Patience serves as a protection against wrongs as fur does against cold. For if you grow thicker fur as the cold increases, it will have no power to hurt you. So in like manner you must grow in patience when you meet with great wrongs, and they will then be powerless to vex your mind.
The quote had been ringing in Hollyleaf's ears for some time now, though she was not sure who had told her it. All she really knew was that she was in a timeless period; nothing seemed to change, for the clouds above her head were too thick for the sun to pierce, leaving the whole forest trapped in an eternal twilight.
She was in the burned forest, and had been for some time—how long, it was beyond her means to know. Rain and mist swirled above her head, and her black fur blended in with the dreary landscape so that she appeared as nothing more than another shadow in a world of shadows.
Matilda was gone, and Hollyleaf did not know where she was or if the wolf was even still alive. They had stumbled through the storm together, Matilda's cries of pain growing louder as her blood burned, until they finally found the forest where Rabbit had died.
The great beast had ripped off several chunks of burnt wood, swallowed with difficulty, and then vanished into the grey gloom. Hollyleaf had not seen her since. Yet somehow she could not bring herself to leave the burned forest; perhaps it was simply the thought that if she left she would have nowhere else to go. She was a traitor to her own kind now, and had sealed the Clans' fate. Once upon a time that thought would have given her satisfaction. Now, it broke her heart, and she knew she did not deserve the company of other cats. She had chosen a path, and had travelled too far down it to turn back.
So she stayed, and she waited. She felt as though she could spend the rest of her life waiting for Matilda, if need be, though the future wasn't a clear idea in her head yet. There was only right now—now it was time to eat, and though the forest didn't have good hunting, she never starved, digging mice and rabbits out of their dens with an efficiency that would have surprised a badger…now it was time to sleep, in her bed of leafy ferns that made her bed…now it was time to drink from the puddles at her feet.
But then, one morning she opened her eyes and found that the rain had stopped. Blue sky shone from chinks in the clouds, and weak rays of sunlight illuminated a dripping forest, covered in tiny stalks of green where Nature had already begun reclaiming her own. Time had started again. Birds' voices sounded through the bare trees, and if she listened closely Hollyleaf could hear the soft splashing of little animals padding through the pools of water.

For nearly the whole of that day Hollyleaf simply explored; gazing upon the world with fresh eyes, and marvelling in every small wonder that crossed her path. And as it so often happens in the world, the moment you stop waiting for a thing is precisely the moment when it decides to come to you.
The black she-cat was watching a slender frog catch mosquitoes, admiring its reflexes and speed, when she heard the distant howl of a voice echoing through the healing trees.
You're just like your father…
Her father? Crowfeather was dead. She didn't have one.
Buried deep under the water…
Yes, he would be, both Crowfeather and Squirrelflight, those dry and barren floodplains drenched in a tide of water. She could see it now, hopeful green stalks nodding their heads above the surge.
You're resting on your laurels
And stepping on my tail.
Who was that? Where were they? Hollyleaf climbed to her paws and set off through the woods, her ears leading her paws, as the voice grew louder and louder.
Whose side are you on?
My side, she thought dryly. Whatever side will stop me from being eaten.
And in those thoughts Hollyleaf glimpsed a younger version of herself, a she-cat who merely blinked her lovely green eyes when the world raged at her, and her tail lifted slightly.
What side is this anyway?
The black warrior turned her head this way and that, trying to find the source. Her eyes landed on a silver glittering at the edge of her vision, and deep within, another memory stirred.
Who downed your soaring cloud?
And there she was, the wolf, the ultimate enemy of cats, the most beautiful and terrible beast in this land, healthy and sleek. Her eyes were as golden as the sun, her fur silver as the moon. Hollyleaf took several steps closer to the hunter, and as Laryissa del Destino raised her muzzle to the sky one last time, the she-cat realised it mattered not whether she lived or died, for in the great circle of life she was just as important and insignificant as the wolf before her.
Come, lay with me on the ground.

Thank you to all the people who took the time to review my first FanFiction.
The next story, Sanguine Skies, is the second in the War of Fangs trilogy.
Special thanks goes to Frostyshimmer.