Whitethroat's Past:

The tiny white kit looked like s splash of snow against the dark brown floor of the ShadowClan nursery. The kit's mother, Darkflower, was bent over her two sons, licking each one lovingly.

"They're beautiful kits, Darkflower," meowed Cinderfur, the father, staring at his sons proudly.

"The white kit looks very strong. I'm sure he'll make it through the winter," meowed Darkflower, an edge of uncertainty in her voice. "But the other…"

"They will both be fine. They will grow to be strong warriors of ShadowClan."

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It was one day in the middle of leaf-bare that Whitekit noticed his brother's absence. He was playing with Littlekit and Dawnkit, when he suddenly wondered where Frogkit had gone. Yesterday, when they were playing "Raggedstar versus Crookedstar," Whitekit had even let his brother be Raggedstar, because Darkflower had explained that he wasn't feeling well.

Now, Littlekit got to be Raggedstar, and he wasn't very good.

"I am Raggedstar. I am going to eat you!" the tiny tabby kit squealed, launching himself at Whitekit. White sidestepped slowly, watching as his friend sailed past. Dawnkit watched them tussle with calm eyes, and when asked, she would reply, "I am myself."

Finally, after a long time dodging Littlekit's clumsy attacks, Whitekit grew bored of being Crookedstar, and went to look for Frogkit.

What he found was very odd. His nose led him to the medicine cat's den, where Runningpaw and his mentor Tanwhisker were huddled together with his mother, Darkflower. A little ways away sat his father, Cinderfur, stony-faced and silent.

"What's going on?" mewed the tiny kit, scrabbling towards hi mother. "Where'd Frogkit go? I want him to play Raggedstar and Crookedstar with-"

"Hush," hissed his father coming forward and grabbing Whitekit by the scruff. "Frogkit is very sick. He can't play ever again.

"Never?" asked Whitekit, feeling a wide hole open in his stomach.

"Never. Now run along." Cinderfur nudged him back towards the nursery, while Whitekit felt that sinking feeling in his gut. Would Littlekit always be Raggedstar now? Darkflower never let him be Raggedstar so…Whitekit let out a mewl of horror.

"Where's Frogkit, Whitekit?" asked Dawnkit. Frogkit and she were best friends – nearly inseparable.

"He isn't ever coming back. Cinderfur said…not ever."

"Oh…" Dawnkit pondered this new development while Whitekit padded into the nursery, a strange feeling weighing on his heart.

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"Come, Whitepaw. Today I will show you the border," meowed Blackfoot, a young warrior who was now his mentor. Whitepaw glanced over his shoulder at Dawnpaw nodding to her mentor Tallpoppy, and Littlepaw staring in awe at Raggedstar, his leader and, now, mentor.

"I said come," hissed Blackfoot, but not in a mean way. He gently guided Whitepaw out of the camp.

A wave of new scents gushed over the white apprentice as he followed his mentor around their territory. Blackfoot explained the Carrionplace, the Twolegplace, and allowed him to sniff cautiously at the WindClan and ThunderClan borders, and raise his head to scent RiverClan.

When Whitepaw returned, his first prey swinging from his jaws, he was bone-weary and starving, but nothing could dampen his spirits. Being a warrior didn't seem so far away now!

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"Then let you be hailed by your new name. Whitethroat!" yowled Raggedstar, his head bent back to the sky.

A rush of anticipation flowed through Whitethroat's limbs, and he threw out his chest proudly. His mother Darkflower padded forward and pressed her nose to his cheek.

"Congratulations, my son. You make your father and I proud."

Whitethroat detected twinge of sorrow in her voice, and dim memories of his now dead brother flashed in his mind's eye.

Dawncloud purred happily and gave his ear a swift lick.

"I'm sure you'll make a fine warrior," she meowed, smiling.

"You too," Whitethroat replied, that familiar burn in his chest as he stared into her eyes. She was so beautiful… But she loved Cedarheart, and Whitethroat knew it. He didn't mind.

"Congratulations, Whitethroat!" mewed Littlecloud. He nodded to the new white warrior.

"Same to you. You'll be great in battle." Whitethroat blinked at Littlecloud, trying to show all of his gratitude toward the small tabby in that one gesture. After he had realized that Frogkit was truly gone, Whitethroat, then Whitekit, had been forced into friendship with the small warrior – he was glad of it now.

"You will sit vigil tonight and guard the camp," meowed Brokenstar, and dropped down from the Highmound.

"Come on, let's eat before our vigil," mewed Dawncloud, flicking her tail over Whitethroat's shoulder. A shiver crackled down his spine, and he followed her to the swollen fresh-kill pile. Since Rowanpaw had been apprenticed, their had always been more fresh-kill. She was the quickest, most intelligent hunter ShadowClan had ever seen…lucky for us, thought Whitethroat. From what he knew, Fernpaw of ThunderClan was almost her equal.

"Come on, fox-ears. Let's eat!" barked Littlecloud, and Whitethroat realized that he had been standing there looking like a fool for quite some time.

Sheepishly, he padded forward and devoured a vole, before trotting to the center of the camp, sitting down, and tucking his paws beneath him to wait out the rest of the night.

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Whitethroat looked on in horror as Cinderfur convulsed once, twice, three times…and then was still. He barely heard Darkflower's agonized wail as he mate joined the ranks of StarClan, taken by the ravages of the sickness.

"Cinderfur…" she moaned, pressing her nose against his dark gray pelt.

Nightstar stood at his deputy's side, his eyes dull and listless. Whitethroat resisted the urge to claw the black elder's eyes out, and clenched his paws hard. He was glad that Brokenstar had finally been driven out, but Nightstar was no better a leader than he had been…and who else was fit to lead if the sickly black tom joined StarClan? Not he Whitethroat…certainly not. He didn't want it anymore than Littlecloud or Dawncloud. Rowanclaw, he supposed, but she was young. Blackfoot…

"Whitethroat! Pssst! C'mere!"

Whitethroat whipped around, his ears flickering.

"Here!" The voice was unmistakably Littlecloud's, coming from the bramble bush at the edge of the camp. Cautiously, Whitethroat padded towards him.

"What?" he hissed.

"We have to do something! We are all going to die if we don't find help!" cried the small tabby. Whitethroat's gut clenched. Finally he replied, "I know."

"Follow me, then."

Obediently, Whitethroat padded out of camp on Littlecloud's heels, though doubt prickled in his paws.

"Where are we going to go anyway?" he asked, when they had reached the ThunderClan border.

"ThunderClan," stated Littlecloud simply, and stretched his leg over the boundary.

"What?! Help from another Clan? ShadowClan doesn't need help from ThunderClan!" spat Whitethroat.

"Oh really? I know you're sick, Whitethroat. So am I, I can feel it beginning deep in my chest. If we don't seek help soon, we will die. You know it as well as I do. Come one, the quicker the better."

Whitethroat couldn't argue. It was true, he had felt the weariness and numbing exhaustion that weighed on his shoulders, however hard he had tried to fight it, he knew. Though unease made his pelt stand on end, he followed Littlelcloud into ThunderClan territory.

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Okay, you all know what happens here. They meet Cinderpelt, she lets them stay, she cures them, then she tells them to leave, and they do…don't they?

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Whitethroat followed Littlecloud across the stream in ThunderClan territory, enjoying the feeling of soft grass beneath his paws. Once again he let out a prayer of thanks to StarClan for sending them Cinderpelt. She had cured them, and he owed his life to her. He knew he would never forget.

Suddenly, as though a log had been pulled from beneath his paws, he tumbled to the ground, and felt a great weight crash down on top of him. The set of the cat flooded his scent glands, and he knew it immediately – Tigerclaw. He had seen the big cat before, at Gatherings, and had always admired his strength and dignity.

Tigerclaw batted at him firmly, but his claws were sheathed. He was making an awful lot of noise…then Whitethroat scented ThunderClan. Of course," he though, with a sinking feeling, he wants the patrol to find me on ThunderClan territory. But Tigerclaw did not leave when the patrol arrived. He sprung on the cats, and to Whitethroat's surprise, three other scrawny beats jumped out of the undergrowth after him – rogues, they looked like.

In one swift moment the patrol was scattered. Littlecloud was gone. Tigerclaw and his friends disappeared. And to Whitethroat's horror, a ThunderClan warrior lay limp on the ground at the edge of the Thunderpath.

Whitethroat crouched by his side, his eyes hot and guilt pricking his whiskers. This cat had died in a fight beside him – he did not even know his name.

He heard the ThunderClan cats approaching long before he saw them. When they arrived, relief washed over him as he saw Fireheart at the head of the patrol – the ginger warrior would understand.

"He's dead!" Whitethroat wailed, grief flooding from his eyes. He stumbled away from the body, sudden fatigue washing over him. He just wanted to sleep, to run away, to…to…Fireheart leapt at him, bowling him over into the dirt. Whitethroat did not protest, he no longer cared. Something had come over him, some strange feeling. StarClan awaited him. He would go to them willingly…

He could see the confusion in Fireheart's eyes as Whitethroat huddled beneath him, terror in his eyes. When Fireheart paused, Whitethroat darted away, into a bramble bush at the edge of the Thunderpath. He could hear Fireheart chasing after him, and he changed direction, dashing for the tunnel below the Thunderpath.

But before he reached it, he knew that Fireheart would catch him soon. He paused, poised at the edge of the Thunderpath, and looked back. Fireheart was sprinting towards him, it was now or never. With a rush of fear Whitethroat charged forward, panic rising in his chest. He scrambled blindly across the rough surface, feeling blood well up on his paw pads.

He did not hear the monster as it approached. He was too grasped by horror as he tried to cross the stinking gray turf. The foul smell swamped his senses, and he stumbled, tripped, fell…

He did not feel a thing when the monster hit him. He was detached from his body, as if floating in the clouds. Bu he was not dead. No certainly not dead. He could feel a trickle of breath in his lungs, and his eyelids fluttered. He shifted his weight, wincing as his ribs popped audibly.

"Why did you attack our patrol?" came Fireheart's anxious whisper. Whitethroat gathered his breath to reply, knowing they were the last words he would ever speak.

He opened his mouth, and a wave of stinking air rushed in. He blinked. A monster. He tried again. This time a thin river of blood dribbled from his mouth. He swallowed, sending a painful shudder down the length of his body. He could do it, he had to reply…

Then he saw him. Tigerclaw, crouched in the trees in ThunderClan territory, watching, waiting.

No!!! wailed the floating portion of his body. No! He will bring death to this forest! This cannot be! He could feel the power of StarClan flowing through his veins, and he tried, he tried to warn Fireheart…but he couldn't. He could not utter a word. Tigerclaw…with one last desperate attempt, Whitethroat poured all the fear and hatred for that one cat into his eyes…and…yes! Fireheart saw.

As he was dragged away from the earth, pulled from his body, pulled from life, he saw Fireheart whirl around to face the tabby tom. The Clans were safe.

Yes…yes…StarClan…father…Frogkit…I'm coming!