Here's the prologue! Obviously, it's different from the original.
Prologue
Silence gripped the frozen fields. Snow lay piled thickly against every willow tree, glittering with frosty starlight. Reeds broke through the surface, only to be coated in a layer of shiny frost themselves. The river was silent, moving swiftly and coldly beneath a blanket of ice thicker than a claw.
Frozen streams surrounded a tiny island, sheltered from the worst of the cold by big willow trees and their wide, hugging branches. Snow lay atop fallen logs and inconspicuous bushes. It was silent here, too – the faint murmur of wind rustling the frosty reeds together the loudest thing this night.
Eyes gleamed here and there, beneath the bushes and out of the logs – but no cat dared stir. No one wanted to be the first to venture out into the dark, cold night. Dawn was not far off, but its milky color hadn't touched the skies yet. The patrols could wait.
A great thicket of bush and reed and woven twigs was trembling. And a faint wail escaped out into the open. The eyes hidden in the bushes outside flashed at the sound.
Willow branches twitched as a broad-shouldered tom appeared in the island clearing. His paws broke through the soft fluff of the snow, crunching and packing down a path inside. He paused, ears twitching, listening. His senses were clogged by the large rabbit in his jaws, but his hearing was fine – when another wail came from within the thicket, his ears twitched.
The tom, his pelt white patched with black, headed for the thicket. Snow clumped against his paws as he cleared his way. He stopped to shake off the snow before entering the thicket through a small gap in the twigs, careful to keep his catch from getting snagged on the branches.
Inside the air was warm, almost stiflingly so. It was clouded with the smells of milk and cats and kittens, with a floor made of soft moss and crackly, sweet-smelling, heather. Inside were several cats – queens, and one other tom, along with several kits – huddled up together around a golden tabby queen whose big belly was heaving with effort. She let another wail.
The tom set down the rabbit. "How is she?" he asked.
"Swiftclaw," grunted the brown tabby tom attending to the golden she-cat. He laid his paws gently on her side. "She's doing fine."
"I… brought her a rabbit," Swiftclaw offered.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it," purred a rickety gray queen.
The brown tom turned to the barrier suddenly and, using his teeth, tore out a large stick. Swiftclaw flinched, wondering if the thicket would collapse around them – but it didn't. The brown tom turned back to the shivering queen and offered the stick with a nod of his head.
"It's time," the gray queen breathed.
The golden she-cat's eyes, bulging and wide, flickered from the queen to the brown tom to Swiftclaw. Then, she swallowed hard and nodded, her eyes resting on Swiftclaw.
"This is not my first time," she breathed.
Swiftclaw swallowed as he watched his mother reach for the stick. She gripped it in her jaws tight – and just in time. Her stomach gave a powerful ripple, and Swiftclaw saw the flash of claws as she gripped her moss-and-heather nest. Her breathing sped up, almost twice as fast, and her face contorted with effort. A powerful ripple passed through her.
"Good, good," cooed the brown tom. He was waiting near her tail, his eyes focused on her. He measured the ripples in her side with his eyes, and they gleamed. Swiftclaw swallowed – he was no she-cat, nor was he a medicine cat. He had to believe things were going well.
"Breathe," urged the brown tom. He laid a paw on the queen's heaving stomach. "The first is almost there."
The golden queen nodded and Swiftclaw saw his mother's teeth as she dug them into the stick. She grunted with the effort, sending a powerful push through her body. A warm scent filled the air as she suddenly lay back on her side, all the strength drained from her body, panting around the stick.
"There, there," meowed the brown tom. He lifted his head and turned to the gray queen. "A tom," he grunted. "Hurry, now."
"A tom!" purred the older queen. "Oh, how wonderful!"
The gray she-cat quickly lunged forward and pulled out of the nest a slimy kitten. She immediately set about licking it, over and over and over, until it let out a squeaking cry.
Swiftclaw's eyes widened as he took in the sight. The tiny tom's cries were loud, but they were strong and healthy. Swiftclaw could already see the shape of his head and the shoulders, and the dark brown tabby pelt slicked up into spikes…
A brown tabby, Swiftclaw thought, frowning.
"Only one more to go, Goldenflower," urged the brown tom. "Your son is breathing fine, but he's waiting for his littermate."
Goldenflower's eyes were huge as she looked at her son. She swallowed again and nodded. Another powerful ripple – breathing, breathing – and then another. Three more ripples passed before Goldenflower's second kit, a little she-cat, was born. This time it was laid at Swiftclaw's paws.
"Lick," commanded the brown tom.
Swiftclaw nodded – he knew better than to disobey a medicine cat. He bent his head and rasped his tongue along the kit's pelt, first nipping open the strange membrane that covered it and then licking the fur the wrong way to warm. It wasn't long until she opened her jaws and cried out as well, louder than her brother.
"Vocal, she is!" cooed the old gray queen. "They're so lovely, Goldenflower! A tom and she-cat, both healthy…" Her eyes flashed with longing, and Swiftclaw felt a pang of sympathy – the old queen had lost two of her kits to this cold leaf-bare already. Her third was sleeping with the apprentices tonight, to keep out of Goldenflower's way.
"Thank you," breathed Goldenflower, dropping the stick. "Mudfur, Graypool… thank you both."
Mudfur nodded. He turned to Graypool and meowed, "Keep an eye on her, make sure she eats all her borage. Come for me if anything happens."
"I will," Graypool agreed.
"The kits should nurse," Mudfur decided, "and Goldenflower needs her rest."
Swiftclaw gently, gently picked up the little she-cat and laid her next to her mother. The mottled tortoiseshell, her pelt pale and rippling with blotchy colors, wiggled up and up and latched onto her mother easily. Graypool did the same with the tabby tom, nudging him gently in the right direction. The nursery fell quiet with relief as they began to suckle.
Goldenflower let out a hearty purr and wrapped her tail around them both, looking down with love and adoration.
"Any idea on their names?" Graypool wondered.
Goldenflower blinked up at the old queen. "I…"
"She doesn't have to decide that right away," Mudfur insisted.
"No, no," Goldenflower meowed, "it's all right. I've got names for them."
Swiftclaw watched his mother lower her head to the she-cat. "Tawnykit," she decided, "for the mottling of her pelt."
Goldenflower looked at the tom. "Bramblekit," she added, "for his sharp stripes."
Mudfur's whiskers twitched. "Very well," he decided. "I'll tell Crookedstar."
"They're so lovely, Goldenflower," purred Graypool. "They're going to grow up strong, I know it."
Goldenflower was nodding. "I know it, too."
Swiftclaw frowned, staring at the kits. It was there – in the twitch of their ear, in the size of their paws, in the sheen of their coats. There was no cat in RiverClan like them yet here they were, born on this moonless night in the dead cold of leaf-bare.
"Is that rabbit for me?" Goldenflower wondered.
Swiftclaw swallowed. "Yes," he managed.
"Thank you," Goldenflower purred, her eyes glowing. "Oh Swiftclaw… you're a brother!"
Swiftclaw forced a smile.
Yes, I am, he thought.
But at what cost?