So you're tired of running.
You're tired of hurting.
You're tired of living in their lie.
You're tired of listening.
You're tired of hurting.
Keep your silence alive.

Lightningstrike was quietly licking his mate's fur when he met the wolf.
The rain still fell, though it had quietened somewhat. The river swelled and debris snatched from rock to rock. The wind had faded into a constant hiss against his ears.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, though for what he wasn't sure.
Then the she-wolf appeared. One moment she wasn't there, the next she was.
Like Hollyleaf, her outline was not truly distinct, but her fur was a pale gray that ruffled up against the wind and the rain. She approached the cat, her soft golden eyes glowing in the night.
"Who are you?" rasped Lightningstrike without much interest.

The she-wolf sat down. "My name is Laryissa, though not for much longer. That was your mate, yes?"
Lightningstrike nodded. "She died to kill Cold Night, but it was all for nothing."
"Not so. The pact has been upheld. Cold Night will never hunt you again."
"Not in my lifetime, perhaps," replied the ginger tabby, "but he will appear again in the generations to come."
"That may happen—but I doubt it. For all their many, many faults, the Creators know how to uphold a bargain."
"What bargain was this?"
Laryissa breathed out through her nose in a deep sigh."You deserve to know. But it is a long story."
"I have nothing left except time," said Lightningstrike softly. The wolf eyed him briefly, but her expression was unreadable as she began.

"Long ago, there was one cat, blessed with almost unlimited power. The more she served her lords, the stronger she became. Eventually she grew too powerful, so the Creators tore her into three. But they knew that the Kingdoms would not survive without their lords watching them, so they decided that having many weak eyes was better than having one powerful Warden. They took all the goodness that remained from the soul of the she-cat and implanted it in the hearts of others. Those cats began to directly communicate with the souls of the dead and their gods, and their powers merged with their blood, so that many of their descendants would also have the gift of deep sight. Thus the cats that some call ameslari and others call healers or medicine cats were born. Eventually, as time will cause, the blood became spread so thinly across so many that the power faded. It became apparent only in minor ways; a small connection with the arimas of the recently deceased and an understanding of the natural world. Now and then, though, there would come a cat who had the ameslari power in all its full blessing. Such cats are very rare and of immense value to the Creators. All have strange and inescapable destinies. That was Snowdrift."

This hadn't answered Lightningstrike's question, but he sensed that there was much more of the story to come, so he rested his chin on Snowdrift's fur and waited.
"You know the legend of White Fire. Perhaps you do not know, though, that she was an experiment. The Creators were well aware of Cold Night and his violent ambition to usurp their throne. Yet they could not strike him down themselves.
"In the beginning, there was darkness, and then there were the Creators. They brought forth the world and the space around it in one blast of raw, fiery power. It weakened them terribly and they had very little strength left. They wanted to live long enough to see their universe spring to life. So they made a pact with the darkness in the world abyss. There lies the third and secret Creator, whom I know nothing about but whom I will soon see. His—if it is a he—his power had not been involved in the making of the universe, so he was immensely strong. He managed its opposite—death, destruction, darkness.

"The two life-Creators made a pact with him. He would lend enough of his strength so that they could create the lives they wanted, but in return, they had to impose certain restrictions on their worlds. Once their children had been born, their final product could not be tampered with. All life would have the free will to make their own choices and to shape themselves as they saw fit. The life-Creators reluctantly agreed to these conditions, but made a counteroffer. If they could give the death-Creator something of equal value to what they wanted to change, the restrictions would be lifted temporarily. He agreed.

"White Fire was an attempt—neither the first nor the last—to get around this promise. They took a small portion of the Cat-Mother Felidae's soul and placed it within a mortal kit. This, they reasoned, would fulfil the requirement, for the kit was as mortal as possible. Her mind was her own, but White Fire's soul remained connected to Felidae's, so she was able to be influenced down the path that the Creators wanted her to take. You know what happened next. The Creators' plan was ruined by White Fire's own sweetness of spirit and the darkness that already resided in the souls of the Kingdom cats. She died the most honourable death a mortal could have."
"I thought the Creators wanted White Fire to die?" Lightningstrike frowned. "That's how the story sounded."

"Stories are not absolute truths. They are fragmented, edited to sound more interesting, changed to better fit in with the teller's ideals. The Creators were horrified by White Fire's death, but they leaped to take advantage of it as soon as they could. They sent Felidae down to slay Cold Night. They thought that this fulfilled the counteroffer they had made the death-Creator—if they sacrificed something, they could change another thing of equal power. They thought White Fire's sacrifice would be enough."
"But it wasn't," whispered Lightingstrike. A vision bloomed in his mind.
"Our plans? Your children have failed and disappointed us yet again. My patience is at an end. So are they."
"You did not see…they were forced to."

Laryissa growled slightly. "It was not. The death-Creator replied that it was not their sacrifice, but White Fire's own. And although the albino cat was valuable, she was not worth Cold Night. He allowed Felidae to strike Cold Night down and imprisoned him in the world abyss for a century. But he did not kill him.
"The Creators knew what they had to do then. The only thing that would be more valuable to them than Cold Night's death was an ameslari with all the power of the original Warden. They could not interfere with this cat's fate, though, like they did with White Fire. Instead, they merely bided their time. They had one hundred years—surely there would be, by that time, born a cat with similar powers. Yet I think they were starting to fear until Snowdrift's birth.

"She was everything they could have hoped for. Essentially good-hearted, respected by her Kingdom, a strong fighter and leader. She was White Fire born again. They promised the death-Creator the destruction of a mountain, and in return they were able to choose five other cats to both protect her and guide her down a path that would ultimately lead to Cold Night.
Cold Night appeared more quickly than they wanted. So they sacrificed a large portion of the fleeing Kingdoms to ensure the remaining cats' safety until the right moment. Yet they miscalculated. They had not intended for Snowdrift to hear the legend of White Fire, for they feared that her courage would desert her and she would flee Cold Night instead of fighting him. That is the problem with gods—they see so many terrible things that they are inclined to close their eyes to the possibility of good. Fortunately for them, Snowdrift was not afraid, and I believe that at the last she realized her true fate."

Lightningstrike considered this, and felt something rise within his stomach. It was not true anger, nor true grief, but something in between. It rose to his throat like a hot coal and made him want to scream. Hastily he asked: "Do you know Hollyleaf?"
"Yes."
"She wanted us to hear the legend of White Fire. She made Raincloud and Moonlight tell us. Was she warning us?"
"I do not know. Perhaps. She is enigmatic at the best of times." Laryissa's eyes grew distant, as though she were thinking of another life.
Lightningstrike cleared his throat. The coal was still burning. "So Snowdrift was sacrificed in exchange for Cold Night's death?"

"Yes. I do not know what the Creators have planned for him, but it is unlikely to affect this world much. Or so I hope." She glanced sideways at Lightningstrike. "You burn inside, little one, and I am sorry. It is often hard for mortals to comprehend the ways of gods, especially when they cause so much suffering. If it is any consolation, Mitternacht and Felidae fought this plan every step of the way."
Lightningstrike touched his nose to Snowdrift's fur, and he felt a numbness begin to swell around the coal.
"It's just hard," he whispered, "to look at her and realise that I'll never speak to her again. I keep…I keep expecting her to just sit up and call me a fool."
"It will pass," Laryissa told him. "That is the healing power of time."

"I know. That's what hurts. In a few years time, will I even remember her? Wolf's kindness, I only knew her for a moon. We were mates for two suns. We'll hold her funeral, bury her somewhere around here, and then we'll forget her. She'll never get to see the Clans she died to save, and before too long she'll die in our memories. How is that fair?"
"It is not," replied Laryissa, "which is why you should take it upon yourself as a sacred duty to hold her memories close. If you truly loved her, you will not forget, and if you do not forget, she will live on."
Lightningstrike closed his eyes. "What should I do now?"
"Anything you like. Your destiny died with your mate—you are free again. You may even return to the high mountains if you wish. For what it is worth, though, I think you should finish your journey, if only to see the place your mother dreamed of."
"You know what she saw?"

"I am a wolf, and wolves are curious."
Lightningstrike thought back to their earlier conversation. "You said you won't be Laryissa for much longer? What does that mean?"
"It means my time as an arima is done. I have accomplished what the gods wished of me. The world abyss awaits me—if the religion of my people is true, when I walk through the veil my spirit will return to the fire in the earth's heart and be reborn in a wolf cub, with a new name."
"Do you think that happens with cats?" said Lightningstrike, suddenly seeing hope.
Laryissa shook her head. "The spirit is separate from the body. No memories or personalities are carried with it."
"It must go somewhere, though," he argued.

"It does. At the centre of the earth burns a great fire. It contains the knowledge and secrets of every life that passed through it. There are some wolves—we call them vigilim—who can access this core and thus gain true knowledge. They are made, not born, and it apparently takes a lifetime to master the skill."
Lightningstrike nodded slowly. "Thank you for…explaining things, I guess."
Laryissa inclined her head. "The pleasure was mine. Before I go, though…traditionally, the number of lives given to a leader is nine, but I doubt anyone would argue your right to have a tenth." She touched her nose to his.
"With this life, I give you mysticism. Use it well to keep hope close to your heart, and to hold fast to faith. You may walk the dreamworld safely. This life will give you a connection to the Creators, so you will always know something of what is to come."

A pulse of heat flashed between them, and Lightningstrike's head spun. His mind whirled with colour, light, images. He saw a tortoiseshell pull a brown to safety from a cliff edge. A magnificent gray tabby tom marched at the head of a crowd of cats, tail high. He saw White Fire die at the claws of her Kingdoms; Fenris howling his song to the gods; Mitternacht shaking the snow from his pelt as he was born under the stars. He saw Fire Opal, at once both beautiful and terrifying, and he watched in horror as a snow leopard ripped out her heart. He saw Cold Night's red eyes shining from a darkness so heavy his spine chilled to see it. He saw Sesse and Cantori playing with their pups, and watched Chantame greet a silver cat so much like Snowdrift his heart ached. When he thought he could take no more, the visions faded, and he realised that he was completely alone. Laryissa had gone.

A strange sense of certainty settled around his heart, and he felt the coal within him crumble away. He would use his gifts; not for himself, as Snowdrift and Cold Night had done, but for his Clan. He would serve them until his death and use his strange power to light their way. Picking up Snowdrift's body, he padded through the light rain and began the long, long walk back to his friends.

Spirit World/World Abyss

Snowdrift shook her head and opened her eyes.
She was standing in the same place where she had first met Mitternacht, and later, Cold Night. Like those other two occasions, a cat awaited her.
Felidae watched her with sorrow-filled eyes, and touched her nose to the silver tabby. You've been so brave, she whispered softly. Do you still have courage left, my daughter?
Snowdrift nodded slowly. "If I must."
Felidae was not beautiful, as Snowdrift had expected. She seemed to be a mixture of all the she-cats Snowdrift had ever known, with parts of her resembling Ice Storm, Northern Lights, Bright Stars, even Raincloud and Brokenheart. In this, Snowdrift realised that part of Felidae resided in all she-cats, and all she-cats belonged to Felidae.

Yes, the Cat-Mother replied, though Snowdrift had not spoke. She placed her tail around the arima's neck and guided her slowly through the forest. As she did, she told Snowdrift the same tale that Laryissa had told Lightningstrike.
A dreamy sense of betrayal filled Snowdrift; she broke free of Felidae's hold and walked slightly apart from her. Felidae watched her anxiously.
Do you hate us, little one?
Snowdrift nodded.
I don't blame you.
They stopped at what looked like a thin veil; it fluttered and there was a gentle flow of sound, like birdsong but different. Snowdrift thought she'd heard the sound somewhere before.

There was a whisper of paw steps and suddenly dozens of cats sprang through the veil. Their fur glittered like starshine and they carried the scent of ice and fire. Recognizing many of the faces—all the cats that had died on their journey and some of those who had passed away just before—Snowdrift called a greeting, but they ignored her, bounding past in long strides.
You will see them again, promised Felidae. The veil trembled again, and this time the two beasts that stepped through were not cats. The Wolf and the Leopard glanced around them.
"Que, sera sera," sighed the Mountain Wolf. "Forgive us, little one. We did not have any choice."
"There's always choices," said Snowdrift, forcing the words through a lump in her throat. She could tell that none of them, not even Felidae, really understood what she was feeling. They were not mortal; they would never know. She noticed that Mitternacht was missing, and wondered if that was significant.

The Snow Leopard looked up at the sky above. "This will do, I think. What say you, Felidae?"
The Cat-Mother inclined her head. I agree.
"What's going on?" Snowdrift wanted to know.
Your ancestors are gathering here, Felidae replied. We have decided to use the method that helped the Clans of old. Through certain ways, some of the living will be able to communicate with the souls of the cats they once knew. StarClan is being reforged.
"Am I part of StarClan?"
You are its leader, Felidae replied.
Snowdrift nodded slowly. "So I'll still be able to watch over my Clanmates?"
Yes, you will be able to see them and guide them.
Deep inside, Snowdrift felt slightly mollified. "Thank you?"

"Come," said the Mountain Wolf. "There is more that must be done." He padded through the veil, with his three companions following.
The weather, previously so warm and sweet, turned icy and cold. The trees were bare and skeletal; the only light came from a strange glowing fungus on their bark. There were distant sounds of movement, but Snowdrift could not taste any scents. A sense of dread began to weigh on her shoulders. "Where are we now?"
Nobody answered her. They travelled deeper into the grim woods, and the feeling of oppression intensified. Though she could still smell nothing, the silver tabby felt eyes piercing her pelt; she resisted the urge to stop and look.
After what seemed an age, the four drew to a halt. Snowdrift gasped.

The trees had abruptly vanished—instead, there was a smooth pane of ice stretching unbroken almost as far as the eye could see, though she thought she could dimly make out the silhouettes of more dark trees beyond. The ice glowed with a strange blue light, and she strained to see past it, she saw shadows flicker underneath its surface.
"Like everything in the universe, the afterlife has both a light side and a dark. This place goes by many names," the Snow Leopard said. "Some call it the Dark Forest, or the Place of No Stars. We prefer not to speak of it at all. This is where the souls of evil beings reside."
Snowdrift's neck fur began to fluff up; she glanced around her.
Do not fear, Snowdrift, said Felidae. There is no-one here except us right now. What you feel is merely one of the punishments—paranoia— inflicted upon cats who are forced here.

Just as she spoke there was the sound of heavy pawprints, and Mitternacht emerged from the darkness between the trees. The cold blue light from the ice played across his tabby markings.
In his jaws he carried a brown cat, seeming small and pathetic compared to him. He nodded to Snowdrift and dropped the unconscious form. "I am sorry for your suffering."
"I don't blame you, Mitternacht," Snowdrift replied gravely. "Who is that cat?"
Mitternacht pushed the hapless body closer to the light. "Cold Night," he said simply.
Snowdrift's eyes widened, but she recognized him as the handsome tom who had spoken to her in the dream where she had met Chantame. "Is he dead?"
"No. But he will be punished, soon," said the Mountain Wolf. A light glimmered on his soft black nose; he touched the tom gently on the shoulder.

Cold Night's eyes flew open; he staggered to his paws. His eyes were still red, but without the awful glowing quality she had last seen in him.
"Cold Night, Rhangori, Shadow Heart—whatever name you wish to take," growled the Snow Leopard, "you are charged with murder and slavery. Do you have anything you wish to say for yourself?"
Cold Night shook his head, trembling. Snowdrift almost felt sorry for him, so obvious was his terror.
"Very well," said the Mountain Wolf, "if you do not wish to speak, we shall do it for you. We understand that you may have been wronged in the past. That does not excuse your actions; nothing could. However, we are inclined to treat you with justice, rather than vengeance. You will not die here."

Snowdrift protested. "You're not going to kill him?"
"No," said the Snow Leopard coldly. "He will suffer worse. Since you have gained a taste for desecrating the souls of others, our punishment is to give you a new identity. From this day forwards, until and unless you redeem yourself, you will be known as the Devourer of Souls. You will be imprisoned beneath this barrier, and you will be placed under the command of the Death-Creator's lieutenant. Regardless of your actions, he will torment and torture you daily, Devourer, but if you obey him he will reward you with souls."
The Devourer hesitated, then nodded. "I accept."
"Then step upon the ice."

He did so, and began to swell in size, growing until he dwarfed Mitternacht and the Creators. As his paws expanded, gigantic blades slid out of his toes until they stretched at least a metre long and gleamed razor-sharp. A green light shimmered in his throat, matching the glow in his now-amber eyes. An eerie wind blew through the Dark Forest and the Devourer's pelt suddenly changed colour; one half of him turned pure white, the other darkened to black.
The Devourer examined the changes that he had undergone, and began to laugh—but underneath his paws the ice cracked and split. His amusement turned to fear again as he fell through the hole and vanished into the darkness below. The ice muttered to itself briefly and reformed into an unbroken swathe of blue.

"Remember what you have witnessed, Snowdrift of StarClan," said the Mountain Wolf. "No mortal has seen anything of its like, and none will ever do so. The Devourer is sealed from your world. He will never be able to break the barrier."
"Are you sure?" Snowdrift dared to ask.
The Snow Leopard growled and her eyes burned as she stalked over to Snowdrift and cuffed her head firmly.
The Mountain Wolf was milder, though he seemed irritated as well. "We are certain. There are only four in the universe who can reach through that barrier, and they would never set him free. The pact has been upheld; now you must return to your own afterlife."
I will take you, said Felidae. Come now, little one.
Snowdrift flashed one last glance at the ice lake. Was that a shadow she saw, gliding underneath its surface?

She shuddered. They were right. She did not belong here. Turning her back on the lake, she followed Felidae back into the hunting grounds of StarClan.
When they arrived, Felidae gave her ears a quick lick before fading away. I will see you again, little one. Please don't hate us. Yet Snowdrift knew that part of her already did, and always would.
She dipped her paw into a puddle of water nearby, and the reflection changed. She saw Lightningstrike carrying her body through a gentle rain, and she closed her eyes in sorrow.
"I'm so sorry, my love," she whispered, hoping that somehow, somewhere, he could hear her. "I will wait for you forever."