CHAPTER 56-The Lost Children

The warm, mouth-watering smell of hot dogs struck me full in the face, the spicy fragrance drifting all around me so close that I could almost taste it. I shifted and my fingers brushed the coarse fabric of the blanket draped over me. I sleepily opened my eyes, rubbing the sleep grit from the corners.

A bright, flickering fire danced and curled up at the crisp night air, its arms reaching up toward the stars. Its golden tongues lapped hungrily at the hot dogs that were being held up to it, attached to wooden sticks.

"She's awake," someone said, and before I knew it, a nice, crisp sausage, slightly burnt at the edges, was being offered to me. I gratefully took it and sank my teeth into it, the salty flavor bursting in my mouth.

I sat up, wincing at the throbbing pain that had dwindled to a little more than an annoying aching.

The others were huddled around the fire, their faces framed and reflected by the warm amber glow. They had thin stomachs and dirty, smudged faces, tangled hair, and torn clothes. The fire softened their features and made them look peaceful, crouching close together and sharing their dinner.

Grease dribbled down my chin. The flames crackled and snapped, almost mimicking the sound of popcorn popping in a microwave. I tilted my head to one side, my brow furrowed, trying to remember what that sounded like. What did popcorn even smell like, again? In the far reaches of my memories, dimmed by ancient age, I could see partly muddled scenes of brightly-lit orange kitchens and granite countertops.

Here, my ears were alert to every single sound: a lizard scurrying in the dry grass, the wind rustling the leaves, the distant bustle of the city.

An awkward tension hung heavily in the air around us like a suffocating mist. They blinked at each other uncertainly, unsure of what to say in the presence of a stranger. It was the little girl who first broke the silence. She toddled on over, a burnt hot dog in her mouth, and plopped down next to me. She grinned brightly.

Thin, hazel bangs framed her face like a pretty picture.

"I'm Alexa," she chirped. She pointed a slender finger at her friends. "That's Harry. He's fourteen years old, but sometimes he acts even younger than me. He's a big goofball, though, so I think you'll like him. Brandon is the kid over there, the oldest one." He glanced up when he heard his name, but then looked down and continued to gnaw on his hot dog thoughtfully.

She shrugged. "Yeah, he doesn't really talk much. Sometimes he reminds me of a lifeless rock. But he's the leader of the group and keeps us organized and safe, and I don't know what we would do without him. Oh, and the string bean sitting over there is my older sister, Jackie. Just ignore her if she bothers you."

Jackie scowled.

Alexa gazed up at me. "So what's your name?" she asked simply.

My name? I was tempted to say 'Ashley', but no, that didn't seem quite right. It didn't roll off as easily on my tongue. My name was Shadefrost...but would I ever see the Clans again?

"Ashley," I whispered, quietly so that she had to lean closer to catch it.

Now that the quiet tension had been broken, I could sense the others beginning to relax.

It was a bit of a shock to hear Brandon talk. He seemed like the person who could last days on end without saying a single word. But now, he was speaking, his voice deep and cold, his brown eyes glinting in the fire light. Here, stuck in this vast expanse of I Don't Know Where, it sounded almost like a dream, a fairy tale, a dragon's song, something that I heard once in a bedtime story.

There was something in his voice that was icy and hostile, yet not cold and somewhat soothing like the wind that could carry you off to sleep. He was a paradox.

I expected him to ask me where I was from, how I got that scar, how old I was and such.

Instead, he wanted to know my favorite color, my season, what I wanted to be when I grew up.

So I told him. Sea green and amber. Winter. Alive.

And I told him everything else. I told him about my home near the Lake, how the sunlight bounced off of the breaking waves like hundreds of thousands of golden mirrors, how I had found myself with three of the most amazing friends in the world: Snowstorm, Dewstep, and Ember, and how I lost a very important fight and that I didn't even know if I could go back, if I could even find my way back. It just tumbled out of my mouth like a tidal wave, like a frenzied hurricane, and as I talked, the heaviness of the words on my chest grew lighter and lighter until they seemed to fly away.

Even in the midst of the flood, I didn't tell him a lot of things. I didn't speak about Snowstorm, didn't even say his name for fear that if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop the tears. I didn't say anything about felines or hunting or turning into a cat. They'd just think I was insane.

And the weird thing about Brandon was that if I did tell him the whole story, from one amazing chapter to the next, I felt that he would somehow believe me.

What I liked about him the most of all was the way he would just sit and listen, his chin resting on his hands, the fire flickering in the pool of his eyes, saying nothing, just listening as I talked.

When I was done speaking, he didn't tell me what I needed to do or who I needed to be. He just smiled softly, a faint trace on his lips, and he nodded.

As I lay down to sleep that night, I thought about my past, about how I had once hunted with the warriors and now, as I looked back, how impossible that had once seemed, like butterflies fluttering on the moon. How amazingly impossible. I had once been free, soaring through canyons like an eagle, with the wild wind tugging at my fur and the call of the wild singing boldly in my ears. That could have been a lifetime ago. It could have been a dream.

I told myself that no matter what happened, I would never forget a single second of it. I would remember Snowstorm and Dewstep and Ember and all the rest. Especially Snowstorm. I could almost feel the soft velvet of his fur, the twinkle of his eyes, the sound of his laugh and the way he rested his forehead against mine on that one rainy day and just let me lean against him, breathing on his chest and our heartbeats leaping as one. I kept the memories alive, fanning the embers awake and locking it tight inside my heart, tossing the key away.

I thought I caught a glimpse of the moonlight gleaming on his pale white fur, thought I caught the faint brush of his scent, and then he was gone.

It's not over yet! Eventually, Ashley will be able to get back to the Clans, but right now, the city needs her. And to clear any confusions: Yellowfang believed that Fang won because she thought that the Darklings were too powerful to stop. She gave up hope. Too many cats had died already, so she was afraid that Shadefrost would go down with them. She also felt that since the battle was over, the Clans didn't need Ashley anymore and that the prophecy was broken. To keep her safe, Yellowfang sent her a long, long way away from the Lake, probably tens of thousands of miles away, to a bustling city in the heart of New York.