Disclaimer: I own only what was not in the books

Chapter 11: Valley of Thorns

"We'll risk the gorge," Thunderfoot's voice rang through the air. The mountain cats wilted but nodded.

Shadowpelt leaping ahead, Thunderfoot took the lead.

Riverstripe sighed. More heights. At least this time she wouldn't be able to see them. Or anything else.

She sighed again and watched as the last cat disappeared over the gorge. Swallowed by shadow.

The cats padded single file along the thin path into the gorge. As Thunderfoot lead, he regretted with every ounce of his body, ever persuading the others to follow. He could barely see in front of him, and behind, he was blocked by more darkness. Only the glowing eyes of the cats at hss back and their labored breathing kept him from hyperventilating.

Far ahead, Shadowpelt raced, the only one of the cats who could see well in the dark. It had been hours or minutes, Thunderfoot had lost track of the time when the sun disappeared from view, since they had left. Now, one shadow broke apart from the rest and ran up to him.

At first his half crazed mind thought it was a demon, but then Shadowpelt spoke, and his fur lay flat."The bottom of the gorge is about two hours away, the speed we're going," he reported. "It's lighter down their. Dim, but lighter."

Thunderfoot nodded and Riverstripe spoke from his side. "Keep scouting ahead. We'll meet you at the bottom." The black tom nodded and turned around, disappearing into shadow.

At the bottom, Shadowpelt waited for the others to catch up. He was nervous. They should have been here by now, right? He kept hearing noises. The bottom of the gorge was dimly lit, colorless. Everything seemed made of black or gray.

Suddenly, a shale of pebbles falling from one wall made him jump. He whipped around, only to come face to face with Thunderfoot.

"What in the name of StarClan?" he hissed, then realized what he had said. Where had that come from? StarClan? From the prophecy? Before he could ponder this anymore, the rest of the cats crept from the path. They looked wary and cautious, but glad to see light.

"Come," Thunderfoot yowled and started off. Windheart approached him. "It's best we don't send out any scouts. We should stay together, now that we can see." Shadowpelt nodded agreement, along with Riverstripe. He did not want to go out alone again.

An hour of walking later, and Windheart knew they were being followed. She had been hearing the occasional pebble trickle down the side of the canyon, a fleeting shadow out of the corner of her eye. But it was the feeling of being watched that made her fur bristle. At least it had gotten lighter, so colors were pretty much back to normal.

And then suddenly, a troop of cats larger than theirs stepped out of the shadows. Just like that.

They were the oddest looking bunch of cats she had ever seen. Scrawny, but lithely muscled, their fur stuck up in all directions, unwashed and clumped with mud. Their pelt were all colors of the valley. Oranges, yellows, and reds of all different shades. Tabbies and tortoiseshells, solids and splotched.

But it was their… ornaments that distracted Windheart the most. Some wore small, sharpened, bones through their ears, nose, or tail. Feathers were slathered with mud and slapped onto their fur, along with bits and pieces of different animals pelts. What appeared to be berry juice stained certain parts of their fur. Some looked like berry juice, at least. The rest looked like dried blood.

One spoke, a big orange tabby with the most decorations on him, in a gruff voice as if not used to verbalizing, "You trespass in Valley of Thorns."

Thunderfoot stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but the cat's huge paw came down unsheathed and smashed him in the head. Face blank as he watched the tom yowl, the valley cat continued. "You come with us."

Thunderfoot's face still stung as the party entered what had to be the cats home. He couldn't see them in the rubble of fallen rocks riddled with ancient inscriptions, but he could smell them. Beside him, Mouse quivered. He looked forward again.

As they emerged from the long trail in between the piles of rubble, the sudden light of the 'clearing' dazzled him. It was the only place not full of rock and rubble. But the light also shed light on a gruesome sight.

Straight in front of them, two huge slaps of rock had come together to from a cone. The entrance was hung with fur. Steps had been made to lead up to it's base. The very top step, though, was wider and smoother. It appeared to be smeared and crusted with blood.

At the base of the cliff, and event the lower ledges, sat, hung, and dangled all kinds of bones and decaying animals. Small mice, rabbits, or voles, to owls, foxes, badgers and coyotes. Thunderfoot even saw several cat skeletons there, some not more than kits.

As he looked up, he saw the most horrifying thing yet. On the higher ledges, bones and sticks had been placed vertically into cages, and so long were the bones that none of the captors could get out. Even if they were short enough, Thunderfoot doubted they could. Some were corpses, rotting and old. Others were fresher, and appeared to have been skinned. Those that weren't dead looked it. They were so skinny that every single bone poked from their ragged, dull fur, which was coming of in clumps. Some had wounds that were black or green, and oozing slime. All had sunken eyes and odd signs smeared onto their bodies with berry juice or blood. It was hard to tell. A small circle ran around their nose, and slashes over their eyes. A feather, black as night, had been plastered with mud onto their tails.

Suddenly, three cats stepped out of the shelter. One was extremely tall, with amazingly long legs. He had two sharpened bones stuck horizontally through his nose, more and brighter feathers plastered to his fur, and what appeared to be the skull of a cat on his head.

The other two were identical grays, scrawny and cruel looking. A black feather, died red to it's middle, was braided into their shoulder fur. They were only a little less decorated than the first, with small fox skulls on their heads, but they had no bone in their nose. All three were oddly marked, but not with berry juice. With scars.

To Thunderfoot, they were the most atrocious cats he had ever seen.

Their guide hurried forward, then stopped suddenly on the second to last step. He bowed his head, nose touching the ground, and folded his front paws beneath him. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke in a fast, guttural language.

At last the cat stepped back.

Then the big tom spoke. Not in a voice that sounded like he was foreign the their language. In a way that sounded as if he had been raised to it. "You dare to trespass in the Valley of Thorns? Home of the Great Canyon Cat since the first Holes were punctured in the sky for the Cat to crawl through? The Priests," he motioned to the twins with a jerk of his tail, "think you should be sacrificed. But I will let the Canyon Cat decide."

He turned and jerked his head to the Priest. They rushed forward. One grabbed a kit, another an apprentice. When their guardians moved forward, they were warned away by hateful hisses.

As the two cats were dragged up to the first Thunderfoot had a sinking feeling of what was about to happen. He stepped forward, only to be slammed back by a Canyon Cat. The tom pinned him to the ground and he watched helplessly as the apprentice and kit were pinned to ground and strange inscriptions were drawn into their fur as the Priests began to chant.

Riverstripe watched in horror as the chanting stopped suddenly. The two Priest let out an earsplitting yowl, throwing their head back to the stars. Then, suddenly, they plunged them back down in unison… right into the throats of the two cats. A scream rose from the Clan cats, half yowl half screach, and a queen sagged to the ground, unconscious.

Riverstripe moaned, her sight becoming blurry as the cat's blood was spread, first on the rock, then the faces of the three cats. The Priest picked up the bodies and carried them into the den.

Riverstripe collapsed.

When she came to, Riverstripe found herself in one of the odd cages on the cliff. Looking around, she saw all the other cats had been treated likewise. Glancing down, her stomach churned at the long drop. But when her eyes rested on the dead apprentice and kit, who were back on the blood-smeared rock, without their fur, she couldn't help it. She threw up, then collapsed again.

Her eyes opened to a strange sight. She was seated in a clearing, four large, ancient oaks surrounding her. The wind blew gently across the grass. Something, an inner voice, drew her gaze to the sky. She gasped. The stars were writhing and twisting, and suddenly, they began to descend. The closer they came, the more Riverstripe began to realize they looked like cats. Only when they had settled around her, did she recognize faces. Cats she new from her Clan, Brook and Fire-eyes included. The FightingClan cat who had died in the river, and the kit and apprentice who had been killed earlier. Even Whitefoot was there. Then they spoke, in many voice, yet in one. "StarClan is always with you. We will keep you safe." A sudden snarl broke through the night air and she awoke.

Windheart saw Riverstripe collapse, and then, anable to do anything else, watched as the moon made its slow pace in the sky. It was only at its highest now when a rock crumbled from its place above her head. She looked up, but saw nothing. Turning her gaze back to Riverstripe, she gasped.

A cat, larger than even the wolves who had attacked them, and the color of the canyon, was crouched above her cage. It snarled, and at that moment Riverstrip's eyes snapped open. She yowled. A few cats lifted their heads, blinking sleepily.

Windheart felt panic for her sister well in her chest. What could she do? Suddenly, a howl broke through the air. Close. Very close.

Eighteen wolves thundered into the rubble-camp, snarling and killing. Cats were running, yowling, screaming. They streamed out of the entrance, and found paw-holds on the seemingly sheer ledge, scrambling to safety.

Suddenly, a wolf twice the size of the others, with bulging muscles, leapt at her. His eyes had none of the savage intelligence she saw in the others. They were full of pure hate for all living things. His fangs, twice the size of normal ones, were tinged yellow. Old, and new, blood crusted his unwashed fur and muzzle. What appeared to be a harness wrapped around his body.

Windheart panicked. He was far worse than any of the others. He leapt again, powerful jaws closing on bones the size of her head, and snapping them with ease, breakng the cage. Heart pounding in her ears, she lunged over his head. A small part of her couldn't help but think that it would have been better to die with the others, at the Sacred Grounds.

a/n- short, I know, and not my best writing, but I'm home (for now) and I wanted to get something up. please r&r.