Chapter 1

The wings burn and crumble as the dawn rests in its bedding.

It had been half a moon since the war was declared.

No fighting had occurred yet, not to common knowledge at least. Tensions had risen further as everyone awaited news of the first battle.

Everybody had forgotten about the murder already, nobody cared, they were only concerned with what the war might bring to them.

The main concern being thrown around seemed to be that if one clan, Riverclan or Windclan, was driven out of their territory, they might invade Thunderclans, or that the fighting would disturb the prey in the forest and cause it to migrate someplace else.

Riverclan kept making the same demand over and over again, war could be avoided if only Windclan would give up Aspenpaw, the murderer who supposedly was a Windclan spy, according to who, no one seemed to be sure, but that didn't matter.

Windclan in return kept saying again and again over that they weren't sheltering the former Riverclan apprentice.

Leaf-fall was slowly dying with the color of the forest vanishing, giving way soon to the gray season of Leaf-bare, a terrible time for conflict of any kind.

Barkstar had spoken very little to the clan about any of the current events. Out of all the cats in Thunderclan though, it was Loneheart who stressed the most.

The young warrior now was deep in the forest, close to Fourtrees, hunting on his own.

He had caught two mice already and was now just taking in the last remnants of Leaf-fall. He had barely slept in half a moon since he had watched Acornpaw die.

Everyday his memories of the Medicine Cat apprentice became more sentimental, and thus, more painful as he dwelled on them.

It was a funny thing really, how he felt like he had known him for so long only after he died.

He never gave much thought to it when he believed there was still time left.

He wondered for a moment what the other clan's reaction to it was, if anybody really cared about the death that had befallen them, or if they just cared about the insult that it was to Riverclan.

He wondered how Rustpaw had taken it.

Still in his mind Loneheart could hear Rustpaws screams over the noises of the audience that had gathered to witness the murder.

And then he thought, why? Why did this have to happen? What motivated Aspenpaw to kill his own brother? Where did he go, if not Windclan? Why wasn't anybody trying to avoid the war, only trying to prepare for it?

Loneheart didn't have the answers to any of these questions.

The whole ordeal left him feeling hollow, emotionally and psychically, and he wondered if this was just how life was supposed to be.

For now, he tried his best to take his mind as far away from the thoughts as possible by stalking a nearby crow.

Tired on his paws, Loneheart was sloppy and missed his jump, landing on his back to watch as the crow flew away above him, alerting all other prey in the area.

He picked himself up off the ground, and with one more look to the sky, continued on his way, nearing Fourtrees.

By the time he could see Fourtrees, he had to admit to himself what he had been doing.

He kept trying to tell himself that he had just happened to be in the area, but he knew deep down that there was something drawing him back to this place, some grief, or some guilt deep within him.

The branches of the mighty trees swayed with the power of the wind. Taking cautious steps, he nudged himself forward the meeting place of the clans, and now a permanent wound on the forest, an insult to Starclan and a lasting memory on those who witnessed it.

Starclan.

Those shadowy figures of the skies, dead and long forgotten yet to pick and choose the lives of the beating.

How they could let something like this happen, Loneheart wasn't sure.

A thought appeared in his head that it was Starclan's vengeance on him for turning his back to them.

He couldn't find much evidence to prove it in either way, so it was his own feelings which told him the truth.

Sometimes he wondered if Starclan even existed. Since he was a kit, everything and everyone was supposed to be conducted by Starclan, but as he grew older, he had waited for any signs from them, and yet they stayed quiet as the windless night.

As his paws dragged him closer and closer, and his legs grew weaker and weaker, he realized just how powerless he was.

He couldn't call upon Starclan, he couldn't save the clans from war, he couldn't even save his own friend.

Every kit-like dream of heroism had been destroyed with the introduction of reality.

Now all he could do was watch, just sit and watch as blood was spilt, and misery was spread.

Looking up and away from his thoughts, Loneheart saw exactly the spot where that had been true.

The patch of earth that Acornpaw had died on, looking as though nothing had changed.

But Loneheart could still see him, choking and convulsing as he was surrounded with gazing eyes, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to do anything.

The blood that he had spit up had now been sucked away by the plants, as they continued to grow with no thought to the troubles of cats.

Loneheart felt his legs buckle and he fell to the ground.

A couple of tears fell with him, but he tried to tell himself that he couldn't cry.

Now wasn't the time for it, he thought.

For a while, he just lied there, waiting for something to happen, somebody to show up, Rustpaw, Red, Stonefoot, anyone.

He had been here before, almost in this exact position, and Rustpaw had come to comfort him, to offer a sort of bond that Loneheart didn't quite understand.

There was one time before, at some point that Loneheart couldn't remember, that Rustpaw had said that it felt like they had known each other for longer than either of them had even been alive, and that was the only way Loneheart could describe it.

Red was another confusing piece of comfort. Loneheart had no inkling of an idea of how to describe their relationship.

The only thing that came to his head was how it almost seemed like Red wasn't a real cat, rather, some greater, benevolent being, all knowing and all powerful, and maybe that was why he found himself wishing to be with her, to hear her words and feel her presence in every step she took.

And Stonefoot, Lonehearts dear father, bound to the night and the forest.

It didn't feel like that was just the end of their relationship though.

There was something more, as if kit and father were one in the same, living life for beauty and fear.

Perhaps that's what they were, beauty and fear, two sides of the same feeling.

Loneheart had never even really noticed how deep these relationships went, and he still didn't understand them.

All he knew right now was that he wanted somebody to be with him, stranger even that they may be, to be alone was worse.

In his thoughts, he had forgotten to cease his crying, and he looked down to see a puddle the size of his eye to look back at him.

He closed his own eyes and shielded them with his paws, determined to calm down by any means necessary.

It was in these moments of self-declared weakness in which Loneheart felt himself slipping away.

As hope was lost as that battle always was, he felt less and less content with the reality he had been given, wishing just to escape it and all its wounds.

An etch in his heart for every drop of blood, every word of hate, every maddening gaze, locked to him with nothing but those two things in mind.

He wanted nothing right now, a horrid feeling because he knew he wasn't allowed to have it, but still he lied here, just another stranger, waiting to get blown away by the wind.

Loneheart just didn't understand anything now, and that urge to discover the truths of life and find the answers to his existence had died with his mother, the moment he learned of that.

Answers only caused more pain.

Truth didn't exist when reality was broken.

Existence didn't matter.

But life he clung onto.

Just day to day living, as he had been for so long now.

To wake up in the morning still felt like a good thing.

It terrified him to think that one day, he would simply never wake up, forever in dream.

Death.

What kept him living.

He wanted nothing but he feared death.

It seemed so contradictory, but really, they were two completely different things.

He wanted to fade, not die.

A bird made a loud call above him, waking him from his waking dreams and opening his eyes to the world once again.

Still, he was alone, lying atop the spot where his friend had died.

Nothing had changed, and nothing would change the longer he stayed, so quietly and slowly he picked himself up, vision blurred with held back tears.

He had accomplished nothing with this expedition, in fact, he only felt worse now.

He began walking back in the direction of camp, with no intention of digging up the mice he had caught, only now wanting to get some sleep.

Dreamless sleep.

When Loneheart awoke, he had no concept of the time that had passed since he had been lying there.

The sun stood in the sky about where he had left it, but his whole body was cold to the touch.

He looked up to see that he was still at Fourtrees, despite remembering vividly, deciding to head back to camp, but after that, he realized he couldn't remember a thing.

Maybe he had dreamt that part, maybe he was still dreaming, it didn't matter much anymore.

Loneheart still felt tired, however long that he had been here.

He felt like he could have stayed for a good while longer, if only not for the source of his broken sleep.

It was Flameheart, the Windclan warrior, who had woken him up with a soft prod to the side.

They looked at each other for just a moment before Flameheart turned his head a bit and said, "Sorry, I didn't know if you were okay. I saw you lying there last night and, well, I don't know, sorry,"

He stumbled over his words anxiously.

So, he had been lying there for an entire day now, at least.

Loneheart realized he had to reply and just simply said, "Thanks," not wanting to make it any more awkward,

"Okay, well, I have to go now, I think. Bye," Flameheart said quickly and bounded off before Loneheart would even have been able to say goodbye, "How strange," Loneheart thought to nobody.

At least the Windclan warrior had cared enough to check to see if there was a problem.

Loneheart stood up, a couple of bones cracking as he stretched them out.

His whole body was cold, and he started sprinting back to camp to try to warm up quickly.

As he ran, he paid notice to the way that the trees swayed in the wind, such violent elegance they towered with.

Occasionally they would collide in the air, causing a flurry of branches and sticks, broken bits of wood and bark to rain down to the unassuming creatures of the ground.

Loneheart remembered one time that Stonefoot had told him about a time when he had found a squirrel crushed by a large branch after a storm.

That had stuck with him.

A fear of falling branches was a necessity for forest life, taught like any other skill to survive.

Thunderclan hadn't had a major injury with falling branches in a long time that Loneheart knew of.

He could only think of Clawpelt, who had fallen from an oak tree when a branch snapped under his weight.

He had broken four bones in his legs and had to do exercises every morning to keep him in good condition.

The bones never healed properly, and it most certainly led to him joining the elders' den at, what Loneheart had been told, a young age.

By this point, he was definitely old enough to be an elder, but Loneheart wondered if it was this injury that had made him so bitter.

He had mainly heard gossip about him from other cats, never really wanting to talk to him himself, and from what they said, he seemed like a nasty cat, picking out any wrong he could and using it to make the other cat seem inferior, which is why Loneheart had never talked to him, there were too many things that the elder could pick apart.

Dewstorm especially seemed to hate the old tom, despite the younger warriors' tendency to not dislike many cats.

He wanted to get to know Dewstorm better, he was one cat that Loneheart sometimes tried to talk to when he was in the mood, and though Dewstorm returned the favor and humored him in conversation, Loneheart could tell that his heart wasn't in it.

No matter how much he tried, it was obvious that Dewstorm wouldn't choose to be around him if there were any other choices.

Back in reality, or something quite like it, Loneheart had made it back to the ravine where Thunderclan camp stood.

Skidding down the rocks and shoveling down pebbles as he went, Loneheart reached the bottom and began to stride into the clearing.

Everything was just how he left it, as it typically was.

There were a few cats going about their days, one resting, one moving to do some job they were assigned, a couple sharing tongues with each other, everything and pretty much the only things that were expected of warriors.

Coldstones kits, or at least three of them, were playing outside the nursery, gaining the occasional look of any cat passing by.

Yarrowleaf was just coming out of the Medicine Cat Den, Berryflight watching as she went, though Loneheart wasn't close enough to try and figure out what she was feeling.

Yarrowleaf saw him and began bounding over to meet him.

Yarrowleaf was one of the few cats that Loneheart could consider a real friend, one of the only cats who seemed to enjoy his presence, "Hey Loneheart! Where have you been?" She said cheerfully, a tone of voice she really only had with him.

Loneheart opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find an excuse to give.

Telling the truth felt odd, and he couldn't think of much else to say.

He would feel guilty for lying to her, but he would feel embarrassed for telling the truth.

Yarrowleaf seemed to pick up on the fact that Loneheart didn't want to, or at least couldn't, answer her question, so she moved on, "Would you like to get something off the fresh-kill pile with me? I haven't eaten yet today, Berryflight was keeping me in her cave back there for who knows how long,"

"I haven't eaten either," Loneheart replied, and then followed her, a bit awkwardly to the fresh-kill pile.

When he caught up with her, she had already picked out a rabbit, big enough for the both of them.

They settled in the unofficial designated eating area towards the back of the camp, past the elders' den and behind a mash of plant life and a couple old tree stumps.

As they began eating, Yarrowleaf struck up something for them to talk about, "Thunderclaw's pretty angry at you, you know. He wanted to put you on the dawn patrol, but you weren't there and Snowflight told him off about waking her up,"

"I guess I won't talk to him then,"

"Why, were you planning on talking to him?" The pair let that conversation drift away, with neither of them really knowing what else to say about it.

For a moment there was silence, but Yarrowleaf soon had a new idea on what to talk about, "I've been measuring the river lately, it's really interesting," She implored,

"What about it?" Loneheart asked, glad to get away from the silence,

"Well, I've been going up there every three days for the past few moons, and I've been marking where the water comes up to with a stick, and I've noticed that there's a pattern to the way the water rises and falls throughout every moon. It's been almost the same every time, and I just thought that was really interesting,"

"Huh,"

"Have you been doing anything special lately?"

"I don't think so, just, trying to get by a guess,"

"Yeah," Yarrowleaf sighed, "Everything's been a mess lately," She dropped her gaze and rested herself down, seemingly done with eating the rabbit.

Loneheart didn't have much of an appetite either, so he pushed it away and lowered his head to rest next to her. Yarrowleafs eyes were focused on the dirt in front of her, probably deep in thought, so Loneheart just let her be, glancing a few times over to see her.

He heard a small gasp from her, and she looked up, her eyes back to normal, "Are you okay?" She asked, a question Loneheart felt like she asked a lot,

"Yeah, I'm fine," He lied,

"You haven't been acting well since the gathering," Loneheart felt a deep distress and almost annoyance at this question.

Now was supposed to be the time he didn't have to think about it, to be able to talk freely with Yarrowleaf, but instead, the traumatizing event continued to invade his mind no matter where he ran, "It was a really terrible thing that happened, but at some point, we've got to try to continue with life,"

"It's only been half a moon," Loneheart rebutted quietly, turning his head, probably too soft for Yarrowleaf to even have heard, since she looked for another moment seemingly expecting him to say something, and then she too turned away.

It was the same thing that everybody always said when something went wrong, just get over it, whether it was a missed piece of prey, or the dangling life of a friend.

Loneheart found that he couldn't entirely blame Yarrowleaf for this.

She didn't know that he and Acornpaw had been friends.

In her eyes, he was just upset because he saw a cat die, completely excluding their relationship from the point.

Try as he might to make excuses for her though, Loneheart had to admit he was just making up excuses.

He found himself doing that with everyone he liked if they said or did something wrong.

He couldn't fully comprehend that these cats that he held in the highest regard made mistakes or thought things that Loneheart disagreed with.

It was a tough thing, all these relationships, "Well, I'm going to go see if Coldstone wants this," Yarrowleaf said suddenly, referring to the rabbit, before quickly taking it in her jaws and heading off, leaving Loneheart to sit alone for a few moments.

Alone with his thoughts as always, Loneheart began feeling his mind wander.

Images flashed in his head, ones he had seen and one that he hadn't.

Things that were real seem so long ago, and the fantasies seemed so real.

He raised his paw up to his neck, dragging it softly across his scar, the one that he had been given back in Corrina's camp.

He always tried to cover it with his fur, which usually worked because of the way it clung against him like water.

Typically, no one would be able to see it, or at least not much of it, but Loneheart didn't care about his shame right now, as he felt over the memory, one of the only things he was sure had happened.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure, marching with aim in his direction.

Though he wished it to be Yarrowleaf, he didn't look, in fear it to be someone else, "Barkstar wants to see you in his den now," It was Thunderclaw, a look of hatred in his eyes that Loneheart dared not look at.

He nodded slightly, if only to get the deputy to leave.

Out of all cats, Thunderclaw was one of the ones who hated him the most.

The tom didn't like any cats that weren't from Thunderclan, and even if Loneheart considered himself a part of the clan, he guessed that there were cats that would just never see that.

It took him a process to replay the scene in his head and figure out what Thunderclaw had asked him, he hadn't been paying attention to his words.

Reluctantly he stepped on as he saw Thunderclaw sink off to wherever the deputy went when he had no more orders.

He re-matted his fur over his scar and then started on his way over to Barkstars den.

As he went, he looked to his left and saw Yarrowleaf, just coming out of the nursery. She looked to him with pitiful eyes, a deep sadness filling them, almost like grief.

Loneheart hoped it wasn't because he was leaving now without a word, but he really wasn't sure.

She only looked for a second, and then turned her head, making slow motions to where they had been sitting, making sure not to watch him as they each went their separate directions.

Loneheart approached the den and took a breath. Never had he had a good experience in Barkstars den.

Barkstar called from inside from Loneheart hesitated, "Come in, Loneheart, I want to talk to you," Now he couldn't delay any longer, and he strode cautiously in.

The leader's eyes were already trained on him by the time he pushed his way in, "Sit down," The leader instructed.

Barkstar had a puzzling aura around him, something Loneheart couldn't pin down, but something was wrong.

He was in control, and that's all he knew, "I have a job for you. As you should know, Riverclan and Windclan are having a spat as of late,"

Loneheart turned his gaze away a bit, not wanting to look into his leader's eyes, "But," Barkstar said with crisp force, making Loneheart tense up, "There hasn't been a war in quite a while now. I don't believe there are any living cats in Thunderclan who have experienced such a thing. And as such, I believe it necessary to create a new code, one for a time like this, as the warrior code does not prove reliable to help us now," Loneheart waited, antsy.

Nobody had ever suggested creating a new code before.

Since he was born, it had been bashed into his head each and every code that they lived by, to not trespass, to give thanks to Starclan for each piece of prey caught, to always save kits from danger, no matter what clan they were in, and so on.

He could recite it all perfectly, and now Barkstar was suggesting a new one, "I see you're anxious," Barkstar commented, a hint of humor in his voice for just a moment, "You shouldn't worry so much. You have just a small part to play right now. I want you to go to each of the clans and announce to their leaders that I wish to meet them at Fourtrees in three days time from tomorrow. This cannot go unattended any longer, for I fear that the brutes may try to involve Thunderclan if we are not careful,"

"Why me?" Loneheart asked,

"Aren't you a good warrior?" Barkstar countered. Loneheart dipped his head slightly, not in respect, but in defeat.

He didn't want to do this, not now, "Go rest up now," Barkstar suggested, "I've already told Berryflight of this plan. She will wake you early in the morning and give you the herbs you require to carry out the mission. So eat well tonight and sleep early, and remember, three days from tomorrow,"

That seemed to be his dismissal, so Loneheart raced out of the leader's den, his head whirling.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, in theory, but the more he thought about it, he realized it would be an entire day with just him and his thoughts, "Hi Stote!" A voice broke through the noise in his head. It was Stonefoot,

"Hi," He replied softly,

"Would you, like to stay out, with me tonight? Watch the stars?"

"No, I can't tonight," Stonefoot paused,

"There's another cat out there, you know,"

"What?"

"A she-cat, out somewhere there. She's pretty dangerous, I think, so you should be careful, if you're going to go, anywhere,"

"Okay," Loneheart replied, too tired to really think or care much about what his father just said.

Without another word, they broke away from each other, Loneheart to the warriors' den, and Stonefoot to who knows where.

Snowflight was the only cat in the den, grooming and paying little mind to Lonehearts presence.

He didn't feel like talking anymore and he couldn't find any reason to stay awake any longer, so he retired himself to sleep and let his mind wander through the dark passageways that stood there, forever changing and morphing to his thoughts.

One last look over his shoulder, and he was gone.

Until I write again,

-Gojira