- Chills roared up his spine, frigid and completely consuming. He felt his teeth chatter as his whole body shivered with pain from the amount of cold. It was so cold that it hurt.
He heard a cry – his own – and he asked someone to help him. Some force, invisible to his eyes but felt… in his heart. And then there was a warm, kind brush of stars against his neck. Those stars turned to the sweetest forest-scented fur. Gentler than his mother's touch, a she-cat nuzzled into him kindly, sending a silent welcome.
A smile stretched over his scarred face… but then, in an explosion of stars, the forest-scented she-cat met his eyes, hers glimmering like starry sapphires.
"Follow your heart, Grass-star…"
With a shivering gasp, Grass-star awakened. Just like the day when Larkstar had died, he found himself looking around and feeling unsatisfied, but this time his lack of satisfaction was for a different reason. He had come to the Spirit-Cave to ask StarClan to help him, and instead of his ancestors helping him there was Larkstar, one member of StarClan. The only words that she had to say were, once again, this follow your heart nonsense.
He loved Larkstar – she was his friend and mentor – but that was all she could give him? Then again, it was the most that he'd had for a while now. Since Larkstar's prophecy – if he could even call it that – there had been no other signs from StarClan. Not for fifty long, painstaking moons. And now not just kits, but warriors, as well, doubted the existence of StarClan. Truthfully, Grass-star didn't blame them.
Now, in the worst time for all four of the Clans – leafbare – StarClan was finally speaking up, but to him, of all cats. Was he really going to be a part of this prophecy? Would he even survive long enough?
"Flickingpaw," Grass-star murmured, his mind clouded with thoughts. At a quiet noise from the apprentice, he continued, "Follow me closely."
He turned around and trod down the long, winding path to the outside world, pausing only to check that Flickingpaw's small lump of a figure remained behind him. They walked through a few of hundreds of tunnels, the rest of which were used to confuse any outclan intruders. Those were ignored by the long-time leader, who simply walked, turned at a whim, and followed the faint warmth of sunshine and the sweetness of the fresh breeze.
Instinctively, Grass-star closed his eyes, slid through the exit, and entered a curtain of sunshine. A few months ago he might have stretched, maybe even pranced, through in an attempt to forget his worries—but he was older now, wiser. He knew that there was no escaping his issues and no escaping anything that was planned. Sometimes he wished that his innocence had lasted, but those reserves were bone dry, replaced by the blood that had been spilled by his Clan's claws. He used to shrug those thoughts away, thinking that they'd had no choice but to fight, but what if they did have a choice? What if—
"Grass-star—?"
"Still nothing," Grass-star heard himself say, turning to catch a glimpse of Finchstalker's face. The golden tom simply nodded before returning to his washover.
For a moment Grass-star dwelled on how normal this was to him, knowing that fifty moons ago these occurrences would have been enough to drive a cat to insanity. Clanmates would have fought against one another, leaders and medicine cats would have been targeted and questioned… Complete turmoil would have risen – but somehow this transition had been smooth.
Countless times he'd asked himself if something gone wrong. What would Larkstar have done in this situation?
The answer came immediately: She would have followed her heart. But he couldn't do that. What if his heart was somehow corrupted? What if it made him hurt his Clan?
He just couldn't act on a whim. He couldn't listen to anything but rigid logic. With logic there was much less of the unknown. With logic, he could be in control.
Grass-star blinked, realizing that his two Clanmates were peering at him expectantly, and spoke: "Flickingpaw, which direction should we go?"
The young tom padded forward, his striped orange fur gleaming, and closed his eyes. Grass-star could tell that his concentration was deep as he inhaled and exhaled, nostrils flared, mouth opened slightly to let in the meadow's sweet aroma. Finally, Flickingpaw spoke. "To the right."
"And why is that?"
The small apprentice took in another deep breath and then murmured, "Because that direction smells of us and our territory."
"Correct," Grass-star meowed. "Lead the way."
The small apprentice, his golden eyes stretched wide, his ears twitching downwards from fear, nodded and took the lead.
Grass-star's green eyes gleamed with delight as they walked, the BrackenClan leader relishing the feel of grass between his toes, of dirt covering his cracked pads, while they climbed another slope. Passing Finchstalker, who already seemed weary from the steep climb, Grass-star continued quickly until the pressure was relieved from his body. Gratefully, he drank in the fresh breeze, his nostrils twitching slightly as he inhaled the scents: Trees, water, rabbit, cats.
…Cats?
Grass-star's eyes stretched wide as he attempted to take in every inch of the terrain. Then, suddenly, he saw glinting… a familiar kind of glinting. The glint of eyes reflecting the sunlight—
"Grass-star!"
Claws ripped into his flank and a rumbling yowl sounded. Grass-star was immediately on his back. His vision swam away from him, every ounce of color draining from the world. There was complete blackness and a numb pain in the back of his head. Everything seemed surreal, as though none of it had actually happened… Then he regained control of his body. Fear curled from him in waves as every part of him screamed to move, to fight, but he stood no chance. He was being crushed.
His lungs burned immensely, causing him to open his eyes with fright. Grass-star could barely catch his breath, and in the place of a clear blue sky he saw a dark haze. Each breath that he could manage was laced with the potent odor of stones…
Another caterwaul sounded and, suddenly, Grass-star was freed. As he gasped oxygen into his lungs, he scrambled to his claws and, his fur on end, looked around.
"Are you mousebrained!?" The snarl, deep and masculine, came from Grass-star's side where a massive warrior had pinned down a dark blue tom. Behind him another cat rose, this one a lean dusty-gray she-cat that Grass-star recognized immediately. It was Stoneheart, EagleClan's deputy, and as he examined the massive warrior a bit more, he realized that it was a tom named Smallflame.
Snarling sounded at Grass-star's side, though he couldn't peg whose it was. His ears were still ringing and his eyesight still held stars, but it was clear enough for him to catch a golden streak flying the air. That streak bore down onto the massive warrior and the dark blue tom. Screeches filled the air, blood twinkled in the sunlight, tufts of fur flew…
"Stop!" Grass-star yowled, his heart racing, blood pounding in his ears. "Have you forgotten that the gathering is tonight? This should be a time of truce between the Clans!"
A pause, and a slight one, occurred between the three wrestling cats before they jumped away from one another. Finchstalker backed away apprehensively and, his hackles raised, stopped once he was flanking Grass-star, who could almost feel the anger wafting from his body.
The large warrior spoke as a droplet of blood slid down his golden-ginger cheek. "My deepest apologies, Grass-star… My apprentice was a bit over enthused by the prospect of apprehending his first intruder."
Finchstalker's fur rose yet again, brushing against Grass-star's side. "Is he blind, too? Even the youngest kits know what a large moon means."
The dark blue tom snarled and moved to lunge, but Smallflame detained him with a none-too-gentle cuff on the forehead. As the apprentice's hissing lowered into an annoyed whimper, Smallflame continued, his dark eyes narrowed as though he was analyzing Finchstalker's every move: "He means no harm. Again, I apologize"—Smallflame dipped his head—"and promise that he'll be punished adequately."
"But Smallflame, you told me—"
"Have a safe journey," Smallflame meowed, nodding before he melted eerily into the undergrowth.
There was silence, but it was the loudest silence that Grass-star had ever experienced. His fur pricking with foreboding, the BrackenClan leader swept his tail in a signal and led the group down towards BrackenClan territory.
"Grass-star," Flickingpaw whispered, his trembling voice hushed, "what was that all about?"
"I don't know," Grass-star hissed, pausing to look behind himself. "And frankly, Flickingpaw, I don't care to find out." He turned his head and continued onward at a faster pace, his heart racing with new fervor; he'd been sure that, for a split second, his green eyes had met another's icy stare.
