The night that I left was pouring down rain. The storm that the weather man had forecasted that come at exactly the right time. All the better--rain washes away tracks.

I snuck down to the barn after my parents were asleep. I had been preparing for this for weeks—but all of a sudden my heart began to ache. Don't tell me you'll miss these people, that nagging voice in my head reprimanded.

Never, I answered it, and left it at that.

I found King in the pasture, of all places. He was the only one left out. Were my parents complete idiots? He could catch a chill that way! I made sure my backpack was on tight and hopped the fence.

'Here, boy,' I cooed and clucked. He trotted over, shivering. He hated thunder—my parents knew that, too.

'We don't need anyone,' I whispered in his ears. 'We're fine on our own, aren't we, bud?'

King snorted into my hand. The opportunity presented itself—swing onto his back and gallop off.

That's exactly what happened.

Mistake number one.

'Come on, let's get out of here.' I kicked him forwards and he took off. I held on tight as he sailed over the fence that held us both back. I cheered as we galloped off into the moor, hooves thundering, not caring where King took me as long as it was away from here.

Even in all of this, the rain, thunder, lightning, I was ten times as happy as I was at home.

Mistake number two.

We made it up to the hill overlooking the moor. The rain appeared to have let up just a bit. I was already soaked through; we'd have to find a dry place for the night somewhere around here. King slowed to a walk and I raised my face to the sky. How good it felt to be drenched in that vertical river. I watched a strip of lighting stab the sky. How beautiful...

A large crack of thunder came swiftly after a long jagged strip of lightning. That was all I could register—the jolt from that lightning went through me like a bullet. I barely noticed hitting the ground and the hoofbeats running in the other direction before everything went dark.

---

Of course it had to rain. Right in the middle of a patrol. How perfect. Water was RiverClan's best friend, not WindClan's. So far, of course, the hunt was far from successful. A mealy starling and a scrawny rabbit.

There's something to be said about early-morning hunt patrols.

They sucked.

Crowfeather was soaked to the bone and almost an icicle, besides the fact that the sun hadn't even risen. Wasn't tonight the Gathering? He couldn't be asleep for that! Harepaw was out right complaining. Why couldn't Tornear keep his apprentice quiet? Heatherpaw trotted beside him with the earlier said scrawny prey.

How pathetic.

Today was very, very far from a 'good' day.

'How far is it back to camp? My paws hurt,' mewed Harepaw. 'I'm hungry, too. Where'd all the prey go? I'm tired—'

All of a sudden, Harepaw stopped in his tracks. Crowfeather was about to meow thanks to StarClan when Tornear said,

'Crowfeather, stop. Harepaw found something. I think it's dead.'

Crowfeather shoved around him to see what he was talking about. A limp shape was sprawled over the moor grass. A cat shape.

Heatherpaw had her head to what was presumably the mouth. 'She's barely alive,' she mewed, sniffing the body. 'Ew. Her fur's charred. It's cat,alright.'

Tornear's turn to check it over. 'Yup, it's a she-cat. Sure is tiny. Must be apprentice age, at least.'

'Probably some rogue,' Crowfeather said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of singed fur. 'Come on, let's leave it.'

Heatherpaw shook her head. 'We should take her back to camp, at least to have Barkface look at her.'

How sentimental. 'If it's not prey, it's not going back to camp.'

Audible groans came out of the shape. Everyone took a surprised step back. 'We can't just leave her out here,' Harepaw meowed.

Crowfeather sighed. 'Fine. Heatherpaw, Harepaw, back to camp, then. Report to Onestar and Barkface.'

Tornear nudged the form as the apprentices bounded off. 'No sign of injury, other than that burnt fur. That's strange.'

Crowfeather sniffed at her. Her scent was...mingled. 'She doesn't smell like a clan.'

'Kittypet? Loner? It's quite possible.' Tornear kept checking for the injury that would explain such a strange appearance.

'This is just too strange, Tornear,' Crowfeather mewed.

'Whatever the case, let's get her back to camp. Maybe she'll tell us her story when she wakes up.'

Crowfeather sighed.

This was going to be a long night.