A thin black she-cat sat on top of a tall gray boulder, overlooking a beautiful lake. In fact, that lake was where her former home rested. She sighed as she spotted her beloved pine trees, now so empty.
"Ravenstorm!" A ginger tom bounded up to join the gloomy cat on her perch. A slight breeze ruffled his thick ginger pelt, and he shuffled his brown paws uncomfortably. "If we want to stay ahead of Flame and the Pack, we'd better get moving," he meowed carefully, knowing Ravenstorm's pride in her Clan and deep sorrow at leaving her home. She turned her piercing yellow gaze to the ginger tom, a bit more eager than before.
"Alright, Foxpelt. I'm coming." The sleek black she-cat picked her way down the rock, joining the other survivors. The Plague and the attacks had obliterated the Clans, and StarClan seemed to be watching out for these lucky cats.
Foxpelt and Ravenstorm met up with the other Clan cats. Ashpaw, Darkpaw, and Stonepaw were sharing a vole, the last bit of prey from the lake. Ashpaw glanced up and bounded over to touch noses with his mentor. Ravenstorm gladly accepted the greeting and turned to her ragtag group.
"Let's get going!" she yowled, casting a regretful, wistful glance back at the tiny sliver of glimmering water she could still see.
Dusk arrived more swiftly than the travelers had originally thought. A chilled wind promised the coming of a tempest, and Ravenstorm could feel Snowheart shudder in fear beside her.
Mustering up the last of what precious energy she had left, Ravenstorm scraped together a makeshift nest of dry grass and settled beside Rainsplash and Dustfoot. Wearily, she closed her eyes, the image of Blizzardpelt guarding the cats becoming a white blur, and then blackness.
Ravenstorm awoke in a hazy, misty forest. The trees here had dark gray bark, something the former ShadowClan deputy had not thought was possible. A tiny, fearful mew echoed throughout the mysterious forest, the mew of a moon-old kit. A tiny golden kit crawled toward her, letting out those same mews in distress. It was bone-thin, every rib showing through its thin pelt.
Ravenstorm reached down to lap comfortingly at its fur, but before she could do so, she leapt back in surprise.
The kit had started to grow, a friendly purr transforming into a ferocious snarl. It was no longer a starving kit, but a very angry lion. It leaned in close, breath stirring her ear fur.
"A brain dead enemy shall fall from power, yet another will rise. The dark one will break the sacred promise, and all will shatter. The roar of your enemy will leave you quaking in fear, and the endless race will be done."
"Attack! Attack!"
The voice belonged to Wolfblaze, screeching in pain and fury as he was pounced on by a Pack Guard she knew as Hawk. The big gray tom managed to topple over the tabby she-cat and fled along with the other Survivors.
A golden tom was hard on Ravenstorm's paws and hot breath blew on her leg fur. She lashed out with her back paws and the tom screeched furiously. Her legs hurt by the time they'd escaped the Pack.
In fact, that's what they needed to do.
Escape.
Escape.
Escape.