Prologue: The First Mistake
Pale brown fur skimmed through the tall grass that camouflaged her pelt nicely. The night sky was hidden from her view but the moonlight still poured over the dirt under her paws. A few leaps behind her laid the camp and ahead were miles of moorland.
Suddenly, a gust of harsh wind ruffled her fur and her swollen belly began to weigh her down. Weaselpelt came to a slow stop as she entered a small rock-shrouded clearing. With one last huff of breath, she leaped up on to a rock. Despite the cold she enjoyed the night air that sent a shiver of her, at least momentarily, freedom. The queen gazed up at the sky taking in the beauty, and as she did so, a flash of light shot across the sky. The falling star captivated her as it looked as if it fell straight to the earth. The Rockclan cat closed her eyes and imagined it was one of her ancestors from Starclan.
Suddenly, a rustle of movement broke her out of her trance and she leaped instinctively to the ground. Hidden in a shadow she crept along then rock. Whatever, or whoever, made the noise was still hidden deep in the tall grass. She stuck her nose out a little further and quietly crept forward. Yet when she reached the edge of the small clearing a familiar scent was wafted towards her. Horror stricken she froze. Then she realized there was another scent mixed in with the it.
Blood.
Weaselpelt raced forward but as soon as she entered the thick undergrowth the scent became diluted. In frustration the she-cat searched further. But soon she became lost and confused. She shook her head trying to think straight but a ripple of pain coursed through her. Her legs crippled underneath her. The queen rolled over on to her side as she became aware that her kits where coming. Another rush of pain caused her to rip her claws into the earth. Her eyes squinted in concentration and she bared her long teeth. The pain was already so great that she wanted to give up and just lay there. But then she could feel it, squirming to get out; her kit.
Her eyes blinked open and she felt the sudden love of a queen for a kit and she pushed harder. When her claws began permanently attached to the ground she felt the ripple of movement pass through her. Weaselpelt lifted her head and saw him, a beautiful, large black kit. The she-cat picked him up by his scruff and set him near her stomach before another one came. This was less painful, one, because she knew what to expect, and two he was so much smaller. A bundle of grey came out squealing. Purring in amusement she set him next to his brother. The next was also a tom, looking a lot like her with his cinnamon pelt. Then came a dark tortoiseshell she-cat with a pelt that matched her father's perfectly. She waited for more pain but knew it was over. The queen began to lick her kits as she thought of names. Her eyes crossed over to the large black tom, "Crowkit." She spoke fondly before turning to the grey tom, "And you will be Dewkit," she spoke giving him another lick. The she-cat stared at the cinnamon kit for a second, pondering a name, then it came to her, "Rowankit." She purred his name before she looked up and let out a retched scream.
Fangs glimmered in the dark and green eyes shone brightly. Whatever the creature was she couldn't tell, his smell was covered by the scent of mud. The dark creature leaped at her. She immediately went to protect her kits but he knocked her away. Then she saw one kit waddling away in confusion and she saw the helplessness in the kits movement and she tried to get to the dark kit but the creature pinned her down. They rolled around snapping and biting at each other. Yet the queen was still exhausted after her labor and the dark-pelted animal -which she finally distinguished as a cat- overpowered her. He bit down on her neck and blood poured out of her wound. The cat turned away from and shouldered over to her kits.
Alerted, she struggled to get up but with no luck. She closed her eyes and waited for death to come. Yet as she felt herself slip away pelt brushed against hers. Weaselpelt blinked open her eyes as she spotted the dark tortoiseshell she-cat, the one she had not gotten to name. Her eyes were already open as if all the noise had intrigued her so much she couldn't wait, she shuddered at the images she might have seen. But worse she realized that when the cat had leapt at her his claw had caught her eye. Weaselpelt gasped before common sense came over her. She could no longer protect her. With all of the little bit of strength she had left she maneuvered her body so she could pick the kit up by the scruff and shove her into the bushes. Then as nausea took over Weaselpelt she felt herself slipping away from her body and the last thing she saw was that one eye reflecting off light from in the tall grass and Weaselpelt whispered her last words, "Good bye Fangkit."