Dislclaimer: I own only what was not in the books

Chapter 3:

Shadowpelt sat at the edge of camp, Sheba beside him. He was staring at the male Elite, Terrian, as if at a horrific monster, shocked at what he was about to do. Sheba murmured one last bit of encouragement, "Fight to your strengths," into his ear before nudging him forward.

Numbly, he trudged to the center of the clearing. Odd he thought I never thought being a hero would make me feel like I was walking to my execution. All his instincts told him to turn back, but to late. "Shadowpelt, what do you want?" the huge tabby snarled impatiently. Just ask him a simple question his mind screamed. His treacherous mouth promptly ignored it. "Terrian, I challenge you to a battle for the position of male Elite for the Clan of the Fighting Cat. I earlier saw you torturing, and in the end probably killing, a trainee. I think you have abused your station and have no right to hold it."

This was a lot of words for the usually reserved soldier. The Clan, despite it's massive size, had gone quiet. All the cats stared at their Elite. They had trusted him and he very well may have betrayed them.

Terrian rose slowly. "I accept your challenge to the station and oppose any and all accusations against my integrity and honor."

The two cats turned to look at the huge moss covered stump that served as the Generals den and a place to make announcements. A lithe silvery white she-cat emerged. Both cats dipped their heads respectfully. "General Moonflower," Shadowpelt murmured. She nodded to him then leapt to the rock. Any fight below the rank of Elite was considered unimportant and could be carried out anywhere. Any higher rank had to be viewed by witnesses.

"Elite Terrian, Frontline Shadowpelt has challenged you to a position for your honor. To you accept?"

Terrian nodded. "I do."

She turned to Shadowpelt. "Do you, Shadowpelt, still uphold your challenge?" Barely keeping his voice from shaking he answered, "I do."

Moonflower nodded. "Then fight fairly, by the Laws of Tooth and Claw. May the spirits of the Great Cats guide you. Begin"

Immediately the two toms leapt at each other, meeting in midair. Snarling, Shadowpelt moved to sink his teeth into the Elite, but found only a mouthful of scruff as Terrian shifted. The two cats fell to the ground, still wrapped in a bear hug.

Terrian was obviously bigger, and would win this way, Shadowpelt realized as his opponent's claws ripped painfully into his stomach. Sheba's words rang suddenly in his ear. His old mentor had once called him fast and furious. He fought harder and better when he could move.

He had to get away from Terrian's death grip. He made as if to give up, lying limp beneath his adversary. Thinking he had won, Terrian relaxed ever so slightly. That was enough. Shadowpelt kicked up with his paws, sending the huge cat flying to land with a hollow whump! at the base of the General's den. Shadowpelt lunged forward, claws unsheathed, and sliced the Elites face, ripping him from right ear to left shoulder.

Blood gushed to the surface and out of the wound as Shadowpelt darted around Terrian's outstretched claws and sank his teeth into the Elite's muscled foreleg. The tom struggled under him for a while, but Shadowpelt knew he had to give up soon from blood loss.

Sure enough, the tabby held up a paw of surrender within minutes. Shadowpelt had stepped slowly off him, shaking, when Terrian's inflictions kicked in. He just contained a yowl of pain as he felt the vicious bloody swipes on his stomach and the deep bite marks in his face. He stumbled as he walked toward Sheba, who was waiting with Moren. He collapsed on the ground in front of them and distantly saw Moren's apprentice scurry off to look after Terrian. He heard Sheba's voice from a long way off. "Wow that was fast. But you won, Shadowpelt! You're the knew male Elite!"

Then everything went black.

Windheart carefully sniffed the area. As soon as she had set paw into the clearing, one of the small parts of her Clans territory that was wooded, she had smelled the Clan of the Hunting Cat. Two cats, an older she-cat, smelling faintly of herbs so she must be the Medicine Cat, and young tom. The prey had shed blood on grass and, after careful investigations, Windheart found it smelled like a Hunting Cat's mouse.

She thought.

They had trespassed, but only a little, and only after a mouse that was theirs and would have wandered back to its home to be killed another day anyway. Tres padded up to her. "Anything?" Windheart nodded. "They only trespassed to follow a mouse from their own territory. Its no big deal, but I don't want them getting any ideas. We'll report to Mora when we return."

Tres nodded. "Sure thing. Let's take our time getting back though." Windheart purred. The two she-cats turned and started back to camp. After a while of traveling Windheart glanced at the setting sun. "We'll stay at the Sentry post tonight and the Frontline's camp the night after, if we take our time. If we want to sleep in a nest the third night we'll move fast. If not, we can keep our own pace."

Tres nodded. "That's what we did on the way up and it worked out fine. Oh, here's the Sentry post"

The two friends topped a rise and the small post that housed six or so sentries came into view. Most sentries worked alone, or in pairs, but this particular post had picked up quite a few strays in the past couple of years. Tres yowled a greeting and pricked her ears for an answer.

Nothing.

Windheart yowled this time.

Still nothing.

Tres nudged her suddenly, looking sick. "Smell," she whispered. Windheart blinked at her friend but did as she was told. The moment she drew the air through her scent glands she flinched inwardly. Blood.

Riverstripe stared into the furious yellow eyes, unable to move. "What are you doing on the Clan of the Hunting Cat's territory. Make it quick or you'll be crow-food." Behind him the other cats, an older white tom, a small but fierce looking brown-black she-cat apprentice, and a large black tom, moved forward, snarling. Their focus was not on her but on something behind her. That's when she realized Brook and the Hunting patrol had moved up after her.

"Well?" the gray tom snarled impatiently. Get a hold of yourself! Riverstipe thought desperately. You're an Elite! She rose, lifting her head proudly. "I was fetching river-weed for my Medicine Cat. We did you no harm and expect you to do us none."

The tom didn't relax, but a little suspicion disappeared from his eyes. "Why would fetching river-weed bring you onto our territory?" Riverstripe knew this was a question, not an accusation. "I needed a place to land, and this rock was perfect." Behind him the young she-cat growled, "That's no excuse!" She looked at the gray tom. "Who knows how long they've been here. We should drive them out!"

The black tom growled in agreement and, before anyone could stop him, launched himself straight at one of the Hunters. Within seconds the poor young tabby had disappeared across the river, injured severely. The other Hunting Clan cats had thrown themselves into battle. Without knowing it, Riverstripe found herself facing off the black tom, who seemed fueled with a godly rage.

Thunderfoot watched as his opponent vanished across the river. He turned toward the battle, and saw Mouse gamely taking blows from an apprentice almost ready to become a Soldier or Hunter and Byron easily fending off swipes from a much younger and faster brown tabby she-cat. Night had pinned the oddly stripe silver tabby to the ground. Thunderfoot should have felt proud of the young black tom, but he found himself angered. An image suddenly popped into his mind, something he'd never thought about before.

Four kits snuggled up to a young tabby she-cat's warm fur. Bellies full the shadowy black tom, silver tabby she-cat, stone gray tom, and pale brown tabby she-cat dozed off. Suddenly, a voice came from outside the den. "Nena! May I come in?" Before an answer came an old black and white queen hurried into the den. "Screave! He's coming! He says that these are the cats of the prophecy! He wont listen to reason! You have to run!"

Riverstripe struggled beneath the black tom's weight. She had to get up! Suddenly there was a flash of gray and the weight was lifted off of her. Wait. Gray? There had been no gray cat in the patrol. She struggled to her paws, looked around, and was stunned at what she saw. The gray tom from the other patrol had saved her life! He was standing over the black tom, to shocked to move.

Thunderfoot stared at Night as the tom lay meekly under him. "Erm, Thunderfoot? Do you mind, well, moving? I can't breathe." Thunderfoot scrambled off of him and, thinking fast, said, "We do not kill our opponents over a mistaken border scuffle. I understand your dislike of that clan, your family was killed by them, but that's not an excuse to sink so low." Night nodded and the two toms watched as the silver tabby, the last cat, swam across the river.
It looked as if the Great Cats had taken a pawful of shadow and a mouthful of the night sky and put them together to create the pelt of the lithe tom trotting across the muddy ground. He stopped suddenly, mid-step, and turned to stare intently at the bushes to his right, ears forward. Moments later a small brown tabby she-cat rustled out of the bushes, a mouse clamped firmly in her jaws.

"Sheba! There you are! You said you'd meet me here at Sunhigh!" The she-cat rolled her eyes at her friend. "I apologize for my tardiness Elite Shadowpelt, and promise you it will never happen again." Shadowpelt purred. "I may have to report you Frontline Sheba. Your pathetic punctuality could cost lives." Sheba laughed and butted her friends shoulder with her head. "Come on. There's a Sentry Post ahead, my half-sister is there." Shadowpelt nodded and followed Sheba out of the clearing.

They'd traveled a ways, talking, when Sheba murmured, "Something's in the bushes. You-" she was cut off as a lithe pale tabby she-cat stepped out of the undergrowth. She smelled of the Clan of the Running Cat. "What are you doing so deep in the Fighting Clan's territory?" Sheba's eyes were cold. Shadowpelt said nothing, but hissed.

The tabby rolled her eyes. "I come in peace. I bear a message from General Mora. For General Moonflower's ears only," she added as Sheba opened her mouth."Fine," Shadowpelt hissed. "What is your name and station?"

"I am Windheart, female Elite of the Clan of the Running Cat." Sheba narrowed her eyes and glanced at Shadowpelt. As usual he felt uncomfortable talking in front of someone he didn't know, but he had to speak at least once more. "We'll proceed to the nearest Barracks and gather a larger guard. How did you get past the Sentries and Frontlines?"

The tabby shrugged. "The Sentries escorted me, but I gave them the slip right after the Barracks. They were being idiots."

Shadowpelt narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but sighed. "Follow us."

Windheart trotted behind the large black tom, the tabby tailing her, thinking about all that had happened in the past two days.

Windheart and Tres padded into the Sentry post, looking around in horror. Blood spattered the walls of brambles and pooled at her paws. Fur stuck to the branches and floated around the small clearing. The smell of terror and dread had not yet disappeared on the wind. Little remained of the cats. A few bloody bones and the occasional forgotten limp and bloody body, torn to shreds. One smell overcame all others. Wolves.

Two cats sprinted into camp in the dead of night. They hadn't stopped running since dawn. Now they hurried for the Generals den, leaping onto the log, past the Guards, and through the hole. Windheart poked Mora awake. No time for protocol now. Muttering, the she-cat's eyes flickered open. Upon seeing her Elite standing over her, spattered in blood from burying all they could find of the sentries, in the dead of night, her eyes snapped open and she pushed herself to her paws.
"Windheart, what happened?" "Sentry post. Slaughter. Wolves!" she gasped. Mora stared, then growled, "Catch your breath and tell me what happened"
The two she-cats spoke swiftly and told her everything. "Grab some prey and a little rest. At dawn I will send out messengers, you included. A Gathering of the Clans is in order."

Windheart padded into camp, flanked by four Soldiers, the black tom, and the tabby. She looked around, impressed. Before she could take it all in, though, a silver-whiten she-cat broke apart from a group of warriors and trotted towards them. Upon scenting a Running Clan cat her hackles came up and she bared her teeth. "What is one of them doing here!"

Before anyone could answer Windheart spoke, stung by being called 'one of them.'

"I bear a message for your ears only, General Moonflower. From General Mora herself"

The cats eyes narrowed, but she beckoned her forward, along with the black tom and a calico she-cat. All three started toward General Moonflowers den. As they passed the group of warriors Moonflower had been talking to she brushed her tail against the back of a black and white she-cat, who joined them in.

Windheart padded after them. She tried not to show her nerves as the two hulking guards outside the Generals den snarled at her. She shook such thoughts from her head as the cool ground enveloped her.

Reaching the bottom she found a good sized hollow. "What is this message. My Elites and Deputy will be allowed to know."

Windheart shrugged, it was none of her business who knew, and started. "General Mora has called for a Gathering of the Clans."

Moonflower gaped. "We haven't had one of them in ages! What for?"

"A few days ago, two to be precise, myself and a Hunter found one of the Sentry posts slaughtered by wolves. A large pack. It won't be long until they turn on the other Clans and the Base Camps.

Now, during the Gathering all Base Camps will be less defended and more vulnerable to attack. General Mora wants it clear that a Generals decision to go is his or her own and in no way will she take the blame if something should happen. On the other paw, all Clans should be involved in any decision that should be made. They will have no say if they do not come"

General Moonflower frowned thoughtfully. "When does she plan to have this Gathering?"

Windheart blinked. Was this she-cat mouse-brained? "Next full moon of course."

Moonflower nodded. "In two days time, return here and tell me the decisions of the other Clan leaders. I will tell you my own then. And don't send anyone else. Only you."

Windheart was not looking forward to the long trip back, but what could she do? "Yes General Moonflower ma'am." Moonflower turned to her Elites. "With the soldiers who came in, escort this Elite to the border."

The black tom and calico she-cat rose and followed Windheart out of the den. She sighed as the Soldiers closed in around her. She knew she'd have to make another long boring trip back.

Thunderfoot lay in the noonday sun thinking, not for the first time, about the silver tabby and the flashback.

He was laying on a small cliff he had discovered during some free time as a Trainee. It was extremely hard to find the ledge that led to it and only a cat was agile enough to maneuver it, unless he had wings.

"Thunderfoot!" Thunderfoot turned around. His best friend since he was a Trainee, Mace a large mottled tom, was standing on the path to the camp. "I'm going hunting, wanna come?"

Purring, a good hunt with his best friend would distract him, he got to his paws and carefully picked his way back to the main path where his friend was waiting.

"What you go there for is beyond me. To hard to get to for the same amount of sun you could get at- what's this?" he hissed suddenly. "I smell Swimming Clan!" The two toms exchanged glances, and hurried up the slope. At the top they moved in separate directions, fanning out through the trees.

Thunderfoot immediately found the Swimming Clan cat looking a little lost, but following the main scent trail. He saw a pair of glinting eyes from a tree opposite him, and at Thunderfoot's nod Mace leapt off of the branch and onto the intruder as Thunderfoot lunged forward.

The two toms easily swept the cat of his paws and pinned him down. He didn't put up a fight at all. Or look surprised. Instead the black tom looked relieved. "Finally, I found someone! I've been looking since yesterday! Though I'm pretty sure I've been going in circles since General told me your camp was only a little ways away from the border." His piercing blue eyes were filled with good humor.

Thunderfoot was so surprised he relaxed his grip on the captive. Apparently so did Mace, as the tom squeezed out from under them and carefully dusted himself off before saying, "Allow me to introduce myself. First, I come in peace, so please don't eat me. My name is Wren, male Elite of the Clan of the Swimming Cat. I have a message for General Splitfang's ears only."

Thunderfoot snapped himself out of his reverie. The tom looked trustworthy, but he knew that wasn't what he should judge by. "We'll take you to General Splitfang and your can deliver your message. He'll decide your fate after that."

Wren shrugged. "He's said to be a sensible fellow. I'll trust him."

Thunderfoot and Mace exchanged glances. This tom was very, well, odd. They rose and, Thunderfoot leading and Mace bringing up the rear, headed toward camp. By the time they had reached the General's den they had attracted many curious and menacing gazes.

General Splitfang looked the tom up and down, saying at last. "Mace. Fetch my female Elite, Deputy and Medicine Cat. They should be in camp. If you wish you can hear what he has to say. You aided Thunderfoot in his capture."

Mace nodded eagerly and hurried out of the den. For a moment Thunderfoot thought the time was going to be passed in awkward silence, but was surprised when Splitfang asked Wren how General Mora was doing. "She's doing great sir, as is the rest of the Clan."

Splitfang nodded. "Good."

Battle, Sarge, the large black and white deputy, and Bristle entered suddenly behind Mace. As soon as they sat down, Splitfang lost a little of his easiness, and asked why Wren had trespassed.

The black Elite blinked. "General Mora has requested a Gathering of the Clans."

Battle's jaw dropped, Sarge stared, and Bristle gasped audibly. Even Splitfang raised and eyebrow. "A Gathering of the Clans. We haven't had one of those since I was a young apprentice. Why would she request such a thing? And your not a Running Clan cat."

Wren's usually happy face fell slightly. "A messenger came a few days ago, to speak to us and you, but she got a nasty wound on her leg. She stayed with us, but told me what I had to know and I was sent. What I'm about to say is from her point of view."

When he spoke next it was in a clearly memorized voice.

"A few days ago, her and a Hunter found one of the Sentry posts slaughtered by a large pack of wolves. It won't be long until they turn on the other Clans. Now, during the Gathering all Base Camps will be less defended and more vulnerable to attack. General Mora wants it clear that a Generals decision to go is his or her own and in no way will she take the blame if something should happen. On the other paw, all Clans should be involved in any decision that should be made. They will have no say if they do not come."

He said this all in about two breaths and took a moment to get his wind back.

Splitfang looked thoughtful. He glanced at his advisors. Bristle spoke first. "We should go. There are more benefits than disadvantages. And what are the chances that the pack would attack that night?"

Sarge hesitated. "I don't know. It could be a trap. We should at least be careful." Battle rolled her eyes. "We should be careful, trap or no. I say we go. Bristle's right." All eyes turned toward Thunderfoot. He felt hot under his fur. Since when had he had to make decisions? Since you became an Elite, he thought wirily. He hesitated. Then, "I say we go." Splitfang nodded.

"Sarge has a point, we should be careful, but I don't think Mora is as dishonorable as to pretend to call a Gathering. We'll go."

Riverstripe watched as Wren trotted into camp, the smell of the Clan of the Hunting Cat heavy on his coat. Windheart rose readily. She and Riverstripe had become friendly and promised to see each other at the Gathering. She still couldn't believe that one was happening. She'd thought that that ritual had been abandoned long ago.

Well she thought wirily, remembering Nacuda's words, guess I don't know everything.

In case your interested:

General: Leaders

Deputy: Second in Command

Elites: strongest male and female in clan

Medicine Cat: takes care of injured cats

Training Master: Trains trainees; a soldier or guard

Trainees: step after kit, once a trainee completes his/her training, he/she will be made an apprentice with a personal mentor

Apprentice: step above trainee; given mentors depending on status: ex. Very strong, good fighter, probably mentored by Elite, fast and lithe, Hunter

Frontline Soldiers: live in small camps a little behind Sentry Posts; First line of defense for clans

Sentries: fast and lithe, live in groups of two or three usually; rotate so there is always one in camp; run to Frontline Soldier camp, alert them, then to Base camp

Guards: guard General

Hunters: hunt for clan

Soldiers: work in base camp; guard it

Elders: cats to old or crippled to work

Queens: pregnant or nursing she-cats

Ranks in order

General

Deputy Medicine Cat

Elites

Guard

Soldiers Hunters Frontline Soldiers

Sentries (a little below Soldiers and Hunters)

Queens Elders (offer advice)

Apprentices

Trainees

Note: Clans and territories are MUCH bigger

Legend says that these for Clans were formed by the four Great Cats (Leopard, Tiger, Lion, and Cheetah)

Hunters will fight as Soldiers will hunt (nobody just sits around unless they've already worked)