A/N: That's right, it's a new story! This one was borne of my recent obsession with a quite random and insignificant character-Mosskit, Bluestar's daughter. Yes, "Bluestar's Prophecy" did this to me. Reviews are LOVED and very much appreciated, keep that in mind as you reach the bottom of this page…not much more to say, so please enjoy and let me know what you think!

All there was was cold, pressing and unyielding to the small's kit's struggles. She shivered, her entire body shaking in unbearable pain from the endless cold. Flakes of snow mocked her beneath her tiny paws, dancing through the sky to come to rest on the ground. They were so happy, even in this bone-chilling cold. The kit envied them so much, even if it was irrational. Dancing in the cold…

The clouds were moving so swiftly, fleeing across her vision. The little kit's dark green eyes remained locked on the sky, icy tears seeping from their corners. She was so cold…and her face was still staring at that fierce gray sky as her legs buckled beneath her and she fell to the snow.

Her breath came quickly and shallowly, like the faintest gasp as a newborn bird slips into life. Her ears rang and the snow tilted beneath her wide eyes. She tried to cry for help, but her voice was only a tiny whisper lost in the vast snow. "Bluestar!" She wanted to scream, but it was no use.

Her heart pounded wildly, her breath strange and choking in her throat. She coughed feebly before everything, the snow's brightness, the sky's anger, was magnified like everything was coming clear for her. The kit marveled at it for only a few seconds before everything was fading to a nice black, soft and warm…and then everything was gone, lost to the death she now knew she was experiencing.

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In Starclan, everything is better. It's never cold, it's never too hot. There's never a shortage of prey. There's no fighting, no blood, no pain. No one is ever fatigued or angry. The sky is a gorgeous swirl of brilliant blue. The land around us is perfect, every tendril a finely sculpted burst of life.

At least, that's what you think at first. But that's barely scratching the surface. No, I'm not unearthing a secret evil running through it, or some terrible facet hidden in the glory.

But our sentence there is never ending. What's wrong with a sentence in perfection? It's wrong, so wrong. Because it's worthless, every step we take, every breath we breathe in death, means nothing. And all anyone wants to do is go back.

I stared down at the pool, glowing iridescent with moonlight, a curve of light in the dark of Starclan night. Faces sparkled on the surface, life glowing from every piece of fur on their bodies. I sighed, envious. All I could do was watch, and remember, and wish.

"Mosskit?" I turned slowly to see my mother standing beside me, watching me closely. She looked concerned, and I knew she was worried about my obsession with life.

"Yes, Bluestar?" I meowed quietly, broken from my life-lit trance.

"Just wondering what you were doing," Bluestar meowed. "I wanted to see you. Oakheart, too."

"Yeah," I mewed unwillingly. I didn't want to be torn away from my sanctuary here.

"Come on," Bluestar meowed and just about dragged me to the Center. For those of you who don't know, the Center is the very middle of Starclan. Just about everyone stays there most of the time, it's huge. Of course my mother was going to keep me there when all I wanted to do was watch.

"Bluestar!" There was my father's joyous cry as he rushed up, purring and pressed against her. "Mosskit," he meowed with a smile, touching me with his tail-tip. I offered a small smile, because I knew I had to. Don't think I don't love my parents, I do. Very much. But I certainly didn't want to sit with a bunch of other dead cats in the Center all night long.

Bluestar and Oakheart began to pad into the thick group of cats, motioning for me to follow. I sighed and went, boredom setting in as my parents chatted with other cats. I gazed in the direction of the Echopool, my sanctuary. I wouldn't get to go back there tonight.

The night wore on until, finally, I was able to sneak off to my nest in the kit's den. I dropped into it unwillingly and tried to sleep, but of course, it was no use. Cautiously, I rose to my paws, looking around to make sure no one was following me.

I raced out, paws flying and fur streaming. The Echopool loomed into view and, exhausted, I stopped.

When I was finally able to look into the pool, it was like a gasp of fresh air, and relief flooded me. But the pool's surface wasn't its usual crystalline clear, it was clouded and murky. Someone had just died.

When a cat dies, their spirit is pulled from the earth and into the Echopool before being finally released into Starclan. That's what was happening now. I peered through the water to find a kit floating in its clutches. The kit was a fluffy, pale gray with green eyes. My eyes closed for an instant, memories of what had happened to me so many seasons ago flashing through my mind. The cold…the terrible unyielding of the icy snakes of death…and of course, the terror.

I shuddered, wanting nothing more than to just expel those memories from my being, cast them away forever. But of course, Starclan could never be that kind.

My now-glassy eyes turned back to the kit's body rising slowly from the shine of the water. Which isn't water, by the way. It's some combination of light and spirit; exactly what it is only River, Thunder, Wind, and Shadow know.

The kit's body hung suspended for an instant, ripples moving restlessly from its still form. I was puzzled—the waves were growing with every pulsation, and turning a terribly foreboding green. I realized what was happening a second later—the spirit of the kit was fighting. The kit's soul was resisting breaking its final ties to the earth. As far as I knew, this had never happened before.

Usually, it only takes a few minutes before the soul slips from the Echopool, the connection and tie between earth. Without the final severing of the cat's spirit from the Echopool, the cat couldn't be in Starclan. Not that it was even possible to not sever the spirit from earth through the Echopool…

I watched, awestruck, as the fight continued. The waves were turbulent and crashing against the body of the kit, flinging it everywhere, and yet the spirit still did not slip from the pool.

Slowly, the green faded away, blackening angrily before disappearing with a final angry burst of color. I gaped in surprise as the kit rose, fur sticking out wildly, green eyes glowing in desperation.

"No!" She howled in frustration and despair. "No, no, no!" I stood back, eyes still wide. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. The soul of the dead cat was supposed to sort of float out in a ghostly form, all shimmery and not at all solid. This was the dead kit's physical body standing before me, green eyes narrowed in frustration and something bordering on hysteria.

"This can't have happened," she muttered to herself. Then her eyes flew wide with surprise, as if she was seeing me for the first time. "Who're you?" She demanded, looking at me incredulously. "I'm not dead yet, you can't be Starclan!"

I wavered. Well, she didn't look like the thousands of other dead cats I had seen-she certainly wasn't just regularly dead. Something was up.

"Um, I'm from Starclan," I began cautiously. "But no, you don't look quite dead to me."

The kit shook her head. "I AM dying, just not yet. I can't go without leaving someone here to help the rest."

I had no idea what she was going on about. I shook my head in confusion, lacking the words to reply.

Her eyes pierced into mine. "You'll help me, won't you? You HAVE to!" She growled.

"What do you need?" I asked dubiously. She was dead, or dying, or something. There wasn't anything I could do for her.

"Don't you have any idea who I am?" She asked, her eyes wide as if it was ludicrous if I didn't.

I shook my head wordlessly.

"I'm Dovekit, the third kin of Firestar's kin."