Chapter Seven
The snow that always seemed to be falling on the Tribe's mountain and moorland home had turned into a hissing downpour.
The darkening clouds rumbled overhead, lightning flashing in the distance.
The three cats padded onward, ears flattened, claws unsheathed and pelts colored gray or black by the driving rain. Their wet fur whipped against their own skin, as well as the skin of their Tribemates.
Over the wind, the youngest cat yowled,
"We need to shelter! This storm's bound to blow us off the mountain! Thunder needs rest, and so do you!"
The larger she-cat nodded and they veered off the trail into the shelter of a small crevice.
Hunkering down to lick and dry their soaked fur, the elder she-cat spoke.
"We've never had this kind of weather before. It must be a sign from the Tribe of Endless Hunting."
The younger gray cat looked up from washing her tail. Her pale green eyes were vacant, and her voice was misty.
"Their time has come. There will be four. Two will live and two will die. Choose wisely."
As the last words were spoken, the white Healer shuddered and collapsed.