Apologies for the chapter mix-up previously-picked the wrong document to enter as a chapter :)

Waterfall, daughter of Mistystar, felt a cold knot of apprehension settle into her stomach. She'd dodged the sentry-not always an easy thing to do- and crept like a criminal across her territory, keeping her ears pricked for a sleepless RiverClan warrior. In her mouth she carried a large fish, carefully filched from the RiverClan fresh-kill pile.
The atmosphere in RiverClan-in all the Clans-was tense and frightened. Something had gone wrong. Reedwhisker and the other Clan cats should have been back days ago; glowing with triumph and dragging a wolf behind them. At first, cats had waved off their fears. A delay or two was to be expected when you were escorting one of the deadliest predators in the cat world. But after more than a week even the most optimistic of cats were struggling to keep their hopes high.

Waterfall's eyes darkened as she thought of her mother. Waterfall had not been particularly close to any of her siblings, who had mocked and teased her mercilessly for her strange fancies and daydreams. When they were too old for such kittish antics, they had poured their bullying ways into pure exclusion. Waterfall became nameless in their presence; at Gatherings, cats were always surprised to learn that Mistystar was her mother, despite the fact that she alone had inherited her glittering blue-grey coat. If Reedwhisker was dead, she doubted that she would grieve.
But Mistystar had loved all her kits equally. She had guided them through their apprenticeships, listened to their unique troubles with sympathetic ears, and always gave them a tip or two when they struggled with a difficult skill. When they took their warrior names her eyes had burned with pride for a quarter-moon.

There is a strange feeling in the world that has yet to be named, a sort of resentful disappointment, and in this case, both mother and daughter shared it. Mistystar was clearly disappointed in her daughter, who lacked the concentration required to hunt or fish successfully, who could not bring herself to inflict wounds on other hunters, and had no patience for tradition. Waterfall, in turn, felt the loss of her mother's affection and pride like a gaping hole in her heart.
She never knew her father; Mistystar had told no-one, except maybe the tom himself. Waterfall had always just assumed that it was a tom who thought he had a duty to the Clan. Sometimes she studied her reflection in the river, searching for some feature that she could link to a name, but the difficulty with a Clan was that everyone was related to everyone, in one way or another. When outsiders joined, or a cat took a mate from another Clan, there was little more than a stir in the stream of resemblance. Waterfall was the grandchild of such a mating, but she looked just as pure a RiverClan cat as any.

A growl shook the air, and Waterfall felt a shudder run down her spine as she padded towards the base of a thick tree. It was not in RiverClan territory, but in a marshy area beyond it, where the land was too prey-poor to be worth the work of patrolling and marking.
Where the tree bark met soggy soil there was a thick snarl of roots forming a makeshift den. Inside, it waited.
"I'm here," Waterfall said, trying to steady her voice. "I brought food."
"I can see that, small one."

A shadow flitted through the roots of the tree and came to rest in front of her. Its fur was as black as the darkness surrounding; its amber eyes shone a yellow-green gleam in night vision. Waterfall could feel its hot breath beating against her face, and dropped the fish, before taking a few steps back.
The wolf was a young male, and badly injured. His leg had been caught in a Twoleg trap. For some strange reason, once the Twoleg had seen its prize, it had released him and tried to take him into its monster-though the wolf had a different name for it, machine-but he had struggled so violently the Twoleg had been forced to release him. The wolf had limped through the trees, searching for a safe place to heal, and had found Waterfall.

If Waterfall had a choice, she would have chosen to become a medicine cat. She had been interested in the ways of herbs from kithood, but fear of disappointing her mother had been stronger, and she'd held her tongue. Many times she had wished she'd done differently.
The wolf's name was Chénmò.
He was healing swiftly, but had yet to show any inclination of leaving. Waterfall had never asked him why. In fact, she hoped he would stay. He was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had. A pity he treated her as though she was worse than dirt.
"Still no signs of your pack-sibling, then, little cat?" Chénmò said, his yellow eyes glinting. He knew all about the wolf patrol, but had yet to offer any opinions on the matter.
"No." She could not meet his gaze. "Eat your fish."

"I grow weary of fish. Their blood is cold and slimy. I prefer warm prey."
"Fish is all you get. There's nothing else."
He dipped his head and studied her intently for a long moment.
"What?" Waterfall mewed, feeling the slightest note of unease.
"Why do you not fear me?"
"Why should I be scared of you?"
Without warning, the wolf rushed forwards, faster than sight or hearing, knocked her sideways with a paw, and pinned her to the ground, his weight crushing her ribs. Waterfall froze, her heart pounding, but oddly, she felt more exhilarated than terrified.

She found her voice. "I'm not afraid of you because I know you won't kill me. I saved your life."
Chénmò blinked. "I would destroy you if I could. You are food. Cats have always been wolf-prey. You were made for our sport and feasting. Yet I am a wolf of honour and yes, you have helped me, and therefore I shall let you live."
"Why are you like this?" she managed to choke. "You weren't before."
"You are my enemy, Waterfall. You think of me as a friend, your only friend. I can smell your desire on your fur. But I am no pet. I am a wolf, and a wolf serves no creature but the alphas of the pack. Find another playmate, and begone." He lifted his paw and stepped back, and Waterfall scrambled to her paws in relief.

"Can't we work together? Your kind, and mine? Together we could rule the world."
The wolf chuckled. "You have nothing to offer us, little one. You are cats. In all ways, you are small, limited, pathetic."
"No, we are not. We are just as smart as you, in our own ways."
"I do not believe that, and neither do you."
Great StarClan! How does he know?
"We aren't perfect," Waterfall mewed, digging her claws into the earth to hide her shock, "but I bet that your kind isn't either. We could fill in each other's gaps, make our species better as a whole."
Chénmò laughed again. "You naivety is amusing. The wolves would no sooner accept cats as equals as you would fish. You wish to be special, Waterfall of RiverClan? Do so in another way. I am weary of this."

"You stayed," Waterfall insisted. "You could have left suns ago, but you stayed."
Chénmò met her eyes. "There is no reason for me to leave. My leg has not fully healed. It is well enough for me to travel, but my pack would not accept me back into their ranks unless it were capable of standing up to a hunt or a border fight. Which it is not. I stay because there is no place for me to go."
Waterfall knew she was losing the argument, and began to back away slightly, but continued to speak.
"I will care for you until you are strong enough to leave and find your own pack."
The wolf bared his teeth in a hunter's smile. "Then, in that case, I wish for warm-blooded prey, little one."