Chapter 1

"Let all cats of our Clan gather for a meeting!"

Ragged feline forms slithered through a thin sea of tall, dry grass toward a bulky tabby tom. Though it was only Carmen who could see the guiding star, it was Darkwood who was responsible for leading the Clan. He'd held the position for many moons before they departed from their old home, and everyone had faith in him to lead them for moons to come.

Well, not everyone.

You would only notice the separation of one group from the others if you were looking for it. A white tom with a black splotch and eyes like ice sat just far enough away from the main bulk of the Clan to set him apart. He was small and slender, quick on his feet to be sure, but thoroughly unimpressive to the unsuspecting. The Clan was full of strong and swift members, and it was easy for Stainpelt to go unnoticed among the likes of Bulletpounce and Lilyfang. Carmen, however, kept a close eye on him.

She figured that's what her unofficial mentor was doing as well. The orange tabby with the pointed tufts of fur on his ears, Hawktalon, always seemed to hang out around Stainpelt. Carmen had no doubts that he was an honorable and loyal warrior. Not only would he never be in on whatever it was that Stainpelt was planning, he was so much bigger than any other cat in the Clan that she'd wager Hawktalon could snap Stainpelt's back like a twig. There was no way Hawktalon would sit back and let him pull all the strings.

She still worried about whatever it was that he was trying to do, but it wasn't the kind of helpless worry she'd known at the start. She wasn't the same pampered kit that had never known the taste of blood. Before long, Hawktalon would run out of lessons to teach her, and Carmen would be just as capable as any warrior. Should Stainpelt try anything before she found her new home, she would be prepared.

She shouldn't have been able to grow so much so fast. She shouldn't have the level of skill that she did. Even under the teachings of one of the Clan's best warriors. Carmen knew that something was pushing her progress along at a breakneck pace, and she did her best to ignore it.

Darkwood, perched atop a huge old tire, scanned the crowd with golden eyes to ensure that everyone was present. He wobbled a bit, no doubt from chronic pain plaguing his clawless forepaws, and cleared his throat to begin his speech.

"My friends, our travels are almost over. Carmen tells me the star is very near. We're almost close enough to stand beneath it. We've almost reached our new home."

"Don't tell me that mess is it," said Lizardtail, the black and white elder who did nothing but complain, especially after her sister had passed in her sleep a couple of weeks prior.

"How do we even know the Clan will find a home?" challenged Steelclaw, who seemed to Carmen like Stainpelt's right hand cat more and more here lately. "Didn't these "StarClan" ghosts promise the pet that she'd get to find one?"

"That's true," said Stainpelt. "I don't recall that star having anything to do with us. What will we do, Darkwood, if we've come this far for noth-"

"If you'd shut your rot-brained mouth, and show some respect for the leader, you might find out." There was a knife's edge in Hawktalon's voice that not even he dared fight.

Darkwood paused to see if there would be any further interruption. He took a breath and continued:

"Now then. To answer your question, Lizardtail, the star isn't above the City in the distance. It's somewhere just beyond it. And I believe that the Clan's path crossed with Carmen's for a reason. Call it StarClan. Call it fate. Call it whatever you like; I believe it happened for a reason. Our old home was crumbling, and our old territory so rife with danger that we chose to leave in search of greener pastures."

"The Clan will find its place, whether the star takes us there or not. When we part ways with Carmen at the end of this, we will carve out a new life for ourselves. A better life. Believe in the Clan, everyone. Believe in our strength, our adaptability, our way of life. We're not a bunch of strays just wandering around. We're a warrior Clan."

"We will see this journey to its end. If we don't like what we find, we'll carry on until we do. We haven't come this far to turn tail, have we? Were the deaths we suffered in vain?"

Uneasy murmurs rippled through the crowd. They'd lost Nightfall the night they left. They lost Snowstripe and Thunderkit to that vicious dog. They'd lost Webtail too, and she had seemed in high spirits the day before she left them. Which, though they weren't comfortable admitting it, would have been highly unlikely had she died in their old camp. No one wanted to give up when they were this close. No one was brave enough to let it all be for nothing. Even Stainpelt couldn't find any fodder to argue with when the question hanging over them was clear: are you warriors ready to see your mission through, or are you a bunch of cowards?

"Good. Prey is scarce in this stretch of land, so we have no reason to linger here. Get some rest, everyone. Tonight, we charge at our final hurdle and see what waits for us on the other side."

#

While most of the Clan was asleep in the shade of the tall grass, one tabby warrior wasn't even trying to drift off. Mosswhisker was a warrior now, and she knew that it should have made her proud. She'd been crushed like a bug beneath the weight of expectations as a 'paw. Now, she was free. Wasn't she?

Apprentices were held to impossible standards. They were expected to work their tails off, be the older cats' scratching post, and take it all with a dip of their head and a "yes, warrior." They got so little respect for being the backbone of Clan life. All of the chores fell to them, along with endless days of grueling training sessions, on top of letting every verbal blow slide just because it came from someone higher up on the chain of command.

Apprentices hunted for the Clan. They fought for the Clan. They took rags and sponges out to fetch water for the Clan. Apprentices made beds, with most of the best material going to everyone else. They fed and groomed the elders. They cleaned up the Clan's resting places. They trained for hours on end with no break. They went without food so that worthier cats could get a meal.

Mosswhisker didn't magically become blind to it all after her ceremony. She could still see it, that underlying hostility when someone caught one of the 'paws eating before they'd hunted enough for the day. She could still see the elders flick their tails to summon Ironpaw and demand something. She could still hear the unjust degree of spite in Windfang's voice whenever her bed for the night wasn't soft enough. It was still there. Why wouldn't it be? Some part of Mosswhisker had assumed it would leave her mind in peace at the name change, but of course things could never be that easy.

It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life, but all it meant was being called something else now. Mosswhisker felt out of place in nearly every group of warriors. She didn't care to socialize with them when their behavior was still so blaring. Even the nicer felines in the Clan, the ones truly happy for her and kind at heart, only seemed to drain her energy. The apprentices wouldn't even speak casually with her as they had a short time ago. She was one of Them now, and that put her out of the loop.

So, she sat atop a hill and stared out at the distance, The summer sun fell like a heavy blanket across her. The air itself rippled with heat. Even the bugs and toads had gone into hiding now, leaving the land eerily quiet.

And her green eyes began to glimmer with whispers of dangerous thoughts.