CHAPTER TEN

Fogpaw woke to the soft pattering of rain as it hit the ground far above her. She groaned as she raised her head, vision swimming with pain. The dull ache was still there, pounding away her sanity, just as it did every day that she was trapped down in this hole. The grey she-cat had lost track of time – looking out the small circle at the top, she could still tell day from night, but she spent more time sleeping and lost in the pain than she did awake.

The torture hadn't stopped. Willowstar came often, and inflicted the terrible darkness upon her. To Fogpaw, the pain seemed to last forever. It was as if all of her nerves were set on fire. It always ended, and yet it was never-ending. It barely lasted more than a minute, and yet it was infinite. It was the worst pain she had ever felt in her life, a brutal rending of her limbs, an inferno of pain, of ice and thunder. It was the bitterest cold and the most shattering heat. It dissolved her and compressed her, broke her and fixed her, shattered her and reassembled her and shattered her some more.

She had long since lost the ability to scream.

Her one solace were the poppy seeds that came tumbling down into her prison. They were her relief, the one thing that could send her into a peaceful oblivion. Once, Fogpaw had caught herself wishing that that oblivion could be eternal. Part of her would rather die than continue to face the endless hurt.

And yet... there was another part of her that was disgusted by the idea of death. I'm so young, she thought, with a fierce desperation. I have to live. That was what kept her going, that and the the image of her family that was burned to the back of her eyelids. Fogpaw had felt the blackness begin to corrode it, and had hastily tucked it away where the smoky tendrils would never be able to find it. She missed them terribly, even her brother. In fact, Fogpaw missed all of her Clan, missed them so badly that it almost hurt more than the torture itself.

She needed to get back to them.

Rainpaw. Reedthroat. Morningstep. It became almost a prayer. The she-cat kept their names swirling around in her mind, clinging on to them with a fiery, steadfast hope. As long as she could remember them, she would keep herself. Rainpaw. Reedthroat. Morningstep. Toadstar. Patchnose. Lilystream. Tawnyfeather.

They were the names that kept her sane.

Fogpaw stood gingerly, wincing as her bones creaked. She was weakening, the torture and starvation sapping away at her strength. Her bones were painfully obvious underneath her dull grey fur; her thick pelt had lost its glossy sheen. Her captors had thrown down a scrawny rabbit, and it lay beside her, half-eaten. Fogpaw had tried forcing it down, but the food tasted like ash in her mouth.

She gave it a glance now, recoiling as her stomach lurched in disgust. Even the thought of fish made her sick. The warm, salty scent – she couldn't reconcile it with the nightmare that her life had become.

Half a moon ago, the worst thing in my life was having to do border patrol, she thought ruefully, padding closer to the entrance. Daylight shone from far above, and Fogpaw could feel strands of wistfulness begin to stir in her abdomen. This was the worst kind of prison – it was the kind that gave her hope.

She hated it.

Fogpaw was a cat of strong emotions. Her life was composed of love, of hate, of anger, of fear, and of determination. There was no room for moderate dislike, for mere satisfaction, for being slightly unnerved. No. Her emotions only existed in the intense range of the spectrum. She didn't just hate this place – she detested it with ever fibre of her being. There was no fear anymore – the pain had become certain, anticipated, regular – only the anger. Pure, brutal ire that roiled deep in her stomach and rose up through her veins.

Then there were the nightmares. They were worse than the torture, because with the torture, it wasn't her fault. But the nightmares were proof that her mind was slowly breaking. Oh, she kept up a strong front, she blocked out the darkness, but it was slowly dissolving the edges of her wall. It had seeped into her, unable to grab hold, but there nonetheless. She dreamt of RiverClan's destruction, of her mother's mangled corpse, of death and decay, and of strange creatures, with deformed bodies, hunchbacks and bones sticking out at all angles. She dreamt of mutilated creatures with burning red eyes, and when she opened her mouth to cry out, they turned into smoke and flew down her throat to choke her.

The poppy seeds made them all go away. Fogpaw stared up at the entrance longingly, wondering about the identity of her benefactor. Was there a WindClan cat still sane enough to genuinely help her, or was it one of their tricks, to grant her another small piece of hope? She stared at the steep wall and wished she could escape, but knew it was impossible. She had tried many times, through herself against it, trying to scramble up. Whenever Willowstar came, they would throw over a thick piece of vine that was anchored above the den. The WindClan she-cat would simply clamp onto it with her mouth, and use it to support herself as she clambered up.

Fogpaw paced in a circle, feeling her mouth burn with bitterness. Eventually she paused and crouched, muscles bunching in preparation for the jump. Without expectation, she threw herself at the slope – and merely came bouncing off. The apprentice landed with a thud and gritted her teeth to prevent from groaning. She had shown far too much weakness already – she couldn't anymore.

In the silence that followed, she heard pawsteps from above. Fogpaw held still, hardly daring to breathe, wondering if she could listen in on any conversation. She still didn't know why they were holding her here, or what they wanted. If she could just find out...

The cats above her began to speak in soft, muted tones. One moved closer, casting a shadow over the entrance. Still holding her breath, Fogpaw crept closer. She could only hear snippets of the conversation, but it was enough.

"...not working..."

"...supposed to do with her?"

"...can't just keep her here..."

"...trying..."

The voices fell away, leaving Fogpaw feeling more alone than ever. Chilled by the conversation, she curled up into a ball, trying to coax herself back to sleep. Deep inside, she felt a small rush of victory – whatever they were trying to do to her, it wasn't working. She was resisting.

Fogpaw buried that nugget of information deep within her, where they would never, ever find it, and let the comforting notion carry her off to sleep.

.

Willowstar woke her up with a sharp jab. Fogpaw almost cried out, but grit her teeth at the last moment, letting the scream fall harmlessly away in her mouth. Head stinging from the hit, she looked up at Willowstar, sure that the WindClan leader could see the vehemence shining in her eyes.

"Get up," said Willowstar.

Fogpaw refused. It was the struggle that fed her, the knowledge that no matter what else they did, they could never make her obey. They could force her to stand, force her to endure the pain, but they would never make her do it willingly. She would resist until her final breath.

"I told you to get up," repeated the she-cat, voice cold and cutting.

Fogpaw held her gaze bitterly. When Willowstar realized the apprentice had no intentons of rising to her feet, she looked up. "Thornfur, Ashpoppy. Hold her up," she barked.

Fogpaw became aware that she was surrounded. The pounding of her head intensified as she looked from side to side, swallowing as she came to terms with her situation. Thornfur stood to her right; staring down at her cruelly, the ginger deputy was nearly as intimidating as his leader. On Fogpaw's other side was Ashpoppy, smirking as she reached forward to grab Fogpaw's scruff in her strong jaws. Fogpaw tried to resist as she was jerked upward, flailing her limbs uselessly.

"Just give in," said Willowstar, and the awful sweetness was back in her voice. "It will be so much easier if you just let us in."

"And smell like crowfood?" asked Fogpaw, wrinkling her nose. "No thanks, I'll take fish any – ah!" Thornfur had slashed his claws across her ear. Fogpaw could felt the warm stickiness of her blood as it began to seep down the side of her face. She winced, grinding her teeth together to prevent any further cries.

"Hold her still," Willowstar instructed the two WindClan warriors. They did as she instructed, and Fogpaw found herself immobilized. She struggled against them, but they were all muscle, while she was just skin and bones.

"Good," mewed the WindClan leader. A malicious glint in her eye, she leaned forward, so that her muzzle was almost touching Fogpaw's. "Ready for some more?"

Then she connected. As she felt her skin hit Willowstar's, Fogpaw let out a ragged gasp, unprepared for the sudden pain. The spark ripped through her face, down her throat, and she felt as thought all of her arteries had burst. There was no more light, no more darkness, no more Willowstar – just the bright red of pain as the darkness began to eat her alive.

.

"Are you awake?"

The voice was oddly familiar. Fogpaw stirred, every inch of her body protesting the movement. She gasped as she tried to sit up, feeling the dull moans of her sides turn into a shrill arpeggio. Her body was an orchestra of pain, and her head was the bass drum.

"No," she managed to reply, collapsing back against the ground. Her mouth was dry, her words barely more than a rasp. That last session had been far more painful than all the rest – the torture was intensifying. "Go away."

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard soft sounds of movement. They were faint, as if from miles and miles away. Yet suddenly, she felt the presence of another cat beside her, standing over her. Fogpaw shut her eyes and pushed her face into the dirt. "I said go away."

The voice was apologetic. "I brought more poppy seeds."

Poppy seeds. That thought alone was enough to pull Fogpaw out of her stupor. She rolled over, trying to ignore the nausea swelling in her stomach, and opened her eyes.

There was a cat sitting in front of her, but he was different from the others. There was no stench of darkness on him, no acrid, stifling sweetness. He was tall and skinny, with short beige fur and thin tabby markings stretching across his back. His eyes, which were a pale gold, showed only apprehension. At his paws, wrapped in leaves, was a small bundle of poppy seeds.

Fogpaw stretched out a leg, reaching for the seeds. Movement was harder than she had expected, and she fumbled clumsily, accidentally knocking the bundle over and scattering the seeds across the floor. "Can you..." she began, words drawn from her mouth with difficulty. Asking for help had never been easy for her.

The strange tom nodded, scooping them up in one deft movement and placing them right by her muzzle. Fogpaw licked one up gratefully, sighing in desperate relief, before looking up at this new cat. "Who are you?"

He hesitated. "Stripedpaw. I'm the medicine cat apprentice."

Fogpaw frowned. "But you're not like them."

"Not like them?" Stripedpaw tilted his head curiously.

"Not... dark... and stuff," she managed to say.

"Oh," he mewed, with a slight pause. "No, I'm not. I don't know why, it just never got to me."

Fogpaw's head was spinning with questions. "If the darkness never reached you... how come they haven't noticed, or tried to torture you?"

He frowned. "I'm a good actor. I'm sure if they took a good look at me, they'd know, but... they're all too busy to care about what I do. As long as I keep my head down and do what I'm told, I'm fine."

"But..." Fogpaw trailed off. "Why don't you try and run?"

"Because they would find me and kill me." Stripedpaw's answer was matter-of-fact. Meeting her gaze, his golden eyes softened. "Look, I'm... I'm just as scared as you are. But as long as I stay here, I'm safe. Please, just... accept my help."

"Do they know you're down here?" she mewed, mind reeling. She was no longer alone. She had a friend. Stripedpaw must have been sending down the poppy seeds all along, making sure she was okay. A feeling of gratitude flared in her chest. He had kept her strong this whole time.

An expression of nervousness came over the tom's narrow face. "They send me down here to make sure that you're still alive. The torture isn't supposed to kill you. They want the darkness to infect you too, so that they can send you back to RiverClan. But... it's not working."

"Why... why not?" Fogpaw asked quietly, shuddering at the thought. Returning to RiverClan as a shell of her former self, infecting her friends, her family... she would rather die than let that happen.

Stripedpaw shrugged helplessly. "Maybe it's spread too thin. Maybe there's only enough for WindClan. I don't know why I don't have it, and I don't know why you're still resistant. I don't want to know. I won't push my luck."

Fogpaw leaned forward and lapped up another few seeds. The pain was starting to lessen now, but only slightly. "You said they were busy. With what?"

"An attack," said Stripedpaw, lowering his voice. "An attack on ThunderClan. I don't know when, but... they're set on it. They've been preparing for almost a week now."

"But..." Words were beginning to escape her. Fogpaw blinked rapidly, an edge of worry in her voice. "Why would they do that? What is the darkness? Where does it come from?"

Her benefactor just shook his head. "I don't know," mumbled the tom. He had a young voice, light and airy. "I really... I don't know."

Fogpaw sat back, mulling his words over. She felt like she had learned something, and yet she was just as confused as ever. As she sat there quietly, an idea began to form in her mind. "Stripedpaw... you can leave at will, right? Can you get a message to my father, Reedthroat? Can you tell him that I'm alright, but that I'm being held hostage here?" Hope was beginning to unfurl in her chest, spreading its beating wings.

Slowly, Stripedpaw shook his head. "I can't, I'm sorry."

The hope shrivelled and died. Fogpaw tasted ash in her mouth. "What? Please? We could both get out, if he comes to rescue us."

The tom's voice was firm. "I can't."

"You've given up," Fogpaw accused, eyes narrowed. "You could help me, you could, but you won't."

"No," Stripedpaw protested feebly. "I haven't! I'm just being realistic – there's nothing we can do, Fogpaw. I would help you if I could."

"Then send the message!" she insisted, turning away from him. Anger burned in her chest, anger at this awful injustice, at being so close to her goal and then having it torn away.

"I can't!" The tabby tom's voice was pleading.

"Go away," snarled Fogpaw, pulling herself into the corner. The she-cat felt like crying, desperate to have the sadness overtake her. Then she could just drown in her sorrow, in her pain, in her miserable failure to escape this situation, and she would no longer be responsible for any of it. Everything hurt. It wasn't fair!

She burrowed her face into her chest, letting the warmth of her fur hide the pain in her eyes. A single sob wracked her body and she convulsed, hiccuping pathetically. The she-cat didn't notice Stripedpaw leaving, but she felt the solitude once he had gone, and it broke her just a little bit more.

x x x

Darkness.

Light.

Darkness again.

Then light. Blurred shapes surrounded him, spots of green and blue, a dazzling yellow. Slowly, his eyes focused. Objects sharpened around him. There were tall trees and scraggly bushes, jagged rocks and glossy pebbles, slender reeds and bushy cattails. Sunlight reflected off the snow, momentarily blinding him. Everything was so bright, the colours so intense. They bled into each other, creating a sparkling myriad of hues that blew him away.

He opened his mouth, muscles stiff from disuse, and he was overwhelmed by the scents in the air. He could taste the salt of the fish, the oil right off a frog's back, the robustness of the mud, and he revelled in it. Everything was so rich, so full, so completely enveloping.

Noises came to him then, the chirping of a chickadee, the lap of waves against the shore, the wind sighing through the rushes. They echoed in his ears, in his bones, in his heart. He did more than listen to them – he felt them.

They felt so good.

The tom took a step forward, stumbling forward. He slowed his pace, trying to adjust to the heavy feel of his muscles. He was aware of every facet of his body, conscious of every sensation. His heart thudded against his chest as he moved forward, managing to keep his balance. The snow felt good against his paws, rubbing his pads as he pushed on. The wind ruffled his fur, and the feeling was so good he almost let out a small moan. Even the cold felt good as it pressed against his skin.

He felt so alive.

Grainstar. The name sprang, unbidden, to his mind. Was that him? It had to be.

The tom – Grainstar, if that was indeed his name – turned toward the lake. It spread in front of him, sunlight glinting off the dark water. Patches of ice floated in the centre, lost and disconnected. His paws drew him toward and he followed, picking his way through a snow-covered clump of bramble. Carefully padding down the slope, he approached the water. Icy cold, it lapped at his toes, refreshing him.

Grainstar peered into the water, his reflection staring back at him. It took the tom a few moments to come to terms with what he saw. A tall, lean cat stared back at him with gold-flecked olive eyes. His long, fine fur was the colour of warm flax, and his features were narrow and pointed. There was some grey tinging around his muzzle and eyes – he must have been aging. A long, pink scar ran from his right shoulder all the way down to his flank. He stared hard at it, but could not remember its origin.

Slowly, he lowered his muzzle down to the water, and took a slow drink. The water filled his mouth with a million sensations and he drank it in desperately. The water gave him new life, filling his body with electricity and strength.

How long have I been asleep? Grainstar wondered. He turned around, back to where the scent of fish was strongest, and took a step closer. RiverClan territory. Images flashed in his mind, memories of a time before the nothingness.

He took another step toward RiverClan territory. And another.

He did not look back.

XX XX XX XX

A/N: Hey, look at that, a little bit of a quicker update! In this chapter, you folks get to meet two new characters, Stripedpaw and Grainstar. In all honesty, I made up Grain about thirty minutes ago and decided I liked the character so much, I wanted to throw him in. I was initially going to call him Toad, and it took me a few moments to realize that there was a Toadstar... whoops. I've been out of this story for too long.

Unlike last chapter, we actually see the plot advancing. There's to be a big attack on ThunderClan, and we also have Fogpaw learning more about her surroundings as well as the darkness.

Next chapter is both Dawnpaw and Sootclaw! After that, we have Chantelle and Russet. It's going to be very exciting, though the real excitement doesn't start for a few more chapters... Knight has a bit of a slower pace than Pawn, but I promise it'll be worth it. The second books are always the weakest in a trilogy, and I'm just hoping you all enjoy Knight just as much as you enjoyed the first one.

As for next chapter, oh my goodness. I just finished writing it and I love it so much. I'm really proud of it. It's about 4800 words, and like I said, it has both Dawnpaw and Sootclaw. A reunion? Perhaps! Also, the chapter after that is written as well. I had far too much time on my hands this weekend.

Lastly, some of my reviewers have been discussing another possible pairing involving Dawnpaw. As I'm sure you all know (and as I've said many times before) I enjoy seeing all the pairings you guys ship and your projections for the future. Possible feelings between Thickfur and Dawnpaw are not entirely out of the question, but at the moment, she's still young, and her feelings lie elsewhere. She's not capable of mature romantic love at the moment, so her feelings for Sootclaw are akin to a high school crush, but their bond is strong. We'll just have to see how her feelings mature, and by we, I mean you, because I already know exactly how they'll mature. Heh. :P

HI0000000 – I hope I got the right number of zeroes in your name, haha. Limekit doesn't play a huge role in this story, but he does in the next one. If I ever need some filler, I might get around to posting a small POV from him, though.

Frostfeather – No, you're right, the last chapter didn't advance the story too much, though it did foreshadow a few events... Aw, it'd be cute to have Sootclaw do that; unfortunately he has no idea where she is or how to get to the Dark Forest. As for the age difference between Dawnpaw and Thickfur... I believe it's twenty-four moons! Thank you for the wonderful review, by the way, yours never fail to make me smile!

Justsmile77 – Yeah, Alder is really enigmatic. There's a reason he's like that, and I'm hoping we'll see him open up soon. Chantelle... I'll explain more about her next chapter, but she's basically Alder's childhood friend, another cat of high birth with whom he could play while learning to become the next leader. And wow, you read fast! That's a very high compliment, thank you so much!

Gottalove – Great to see such an avid Thickfur fan and ThickxDawn shipper, haha. He's one of my favourite characters, which unfortunately means I have to do mean things to him... We're going to learn more about his past soon, too! Feel free to be more than a passing reviewer; I really appreciate the amazing review, it made me grin.

XxXMapleXxX – I have an obligation to tell you to read the other storylines as well, but I'm really glad you're enjoying what you have read! Yep, Dawnpaw and Sootclaw definitely have a complicated relationship, haha.

Ranger of the Forest - I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter; I was worried it wasn't up to par with the others. Here's some Fogpaw for you! Alder... yeah, he's strange... but you're going to be seeing more of him soon, and hopefully his behaviour will be explained.

Sierraleaf – Not romantically, no, but he does care about her, and doesn't want to admit it.

Juniperleaf of BlazeClan – Hi yourself! Getting abducted would be quite a story, but no such luck. Haha, if Thickfur had his own story... "Dear Diary, today I was grumpy. I yelled at someone. Then I felt miserable and conflicted about my existence." Anyway, here's the next chapter, so please don't eat my soul, thanks!

Flyere – Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you liked how much the last chapter went into Thickfur. I'm glad it didn't seem over the top.

That's it, that's all. I'll be writing more soon, so be ready for another update! I actually managed to get a lot of writing done over the weekend – the next chapter is pretty much ready to go, so I'll put it up in a few days.

Thanks for reading and please review.

- PV :)