes.

"If you can't be nice then keep your mouth shut," Sunfall snapped while glaring at the elder she-cat, who pinned her ears and looked away from the young warrior contemptuously.

"Maybe you should respect your elders," the white she-cat growled.

"She's right, you know," Shadynose, a lilac elder, said. One of his ears was cocked back, a little like he was fighting down the instinct to go off on Snowcloud. "That was stunningly rude of you."

"I'm only speaking the truth. Maybe some of their kits will actually make it to being warriors this time. After two litters of early deaths, you'd think they'd learn," Snowcloud retorted.

"I think it's incredibly brave that they're having kits again after those experiences," Sunfall replied, wrapping her tail around her paws. Tornpelt and Frostleaf both meowed their agreement. Snowcloud ignored them.

The camp was dark by the time kitting was finished, but only a few cats were even dozing. Most of them were waiting, awake, for the news. When the two medicine cats left the nursery and walked over to Stormstar, most of the rest of the Clan followed them pretending not to be eavesdropping. Stormstar, Lightsky, Whitespot, and Dawnheart pretended not to notice them.

"The kitting was an easy one. Mistfall and Redfoot have four healthy kits. Three she-cats, Ripplekit, Lilykit, and Russetkit, and one tom, Stonekit." Whitespot took a moment to lick down some messy fur. "StarClan look out for these ones. I don't think those two would survive losing another litter young."

The prayer was echoed throughout the rest of the Clan, and they slowly dispersed to their dens. Thorneye led her kits back into the nursery, impressing upon them the need to be quiet. The two apprentices were already asleep near their den, so the Clan let them be. Redfoot, like most new fathers, would be spending the first few nights of his kits' lives in the nursery with them and their mother.

Dawnheart looked up at the sky before entering her den. Silverpelt in all its glory was splashed across the sky, hidden by no clouds and outshone by no moon. She couldn't help but think the moonless night might be an omen- of which kind she couldn't be sure.

"StarClan," she murmured, her eyes fixed on the stars, "watch over these kits. Watch over out Clan. There's trouble coming. Don't let us forget we are Clan. And thank you for a healthy birth. Please, just watch over these kits."

With finality, she padded into the medicine cats' den.

The stars shone down on the Clan territories and beyond, but the land remained as dark as it ever was on a new moon night.

:::

I'm rewriting this thing AGAIN, wish me luck