I'm just typing so fast. I know I should be emailing my science teacher questions about binder checks (which go on my grade) or reviewing for the mid-term math test, but... nah. This story is going to be the death of my school life.

Question: How old do you think I am?

Chapter 11

I panicked. When cats panic, they usually run, and that's exactly what I did. I could see Larktoe staring at me from the corner of my eye, face whitened, but when I turned my head around again, he was no more. Bodies seemed to be pressing in on me. I felt suffocated, and several were even trying to grab me, but I always slipped out of their tight grasp.

I couldn't see Cliff-Fall anymore, but I could tell that he was on his way down from the Meeting Branch or whatever it was called. I began pushing. When a clear path had formed for me to the camp entrance, I bolted and went for the sunshine. It had never felt so good before.

Except... it wasn't going to last long. There was a splash of color, of a mixture of orange, yellow, and a hint of pink; sunset. I could see trees up ahead, tall, spindly trees, probably conifers, but I couldn't care less at the moment. If they gave me shelter, then I wouldn't mind if it was oak or birch.

Shouts still rang out behind me. I paused for a moment, and turned around, hoping that no one was chasing me. The coast seemed to be clear. I couldn't count on that lasting for long, of course, so I reverted my attention to the span of forest again and continued running.

There was a tight feeling in my chest, mild at first but then increasing until I felt that my lungs must be on fire. Maybe the sun's last rays are making my fur catch flame, I thought drowsily. My eyes were squinted, but I could still pick out color and shape. There was a lake to the side of me, very far away, to the southeast, or maybe my brain was just failing me. Mirages. I had heard about them before, but I had never experienced one in life. Until now, perhaps.

When my chest felt as if it couldn't take the heat and pressure anymore, I skidded to a halt. My paws kicked up dust, and I found myself in a small clearing. Conifer trees to the front of me, sun to my left, lake to my right. Bushes surrounded this sandy glade, and wildflowers dotted the area around me. I blinked. Once, twice. Good mirage-clearing technique, I thought.

I looked out to the east. The lake was gone, or, at least, I couldn't see it anymore, but some part of it stuck in my mind, like someone glued it on with cobweb from the Storm-Calmer den. There was a cat reflected in the water, but I knew that was ridiculous. No one could see reflections in a lake so many mountain-lengths away.

Not even in mirages. If it was not a mirage, then what else?

It was really getting dark by the time I got myself out of the clearing and started looking for a way home. But there was the slight problem of not knowing where I was, after all, and maybe I should just suck it up and try to find a sleeping place for tonight. Maybe, but what was I going to do then? When the sun came up again?

I brushed away several vines dangling from the top of a tree limb that were swaying in the night breeze. Too much vegetation.

Perhaps I just needed a well-earned rest. Deciding that I couldn't be picky about my location- not now, anyway- I began clearing away a patch of rotten, wet maple leaves and started digging out a temporary shelter. I couldn't afford to be comfortable about it, either. I couldn't even see anything.

When I was finished, my paws were aching and soaked through with the mounds of dew on the leaves. The water seemed heavier, and smellier than normal, but that was to be expected. Either my scent glands weren't working right or that was just the way it was in this place. Instead of further investigation, I wrinkled up my nose.

Something about the smell seemed familiar, but I was exhausted. There was a light buzzing in my head, and I wanted to get in bed.

I kicked away a patch of clover. They, too, were wet. I turned myself around, my back facing the maple tree that my temporary den was built against, and laid down silently. I could hear crickets. They were chirping, and there were frogs croaking, and then birds calling to each other through the tree branches... so much could be heard when you closed your eyes and laid still.

I relaxed my muscles, every one of them. The heaviness of the day's burden seemed to lift off just a tiny bit; and maybe it was just my imagination, but the prey creatures no longer seemed to chirp and croak and call. Like they were afraid of something.

Lifting off and flying away... away from the monster, whose teeth are dripping with blood...

The next day, I found out that the lack of any sound was not just in my imagination. The monster draped in blood wasn't, either; and when the first rays of sunlight hit my body, it was red.

Dried, cracked, old, no longer free-flowing, but red. The leaves were red, too, and the back of the tree I was lying against and the blood-soaked ground. Not my blood. Someone else's.

I yelped. For a moment I thought that someone had came here and clawed me to bits during the night, but as I stared in horror at the amount of blood spilled on the ground, I knew that I wouldn't be alive right now if that had ever happened. Besides, I would have at least remembered it. This sounded like something you should remember.

Or maybe, many different cats died, not just one. I shuddered at the thought and began moving father away from my camping site. How had I slept through that the whole night? Calm down, I told myself. Calm down.

The blood didn't appear to be fresh- at least, not anymore. It must have turned from a rich crimson red to a deeper, darker brown. I sniffed at the murder site cautiously; a day old, at least. Thank StarClan for that, I thought.

StarClan, not SunClan. It was a new feeling.

I heard footsteps approaching me from behind and blankly thought about wandering, bloodthirsty badgers instead of, you know, hiding or running or screaming or something. Before I could decide on what to do, the other party apparently chose for me.

Several cats appeared out of the tangling undergrowth as I turned around. They were unlike anything I've ever seen before, with short, stubby tails and large, boulder-like shoulders. I gulped. "It- it wasn't me. I don't know your dead friend."

"Dead friend," one of them growled. She had a strange, low voice, with the same accent that I had heard Larktoe talk in. "Dead friend." She turned to face one of the two toms in the group, and he nodded as she began telling him a long string of information. I couldn't understand any of it, but it sounded complicated and sounded almost flowing. Like a river or a small stream, something unlike what I would have expected from these tough-looking cats. "Dead friend."

It only occurred to me then that those two words might have been the only two they understood in my whole sentence. Perhaps Larktoe was one of the rare few that could speak our language. "Dead friend," she snarled again, pacing with the rest of the group to surround me in a circle. Her tail flicked in my direction.

"You kill friend. You, dead."

Nope, nothing against French people, just the first accent I could think of on short notice, and the only one that I actually know how to write. XD