Total word count without this note: 1577

I was running, the wind in my fur. I was chasing a mouse, going to make my mentor happy. I couldn't hear the rumbling until it was right behind me. Then the boulder killed both me and my mouse.

I remember the blinding, momentary pain, as every bone in my body was crushed under the weight of the stone. I remember the desperate squeak of the mouse, as the shadow of the stone closed over its head and silenced its throat forever. I remember feeling weightless, floating upwards into the sky, leaving my lifeless and now soulless body behind. I remember screaming as my vision went black.

With a shudder, I open my eyes, expecting to see myself drifting aimlessly with the clouds, or even worse, still suspended in that inky blackness. But to my surprise, I discover that my paws are planted on solid, yet slightly springy earth; a full moon shines above me. My stomach sinks as I realize what the sparkle of stars all around me, from the grey walls of the mountain cliffs to the midnight blue sky, means. I am in StarClan's hunting territory. My life as Wildpaw of FrozenClan, apprentice of Snowstar, was over.

My fluffy golden fur bristles as I look around, scenting the air. The last thing I want to do is meet some warrior from StarClan and be lectured on what an "honour" it is to join their ranks. Sure enough, I catch a whiff of three different scents; FrozenClan, IceClan, and BlizzardClan. No doubt, they're three ancient leaders or something, here to tell me how great it is to be dead. Well, no thanks; I don't feel like meeting a bunch of star-faced elders. Instead, I strike out in the opposite direction.

Running feels good. I'm not sure if it's because the last thing I was doing when I was alive was running, or if it's because I rarely get to exercise my running skills on the narrow mountain ledges; whatever the cause, my paws carry me through small valleys between cliffs and up steep piles of rock, until I can't smell anything but the cold, clean wind and an icy tang that might be the scent of stars.

Suddenly, I realise something is wrong; I slow to a halt on a slippery ledge that towers over shadows, at the very top of the world. Below me are stars, below them are StarClan hunting grounds, and below that is... mist. I assume that it must be the veil which separates the skylands from the living world. The effect is disorienting enough to make me dizzy, and I step back quickly and look behind me.

My stomach lurches as if I'm going to be sick. Behind me was no stone wall, like I'd assumed; behind me was a landscape even more desolate than StarClan's grey and white territory. Short, stunted trees cling precariously to nearly vertical slopes; small trickles of meltwater flow sluggishly at the bottoms of tiny valleys, their waters murky black. Silent, ghostly shadows of cats wander the land, mere smudges under a sky blacker than the darkest night. I almost prefer StarClan to this... this... menace.

But I refuse to be manipulated into joining anyone! I may be dead, but I've never liked playing by the rules. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine a thin path, made of ice, leading from my dizzying ledge of stone, sloping downwards into the flatlands beyond the mountains. I've never been outside the mountains. I want to know what it's like.

Hesitantly, I open my eyes, almost daring to hope... yes! A pure white path had appeared, just as I'd imagined. Our medicine cat, Nightfeather, was right: the land of the dead could be manipulated by the force of mind. Cautiously, I step onto the ice. It holds. Elation making my paws bounce, I start moving faster, down the straight arrow to another world...

"Wildpaw..."

I barely restrain myself from jumping and possibly plunging to yet another death. Moving as carefully as possible so as not to lose my balance, I look around, but there is no one nearby. So who had spoken my name?

"Must be my imagination," I meow aloud. My voice sounds hollow, empty to me. It's lower than I remembered. If I was still alive, I'd be happy at this sign of approaching adulthood, but obviously I can't grow older if I'm dead...

"Wildpaw... come to ussssss..."

That creepy whisper again. I gulp nervously and look around again. All of a sudden, I notice something odd; the road ahead of me no longer fades away into the distance. I can glimpse a field of ice, a seemingly endless expanse of white, with no borders...

And, just barely, I can make out white shadows, rising like wisps from the very ground itself...

"Wildpaw!"

This voice is right behind me. I don't bother to turn around. Instead, I jump, yowling, into the mist.

The next thing I know is that I am warm. I hadn't realised how cold I'd been while I was dead. Now, my paws, my fur, my nose, my tail-tip, all felt as warm as the greenleaf sunlight. I open my eyes.

Or try to. They are glued shut.

Was this another side-effect of being dead? Was it yet another strange out-of-this-world experience, designed to make me grow wise or something? Did StarClan plan all of this?"

"Brackenberry! Get up, sleepyhead, it's time for dawn patrol!"

Now, my eyes open of their own accord. I see the dark stone wall of a cave, presumably the camp cave, in front of me. I try to sit up... and my body does not respond. Instead, my legs stretch luxuriously. My stomach rumbles for food.

I'm never hungry this early in the morning.

A horrible realisation crashes down on me. This isn't my body. Somehow, I had returned to the living world, except now I shared the body of another cat.

Which cat?

The answer was obvious. Froststream's silver face was looming over me, and she's looking straight at me - or rather, at my host, her blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Come on, Brackenberry, we haven't got all day! Get a mouse or something, but eat quickly, everyone's waiting."

Brackenberry, the lazy, plump old warrior? There couldn't be a worse choice. He finally sat up, blinking at Froststream. "You know I need more than just some measly mouse for breakfast." Even his growl sounded soft and thick as his belly.

She only rolled her eyes and retreated back into the clearing. "Well, tell that to Snowstar. He won't be happy when we leave without you, and I for one will not be waiting for you to fatten up. How you even manage to be so plump in the middle of leaf-bare, I have no idea."

"Oh, I think I will talk to Snowstar," Brackenberry muttered to himself. Wildpaw wondered what he was thinking, and what he meant. Was he going to get Froststream in trouble? He hoped not; Froststream was a good cat, if a bit short-tempered at times.

He wanted to moan with frustration at the slow speed with which Brackenberry emerged from the den. He wanted to yowl with fury as Brackenberry completely ignored the waiting dawn patrol, who were gathered by the cave entrance, their tails twitching with impatience. Instead, the stupid warrior made his unhurried way to the fresh-kill pile and picked out a plump thrush. Wildpaw's anger grew even more when he started eating the whole thing at once... without sharing with anyone. Sharing food was the number one rule in FrozenClan, where every mouse was precious, despite the huge territory.

"Brackenberry!" Heronscreech called from the cave entrance. "Hurry up, we're waiting!"

"I need to speak to Snowstar," Brackenberry meowed insolently, raising his voice so every cat in the cave could here. "You can go out without me."

"I think we will," Froststream spat, stalking out of the cave. "Enjoy your meeting, you stupid, fat, lazy, mouse-brained lump of blubbery fur."

If he was still alive, Wildpaw would have given her half of his (already meager) share of food for a month for that comment. To his surprise, however, Brackenberry didn't react to the insult; he simply finished up his bird and trotted off to the small tunnel that led to Snowstar's den.

"Brackenberry." A low growl sounded from the darkness of the cave as the fat tom entered. He stopped and bowed his head respectfully. "Snowstar."

"Is it done? I was unable to question you last night," Snowstar said softly. Wildpaw instinctively tried to prick his ears, but of course he no longer had any. What were the cats talking about?"

"Yes, Snowstar. He is dead. I pushed the boulder onto him as you instructed," Brackenberry mewed. Wait a second...

"Good." Snowstar gave a rumbling chuckle. "The prophecy has been destroyed, now that Wildpaw is dead. You have done well, Brackenberry, my exemplary actor. Soon, you and I shall rule these mountains... and StarClan will never be able to stop us. We shall hold the stars in our paws, and Wildpaw, he who walks in three worlds, will defy us no more."