Breezepelt opened his eyes drowsily, looking forward to another day without Heathertail. Chaffinches chirped, and sparrows sang, but there wasn't another cat in sight. I must have thought too soon, Breezepelt growled to himself as he sniffed dry WindClan blood and the restless walking of his two least favorite cats, who happened to be his half-brothers: Jayfeather and Lionblaze.

Then, something similar to what happened between Heathertail and Lionblaze began to start. Because Jayfeather was leading the group, it was he who Breezepelt saw first. Jayfeather sniffed at the air confusedly and realized that Heathertail was not the only WindClan cat that would be joining him and his brother on this lonely island. Breezepelt arched his back preparing to attack, but then realized that they had Heathertail with them. Three of her paws were wrapped in cobweb, and she smelled of goldenrod. Her tan fur was matted with blood, and her sky blue eyes were drowsy with exhaustion and weariness.

What happened to you my poor Heathertail? Wait a freakin' second, did I just say 'my poor Heathertail?!?' Breezepelt waited for Jayfeather to explain what had happened.

The trio entered the sunny clearing where Breezepelt lay in the warm glow of the rays. Breezepelt leapt to his feet as they approached him, growing nearer and nearer with each passing second. He wasn't looking for a fight, but he wanted to be prepared in case Lionblaze was. In the battle when the sun died, Lionblaze had proven himself a difficult and aggressive opponent in battle. Many cats still had scars from fighting him, even though he had only been an apprentice at the time. Breezepelt needed to be as ready as possible for a battle with this fierce a fighter.

They halted a tail length away from Breezepelt and stared at him like they were waiting for him to make the first move. Just like those ThunderClan furbags to wait for me to attack so if anyone gets hurt they can blame it on me! Breezepelt could feel Lionblaze's hot breath on his face. He smelled the blood in his mouth. Heathertail's blood. Though he didn't particularly like Heathertail at the moment, he was willing to stick up for his fellow clan mates against those mangy forest dwellers. He didn't say a word and so the silence stretched on.

"Look, Breezepelt, brother from another mother, we don't want to fight. At least I don't," Jayfeather said finally, breaking to quietness. "We want to make peace. Heathertail is sorry for what she said to you. Lionblaze apologized to Heathertail for attacking her... it turns out that he got bonked on the head with a coconut and went a little crazy. But he's back to normal now, or at least he says he is. We don't want any trouble. The only way we'll ever find out where we are and how to get back to the clans is if we work together and don't argue. Who's with me?"

Heathertail and Lionblaze both said, "I am," in unison, then looked at each other and hissed in anger. Breezepelt shuffled his paws noisily but eventually meowed a forced "Sure, I'm in".

"Okay then," said Jayfeather, who was just trying to pull everyone together and keep their group from falling apart. "Let's assign tasks, then."

*Later that day, after Jayfeather had for herbs and let Lionblaze and Breezepelt go hunting so Heathertail wouldn't get torn to shreds...*

Breezepelt's pads were sore because he had scraped them on thorns while chasing a quick mouse. Crimson blood gushed from his aching wounds. He had just caught a whiff of rabbit and was stalking it quite carefully, or so he thought, until he felt a strange shadow lurking behind him. The scent of two-leg drifted to him as the wind direction changed. Oh no! As he started trembling in fright, too afraid to turn around, a huge island native stuffed him in a sack as he gasped for breath.

The only thing he saw for a long while was the inside of a scratchy potato sack as he bumped around inside it on the way to the native's camp. He yowled in anger and frustration and clawed at the bag, only to be flung against a thick tree trunk. That shut him up until the journey had ended and he was being dumped out of the bag and onto the cold, hard ground.

The first thing that he noticed when he hit the ground was the fact that it was nighttime. The black sky was full of bright stars that were the same as the ones that he used to see from the moor before he ended up in this new, unknown place. It was strange that the sky seemed to be the same in both places. Maybe he was closer to home than he thought.

He didn't have much time for stargazing before he was scooped in a pair of two-leg hands and tied to a hairy vine. and raised off of the ground over a large black cauldron. He became aware of hot orange flames that heated the pot, and steaming water inside of it that he was nearing slowly.

He and his cat-napper were not alone. Surrounding the pot were many more natives that were beginning an ominous chant that grew steadily louder and more powerful. The lowering of him into the cauldron paused for a moment. The chanting stopped except for one individual who shouted to the crowd at the top of their lungs. Breezepelt, being a cat, could not understand the strange language that they spoke, and so he turned his attention to other things like the skeletons that made a ring around the bubbling pot. They looked like cat skeletons. He was beginning to get a bad feeling about this place and its people. What was going to happen to him?

Breezepelt whimpered pathetically like a kit scuttling out of the nursery for the first time as he was lowered again. I doubt you would be any less pitiful though, if you were in his situation. He could feel the steam from the water on his furry face, and it was as hot as the flames below. The chanting was beginning again. I'M GOING TO DIE!!!! He was terrified out of his mind. Anyone in his place would be too. He was so scared that he fainted. The last thing that he heard was the flames under the pot crackling, seeming as though they were whispering his StarClan given warrior name to the wind.