Prologue
The moon had reached it's high in this bloody field. The tom-cat stood there smiling at it's bright light, despite his surroundings. Even his bloodied, night-black fur shone like gems in it's light.
"The moon...it's so beautiful."
The cat's eyes watered.
"If only I could gaze at it forever," he meowed.
He glanced around him. Warriors of all color fur littered the open field. The blood spilled was so massive that it seemed like the dead were drowning in a pool of red. A sea of red.
Moonlight and blood together formed a scene so beautiful it made the tom gape. A sea of ruby it was.
How could something like blood be so vile yet so beautiful at the same time? The lone tom had no answer. In silence, His eyes danced across the ruby sea, taking in the beauty.
Crack. A branch had broke to break his shocked silence.
His pulse quickened. He'd forgotten what caused this scene in the first place. A creature so horrid, no cat would ever tell the tale. They had all thought it was a fox when it's ghastly face emerged from the blackness of night. It was much...much more. Once it fully arose, the cats trembled like a fragile reed. The thing's body was truly obscure. Bigger than any living thing seen in the Lake ever before. You could call it a living mountain. A mountain with sharp, sharp teeth. Jaws and fangs as rotten as deathberries, it couldn't be real. Was this all a joke? The tom had wondered. Was Starclan playing with them? The creature wasn't alone, more and more just as horrifying appeared. And then it began, a feast for crows.
The cat stumbled as he recalled those horrid memories. His patrol ran and ran all the way to Windclan territory, bringing the lives of more to Starclan. His survival came with the price of one other he had hidden under the corpse of a Thunderclan Warrior. A cat he knew. The tom wanted to thrash, wanted to scream, but nothing would come out of it. Nothing but more pain.
A branch crack echoed once again.
"Flamepaw?"
From the shadows of the pine trees emerged Whitepaw, an all white she-cat named after the late Whitewing who died in the battle against the Imposter. Her amber eyes froze as she took in the scene. The tom named Flamepaw raced to her help before she stumbled to the ground.
"Don't look this way, Whitepaw, don't."
Of course she's disgusted, anyone would. Even so...why did the field look so beautiful to him?
"Is someone else with you, Whitepaw?" asked Flamepaw.
She spoke closing her eyes. "Yes, yes. There was a patrol sent to the Ancient Oak, Shadowclan border and Windclan border. I came here alone but the Windclan border patrol is not far behind us."
"Let's…let's get going then. I want to get away from here," claimed Flamepaw.
Was that the truth?
"First, is there anyone else with you?"
"No," he answered.
Whitepaw finally opened her eyes and turned behind in a flash. Together, they pawed under tall pine trees. He couldn't keep it any longer and stopped. Behind him the bloody field was no longer visible. For unknown reasons his fur bristled.
"Flamepaw? What's wrong?" Whitepaw tilted her head.
"I...nothing, it's nothing."
It wasn't nothing. Flamepaw yearned for that field again. For that blood. For the sea of red.