Heeey! So it's Sunday and here's my update! Pretty consistent, right? Right. X3

Okay. Onto the story~

WindClan territory just before dawn was ominous. Mist hung low over the tangle of gorse and vines, soaking into Cranepaw's fur. It was so different from ShadowClan. Where the dark pines and marsh cloaked them at home, WindClan bared them to the sky. The moor was completely open. There was nowhere to hide.

Racingpaw shivered at his side. His brown pelt was dark with beads of dew, making his back fur look almost the same darker shade of his legs. "This is crazy!" he whispered, his breath clouding in the air in front of him. He didn't sound like he totally objected to it, though, Cranepaw thought. In fact, he looked like he was quite enjoying himself, his haunches shifting back and forth as if he was about to launch forward.

Which was the opposite of what Cranepaw was feeling. His belly was in tight knots, his breath quick, his heart beating hard against the insides of his ribs as if it was trying to force its way out of his chest. It was wrong, so wrong, to be this close to the enemy border. Especially with what the next step of the plan was.

Raggedstar had met with them earlier that day in his den to give them their orders.

Cranepaw was afraid of Raggedstar, he always had been. There was something so austere about his expression, like he never had any fun. Being the leader of ShadowClan had to be difficult—the burden to keep them a step above the other Clans must be hard on him—but he didn't have to look so scary all the time.

Raggedstar said, "Cranepaw, Racingpaw, it's getting close to your warrior ceremony, isn't it?"

"A few more moons yet," Nightpelt said patiently, pride in his voice. He flicked his black tail over Cranepaw's shoulders in a rare show of affection. "A bit more training to go, but they're improving marvelously."

Cranepaw lifted his chin a bit at his mentor's brief praise. It was uncommon to hear so much from the dark warrior.

Racingpaw's mentor didn't seem as convinced. Her mouth was a flat line of worry. Crowtail said, "If you're looking to send them, Raggedstar, now would be the best time. It's just dusk now. They can get there in enough time to rest before moving on."

"Where are we going?" Racingpaw asked, sounding excited. His fur was fluffed up around his shoulders, spiking with anticipation. Bouncing in place, he looked from Crowtail to Raggedstar, leaning forward in expectation.

Raggedstar had a weighted pause, as if he was about to reconsider. In the half-light of the den—combined with the waning sun—he looked almost entirely black, his dark tabby stripes lost in his shadowy pelt. "WindClan," he said finally.

Racingpaw looked as confused as Cranepaw felt. "To the border?"

"To the territory."

Cranepaw felt a squirm of unease. Crossing into another Clan's territory? "Isn't…isn't that against the warrior code?"

Raggedstar turned his bright yellow eyes on him and Cranepaw felt himself shrink back smaller. "The leader's word is law," he said, his voice deeper than usual in his offense. "You wish to go against me? As your mother did?"

The air went out of Cranepaw's lungs at that. His pelt burned with shame.

"Raggedstar," Nightpelt said, almost sharply. His eyes were narrowed but he didn't look down at his apprentice, who was fuming with rage. "Please."

The leader sighed tightly, turning his head to the side. "I apologize," he said slowly. "I'm…speaking too much. Please forgive me, Cranepaw." Without waiting for a word from Cranepaw, who was shaking with anger and humiliation, he said, "Leave now. You'll make it to the border halfway through the night. When dawn begins to break, head into the territory. Don't go further than the stream. If they catch you… Well, let's just not let that happen, shall we?"

Racingpaw said matter-of-factly, no doubt quoting Crowtail from his lessons, "If they catch us, they'll kill us."

"They won't," Crowtail said sharply, nudging his shoulder a bit too hard; it set Racingpaw stumbling. "Now be quiet and obey your leader, Racingpaw."

Racingpaw dipped his head but Cranepaw could see that the remark stung him. His tail lashed a few times in irritation.

As they left the den, Nightpelt said, "I'll escort you there."

"No," Raggedstar said. "If they catch wind of warriors, we'll have a full-scale war on our paws. Let them go by themselves. It'll test them."

"Test them? They're breaking—"

"You've heard my orders, Nightpelt. Will you go against them?"

Nightpelt was furiously silent.

Raggedstar let out a sound of acceptance, his yellow eyes half-lidded with smugness. "I didn't think so. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

That "Trust me" was still ringing in Cranepaw's ears, even here at WindClan's border. Why did Raggedstar want them to go to WindClan? Why send them of all cats? Why not send a pair of warriors? Was he trying to get them both killed?

"Dawn," Racingpaw said, breaking his concentration. Cranepaw looked up to see the lines of orange bleeding through the stringy tendrils of gorse, turning them gold. "We should go."

Cranepaw hesitated. If he went, he'd be obeying his leader. That was what being a warrior was all about, right?

Racingpaw stepped over the border casually, even though he must have smelled the scent-markers; Cranepaw could smell them from back here in the shade of the bracken they had been hiding in. "Come on, Cranepaw," he called softly, twitching his tail for his friend to follow.

And Cranepaw, after a long moment, obeyed.

WindClan ground was springy and dry beneath his paws, as if the gorse had added a new layer of softness. WindClan's pads must be as soft as this, he thought as they walked gingerly down one of the gorse tunnels. He had to duck his head to avoiding catching his ears on the thorns.

By the smell of it, this was an old hunting trail. Cranepaw knew that WindClan mostly hunted rabbits out in the open, catching their prey by speed, not stealth. The very idea of chasing something down like that was foreign to him. If he tried that on any of the rats or voles in ShadowClan territory, he'd have nothing to show for it but empty paws and an even emptier belly.

They were silent, as they'd been told. The air was gusty, whistling through their ears, so talking was out of the question anyway.

A rabbit darted by.

Without hesitation, Racingpaw turned, his claws splayed, and slashed at it.

He hit the mark, slicing a neat set of lines down the rabbit's flank. Enough to slow it down, to wound it, but not kill it.

It limped off into the gorse, leaving a bloody trail.

Despite the fact that the mere scent of blood set Cranepaw's nose twitching—they hadn't eaten since the day before, too busy trying to get to the right starting position for this mission to even think about breaking the rules and hunting for themselves—he grabbed Racingpaw by the scruff to keep him from chasing it.

"Are you insane?" he hissed into his friend's ear. "That's WindClan prey."

Racingpaw flailed his paws. "I thought we could bring it back to ShadowClan," he protested. "For Whitewind."

Racingpaw's mother had just had her next litter of kits. With prey down so low from the long leaf-bare, her kits had the chance of going hungry before they'd even opened their eyes.

Cranepaw felt for Racingpaw but he still thought he'd been foolish. His heart was in the right place; this just wasn't the right place. "We could've tried to catch some closer to home. We're halfway into WindClan and now they're going to know—"

The gorse rattled on the path ahead of them.

As one, Racingpaw and Cranepaw leapt into the gorse, weaving their way expertly into the denser part of the thicket with such dexterity that Cranepaw didn't even lose any fur.

This deep in, Cranepaw's world was all green and thorny. A bit of gorse pierced the soft of his nose as he turned around, making his eyes water, but he didn't move. He crushed down, keeping his chin on the ground, and held perfectly still.

He couldn't see Racingpaw and he could barely smell him; they'd rolled in peat moss earlier to throw off their scent. Hopefully it was enough to keep them hidden by WindClan, who he knew were hunters by sight, not scent.

A set of pale gold legs walked by, followed by a cat with a long black-and-white tail. The sound of scampering came next as a younger cat—clearly an apprentice—hurried to catch up with the adults.

"Hold on, Dawnstripe," the older tom said, his voice low and powerful. "I smell something."

"Me too," she said. "Tornpaw, what scent is that?"

"Blood," the apprentice said promptly. "But why would it be out here? Oh! Oh, Dawnstripe, come look! Tallstar, look what I found!"

Tallstar! The WindClan leader? Horror surged like an icy wave in Cranepaw's chest. If they got caught now, they were going to be in terrible, terrible danger.

Through the gaps in the gorse, Cranepaw could see Tornpaw. He was a small gray tabby tom, his ears torn to ribbons. So young to have those wounds, Cranepaw thought as Tornpaw sniffed the gorse.

He looked up and Cranepaw froze, certain that he'd been spotted.

Tornpaw said, "It smells like rabbit. It must be hurt."

Tallstar sighed. "If only we'd gotten here sooner. Whiteberry can't go on much longer with no prey. We have to find something. Go look further down and see if you can track it, Tornpaw."

Dawnstripe waited until her apprentice was away before saying gently, "Tallstar. You're doing all you can. The Clan doesn't blame you for this. You don't control the weather."

"Yes, but I don't control the sun or the moon or StarClan's patterns but the Clan seems to think I do," he said, his voice tight. He lashed his tail in frustration.

"They'll learn to let you lead. Heatherstar was with us for so long, a lot of them haven't had another leader. You'll do marvelously." Her voice went lighter as she added, "Besides, what's the worst that could happen? ShadowClan could come after us?"

Tallstar snorted. "I'd like to see them try. Raggedstar can't seem to keep control of his own warriors. Did you see Brokentail at the last Gathering? Shameful."

Dawnstripe said something else but they were already moving away, crying out with happiness when Tornpaw reported he'd caught the wounded rabbit. They didn't even seem to notice the clawmarks on it.

Once their voices had faded off into the wind-tossed moor, Cranepaw turned to Racingpaw.

Racingpaw's eyes were burning. "Did you hear what he said about Raggedstar? And Brokentail?" He winced as he tugged himself free of the gorse and then they were running back towards ShadowClan territory, the exhilaration of nearly getting caught fueling their paws. "How dare he!"

"I can't believe that was Tallstar," Cranepaw said, not particularly concerned about Brokentail—though he was rankled about the insult to Raggedstar. "He looked so small."

"Didn't you hear them? They're starving! Their elders are dying because there's not enough prey." Racingpaw's eyes gleamed. "This sounds like a chance for us to move in."

"We could steal a slice of the moor," Cranepaw suggested. "I could learn how to catch rabbits."

"I already did!" Racingpaw boasted. "Imagine it, Cranepaw. We're bringing this news to Raggedstar. He's going to love us!"

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"What?" Racingpaw's mouth was hanging open. "You're not going to attack?"

"Racingpaw," Cranepaw muttered, glancing nervously up at Raggedstar. They were back in his den, beneath the tangled, gnarled roots of an oak tree. It hadn't taken very long to get back but the entire Clan was up and awake now, waiting for the verdict of what they would do next.

Racingpaw ignored him. "But they're weak! We can take them! There's plenty of prey if you know where to look and—"

"First," Raggedstar said, and whatever Racingpaw was going to say next died in his throat. "You were foolish to hunt on their lands. What were you thinking?"

Petulantly, Racingpaw lashing his tail behind him, his head lowered. "I wanted to bring some prey to Whitewind. She—"

"Is doing fine without your help," Raggedstar finished for him, making Racingpaw sink into sulky silence. "Yellowfang is taking very good care of her, I assure you."

Yeah, despite herself, Cranepaw thought mutinously, automatically siding with Racingpaw, even though he'd thought he was half-mad earlier. No one, not even Raggedstar, could talk badly to his best friend.

"That aside," Raggedstar continued, curling his thick dark tail behind him as he paced in a circle. "I am proud of you. You both did excellently. The news of WindClan weakening wasn't exactly new but I'm surprised to see how far it's progressed."

His deputy, a ginger she-cat named Foxheart, said, "Racingpaw could be right, Raggedstar. This would be a great way to show WindClan that ShadowClan deserves the fear we've gained." She lifted her head, her green eyes glittering. "I don't like hearing WindClan talk about our weakness behind our backs. Especially yours." There was softness in her voice, enough to make Cranepaw uncomfortable.

The pervading rumor was that Foxheart was Brokentail's mother. He'd been raised by a cranky old she-cat named Lizardstripe, who had gone to join StarClan a few moons earlier—not that Cranepaw minded. She'd always snapped and bit at him, cursing him for being halfClan.

Cranepaw totally believed that Foxheart was Brokentail's mother: they both had the conniving, cunningness about them that was always unnerving. Raggedstar just gave him the thirst for power and his shadowy pelt.

Raggedstar seemed to humor her, drawing the tip of his tail down her side. "Yes… I shall think about it. For now, you two are excused. Go and get something special from the fresh-kill pile and enjoy. You've deserved it."

Cranepaw bowed his head deeply. "Thank you, Raggedstar."

Racingpaw mimicked him but said nothing, still seeming annoyed.

The fresh-killed pile was newly stocked. Someone had managed to catch a squirrel, which was highly uncommon. It must have crossed over the Thunderpath from ThunderClan territory, Cranepaw thought.

"Want to split that?" he asked, turning to Racingpaw.

He nodded. "Sure! But let's go give some to Whitewind, okay?" He was fretting, his eyes full of anxiety.

Cranepaw rolled his eyes. Racingpaw always acted like his mother was in such a fragile condition that she could barely walk around by herself. "She's just had kits, not lost limbs. She can come and get her own food, you know? And Yarrowstripe can help her.

Yarrowstripe was the kits' father, but not Racingpaw's. Whitewind was small and weak for her age, so she'd deigned herself a professional queen. Racingpaw didn't know which tom was his father, which of course left him imagining wildly who it was. In his best dreams, it was Brokentail.

But Cranepaw knew Brokentail only had eyes for his mother Silversong, which was disgusting and disturbing beyond belief. As if Silversong would betray her RiverClan mate, whoever that was. He hoped she would tell him one day.

Then it hit him: she had told him before he left for WindClan that she wanted to tell him something.

Maybe that's what she meant, Cranepaw thought. Maybe she'll tell me who my father is!

"Here." Cranepaw ducked his head and took a few quick bites of the squirrel, then added with his mouth full, "I forgot that Silversong wanted to talk to me."

A bit of meat flew from his mouth and landed on Racingpaw's muzzle. Flicking it away with his tail-tip, an annoyed expression on his face, Racingpaw said, "Fine! More for me, then!" He plucked up the squirrel. "Hurry back. I want you to tell Whitewind about the mission!"

Cranepaw trotted over to where the warriors' den was, situated under a large bramble bush. He poked his nose in and smelled for Silversong but he couldn't detect her scent. Through the darkness, a few pairs of eyes gleamed at him curiously, but he pulled his head out before anyone could ask him about the mission.

Looking around the camp, he spotted her, trotting out of the camp's thorn entrance, just the tip of her tail showing before it whipped out of sight.

Her name died in Cranepaw's throat as he saw Brokentail watching. Without a word, the dark tom got up from his place where he'd been sharing tongues with Blackfoot. He disappeared out the thorn tunnel after her.

Dread clutched at Cranepaw's chest. Brokentail had been relentless in his pursuit of Silversong. Cranepaw, as revolted by the concept as he was confident his mother wouldn't even entertain the idea, couldn't help but burn with curiosity of what he was doing.

He ran across the clearing, ignoring the surprised call from Rosepaw, who was trotting alongside Archeye, and barreled out the thorn tunnel.

He knew apprentices weren't allowed out without supervision so he stuck to the shadows, his smoke-dark pelt blending in perfectly with the undulating shade of the thorn trees.

His mother's scent was laid clear across the marsh as he stalked forward unblinkingly, keeping his body low and his tail flat. He'd had enough stealth training to know how to keep his paws silent, his breath tight in his throat, breathing in through his mouth and not his nose because it could whistle.

There was a thorn bush up ahead and Cranepaw wove into it, pressing his side against the pine it grew next to, staring ahead at where Silversong was tracking something.

She laid low on the ground, unmoving, letting the sun's light gleam over her pelt, confusing the sparrow in front of her into thinking she was a part of the dancing sunlight. Then without warning, she struck, her paw lashing out, claws flashing. The sparrow was dead at her paws a heartbeat later.

"Very good," a curled, suave voice came, and Brokentail made his appearance. He strutted forward, his orange eyes gleaming. "You're such a fine huntress, Silversong."

Silversong dropped the sparrow and turned around, the fur along her shoulders rising. "What gives me the honor of your presence, Brokentail?" she asked, only barely keeping the iciness out of her voice. "I don't usually see you without your lackey. Where is Blackfoot, anyway?"

"I left him behind." Brokentail stalked closer, his eyes not moving from her. They roved over her. "I wanted to talk to you alone."

"Is that so?" Silversong's eyes wandered over his face. From Cranepaw's position, he could see her claws flexing in and out. "Why would that be?"

"I was wondering if you'd thought more about my…proposition," he said smoothly, charmingly. He was circling her, his tail tip twitching from side to side in time with his step.

"Oh right," Silversong said, dawning realization in her voice. "Your proposition."

Realizing she was mocking him, Brokentail dropped his amiable act with a frown, his eyes flashing. "This isn't a game. I've offered you a chance to rise in the ranks of ShadowClan, something you desperately need after your blunder—"

"Blunder?" Silversong's eyes flashed. "How dare you! That's my son you're talking about!"

"Actually," Brokentail said smoothly, "I was referring to your previous mate."

"There's nothing previous about it," Silversong said coldly.

Brokentail let out a startled, choked noise. "So you're still seeing him!" he said, his voice peculiar: half-triumphant, half-astonished.

Silversong didn't turn her head away. "Not like it's any of your business, but no, I am not still seeing him. I haven't been allowed to go to a Gathering since Cranepaw was born. Your father—"

"My father wisely decided that you might betray us, again." There was the merest emphasis on the final word, enough to make Silversong recoil as if he'd slashed at her. "I want what's best for you, Silversong."

"You want what's best for yourself," she spat, her lip curling.

Brokentail looked at her slyly. "You think I don't have any power? You're wrong. You just wait until I'm leader—"

"I may as well wait for mice to sprout wings," she said snidely, lashing her tail once. Cranepaw had rarely seen her so angry. "It's far more likely."

"—and then you'll see what kind of power I have," Brokentail finished, as if she'd never even spoken. "And you'll be there right beside me. The leader's mate."

Cranepaw felt like bursting out of the thorn that very instant and slashing Brokentail across the mouth for talking to Silversong that way. It was difficult to remain still when he knew Brokentail had his eyes all over his mother.

Silversong snorted, tossing her head. "You're living in a dream world if you think I'd ever betray my mate for you. I wouldn't dare lower my standards that far for fear that I'd sink right through the ground to where your kind live, you pathetic worm."

Brokentail looked like he was having a hard time holding his temper. "Why don't you just wait and see, Silversong. You'll be mine eventually. You'll be mine or no one will have you."

Silversong's eyes widened. "Is that a threat?"

Brokentail's eyes traveled across her face, her neck, her smooth gray tabby pelt. "I don't make threats, Silversong," he said sleekly. "You can either take my deal or leave it. But I'll warn you: there might be consequences."

She bared her teeth at him, getting right up in his face. Brokentail, to his credit, didn't back away, even as she hissed in his face.

Her voice low, she whispered, "If you touch a single hair on my son's pelt, I'll rip out whatever shriveled black husk is in the place of your heart, you pathetic insect. I'll make you regret being born. So don't you dare threaten me, because I am not afraid of you." Then she turned and stalked away, all the fur along her spine up.

When she was finally swallowed up in the shadows, Brokentail said, almost too low for Cranepaw to hear, "You should be."

Cranepaw breathed in sharply.

Suddenly his eyes flashed in Cranepaw's direction, the orange so bright Cranepaw was half-afraid the thorn would burst into flames at the touch of that gaze. He didn't even dare to breathe.

But then Brokentail turned and walked in the opposite direction, leaving Cranepaw still hidden, his heart beating very fast.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, Cranepaw awoke with a terrible sense of knowing.

He'd had nightmares all night long, making him toss and turn in his sleep, showing him horrible images of Brokentail's orange eyes and dark fur stalking along the corners of his vision, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Cranepaw sat up abruptly, sending feathers spinning off his ears. He listened hard but he couldn't hear anything. The camp was silent as deep winter.

He prodded Racingpaw. "Something's wrong," he said, his throat dry as WindClan's moors had been.

Without waiting for Racingpaw to get up, he dove out of the apprentice den on numbed paws.

The clearing was full of cats, all huddled together around something. They looked up as he walked out, his breathing choked and gasping.

No. The one word was the only thing Cranepaw could think, could feel, as he raced across the camp to where the bodies were pressed most closely.

At once, they turned to him, trying to push him back, their soft words making no sense in his head. Their faces, the faces he'd known since the instant he opened his eyes for the first time, didn't connect in his hazed brain. They were just a smattering of color and glints of eyes. They were nothing but nothing.

Then Whitewind was there and she pressed him back and she was saying softly, "Please, Cranepaw, wait—wait for Raggedstar. Raggedstar is coming now," but he couldn't wait, he couldn't. He pushed past her soft eyes and her gentle entreaties and into the blank circle of space at the center of camp.

And there, lying still as ice on the ground, was Silversong, blood splashed about her throat and chest, her blue eyes staring blankly ahead of her.

She was dead.

And the plot THICKENS!

Did you know, that today, a hundred years ago, the Titanic sank? The cause of all my obsesssion...a hundred years ago today!

Needless to say, I'll be watching documentaries on it all day long. When I'm not doing my research paper. Guh.

Anyway.

You know what to do!

R&R~

Shadow