The night was cool, pleasantly so with a light breeze brushing the trees. The dancing limbs cast shadows on the figures below in the quarry. The rocky scar in the earth glowed in the half-light of the moon. Two warriors walked close at hand through the camp, mewing quietly in the dark. The first, a handsome ginger tom, yawned and his companion, a stocky, long-haired gray cat chuckled, "Maybe we should call it a night."
The orange cat smiled and nodded. "You're right, Graystripe. Good night, my friend."
"Good night, Firestar," purred the shaggy tom.
A strange look passed over Firestar's face and he called back his friend. The dark tom looked back quizzically. "Graystripe, I just wanted to say…" he started. "I'm glad I met you in the woods that day."
Graystripe twitched his ears, confused. "Firestar, are you okay?" he asked smiling.
The flame-colored cat seemed lost for a moment, not looking at his friend or even the camp around him. Then he shook his head and purred, "Listen to me, chattering on like an elder!"
Graystripe purred in amusement and mewed, "Don't worry, I'll be the first to tell you when it's time to retire."
Firestar smiled and ducked his head sheepishly. "Thanks, Graystripe. Good night," he purred. The tom twitched his tail and padded towards a fallen pile of rocks at the head of the camp.
The gray tom watched him until his friend's orange tail tip had vanished into the den above. He blinked warmly and murmured into the dark, "Good night, my old friend." Turning away, the cat stalked through the night and vanished into a dark bramble thicket.
His dreams were dark that night and misty with shadows. A cool bright voice reached his ears through the fog. Warmth spread through Graystripe's limbs and the tom purred. The voice called out to him, "Graypaw. Wake up, Graypaw."
Graystripe growled and his claws flexed. He longed to sleep longer, bathed in the newleaf warmth that he felt. Yet, the voice grew more insistent and Graystripe's eyes opened into narrow slits. Then shock forced the lids to fly open. Thick-trunked oak trees surrounded a large indent in the ground. A large gray rock glowed silver in the light of a full moon. A fox-length from Graystripe's front paws stood a young tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat. She radiated a soft glow that felt like the warmth of a green-leaf hunting patrol. She blinked calmly at the gray tom and her tail curled happily. "Hello, Graypaw."
Graystripe lifted his head and scanned the clearing. "Where am I? Who are you? Where's Firestar?" the nervous tom stopped abruptly as his eyes widened once more. "Wait," he trailed off. "Is this Fourtrees?"
The pretty tortoiseshell took a step toward Graystripe and the tom sprang to his feet in defense. "It's okay Graypaw. Please, do not be afraid. You will see much that you may not understand."
Graystripe's fur bristled over his neck and he bared his teeth. "Who are you?"
The she-cat sat down and wrapped her tail daintily around her paws. "My name is Sweetpaw and you are indeed in Fourtrees. I was a ThunderClan apprentice like you a long time ago."
Graystripe's eyes narrowed. "You were?" He took a step back and swept his gaze around the clearing once more. "Does that mean… I'm in StarClan? Am I dead?" he hissed fearfully. Now he could see dark shadows pacing through the trees with bright glowing eyes. Four cats on the edge of the clearing watched the exchange through narrowed eyes.
As Graystripe stared at the four watching him, he heard Sweetpaw behind him. "Yes, this is StarClan. But you are not dead, Graypaw."
Finally breaking his gaze, the young gray cat shook his head and fixed Sweetpaw in a glare. "What? I don't understand," he growled. Graystripe took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Okay, let's try a different question; Why Fourtrees?"
The pretty cat's head tilted curiously to one side and her brow crinkled confused. "I don't know what you mean Graypaw…"
A tide of frustration in Graystripe's chest broke through the dam he had hastily built to hold it back. He snarled at the young cat in front of him, fixing her with a menacing yellow stare. "Why did you bring me to Fourtrees? Why not the Moonpool or the Island?" Could she not understand how much pain he felt at seeing these old trees? How the thought of these trees, smashed and burned and ruined weighed on his heart like a rock? His chest heaved and his breath quickened as he advanced on the she-cat. "And why do you keep calling me Graypaw? I am Graystripe, warrior of ThunderClan! Firestar and I received our warrior names together. I was his deputy…" The tom trailed off, caught up unexpectedly in a mirage of images; he could see himself as a kit, hunting for the first time and as a father teaching his own children how to chase; he saw himself flying across a field of battle with a yowl on his lips and his claws outstretched for blood. "I am Graystripe," he murmured softly. He turned away from the she-cat and prowled towards the old ThunderClan territory.
A soft voice spoke from behind him and Graystripe's fur rose in terror at her words: "Graypaw… There is no Firestar."