The Stormfather

Grayclaw quickly licked his shoulder as the moon rose high into the sky. The DarkClan camp was mostly quiet, save for the scuffling of play-fightning kits in the nursery and a few of the elders snoring.

He rose to his paws, padding across the rough ground towards the SpikeStone, the large boulder where the leader, Weatherstar, adressed the Clan. He walked past it, sheathing and unsheathing his claws nervously. 

He glanced around himself, and when he noticed that none of his clanmates were looking at him, he dove into the undergrowth and quietly slunk away from camp.

The scents of the rocky woods that DarkClan made their home filled his nostrils and mouth, and he continued walking towards the moon, shining high above them. It was the half-moon, so Emberfur was gone for the night, as she always did to listen to the voices of the ancestors of DarkClan. This time she had brought Thymepaw, her apprentice.

It was lonely around camp without Thymepaw. Grayclaw had been her mentor and teacher, assigned to teach her the warrior code and how to hunt and fight for her clan until a sigh in the woods had told Emberfur that the young apprentice was to be her successor as the voice of the ancestors for the clan.

Now, Grayclaw was alone, not having any other real friends among the cats of DarkClan, except for Emberfur, but she was also gone.

Then there was Gorsepelt, but no one else in the Clan had seen her since the incident with the rats.

Grayclaw however often heard the voice of his former mate, softly guiding him or scolding him when he did something wrong, or offering strength and determination to the gray warrior during times when he needed it.

Grayclaw popped out from under a large hawthorn bush, shaking his pelt to rid it of the leaves and dirt it had picked up. He glanced around. He had emerged into a small moonlit clearing, where he could barely make out a faint set of pawprints in the grass.

He walked up to them suspicously, not knowing whether it was trespassers or someone out for a stroll. He pressed his nose to one of the pawprints, inhaling deeply.

Not DarkClan scent.

Not at all.

It was a stench that he found foul to the highest degree. The scent of carrion and dead animals. The scent of a cat who was not DarkClan, but not in any of the clans, who lived in the wastes and stole garbage to feed themselves. Usually, rogues fought like foxes, the garbage darkening their hearts. Funny, they say that DarkClan's hearts are dark from the northern winds, yet we all say that the rogues have darkened hearts. As if we know what that even means. He padded after the pawprints, quickly spotting the remains of an eaten mouse.

They had stolen prey! This was DarkClan territory, and no rogue was allowed to steal food, even in the rich seasons!

He sniffed again, following the scent a few pawsteps.

"Looking for someone?" A rasping mew sounded behind Grayclaw.

"This is DarkClan land. You cannot be here." He snarled, tail twitching in anger.

"Says who?" A soft brown she-cat stepped into the clearing, a clearly skinny and nimble cat who lacked the strength to fight a seasoned warrior like Grayclaw.

"Says me, and the rest of my clan." The warrior stepped forwards threateningly.

"Well I say I can hunt here." She glanced at him, moonlight glinting her eyes.

"Well you are a single cat, and I've trained all my life to fight rogues like you. Get out of here, or I will attack." Graycalw snarled loudly, stepping forwards more, going back into the small clearing.

"Good thing I'm not alone." She purred as two huge paws slammed Grayclaw's back, leaving deep scrapes in his fur.

He yelped, then spun and lashed out with his claws at whoever was behind him. His paw slammed into the cheek of a dark-furred cat, who had scars across his hind legs. He then pounced at him, claws biting deeply into his shoulder and forcing him backwards.

"You think you scare me?" The second rogue asked in a deep, rasping voice.

Grayclaw dashed forwards at him, raking one claw down. The rogue quickly backed away, Grayclaw's claws passing a hair away from his nose. The rogue charged at him, using no tactic save for his brute strength.

The nimble warrior leaped aside, raking his claws along the rogue's side. He let out a hiss of pain.

"Sandy, help me fight him!" He snarled at the light brown she cat.

Sandy sniffed. "Good luck, Cliff." She turned away, walking across the clearing.

Grayclaw leaped at Cliff, who yelped and ran after Sandy,

"Stay out!" He yowled, then began to pad slowly back towards camp, the scrapes on his back letting out pangs of pain.

When he arrived at camp, he could tell that no one had heard his fight, as not a thing stirred in the camp. He walked into the warrior's den, crawling into his nest and lying down to sleep.

I need you, Gorsepelt. I need my mate, I need the one cat devoted enough to me to believe me that I was sick. I need the one cat who trusted me.

Grayclan slowly fell into a deep sleep, and suddenly found himself back in the moonlit clearing, though now the moon was full.

"Grayclaw, you should look farther than your ally who is gone. You need someone to be with you, stand alongside you? Find someone. Don't be wishing that Gorsepelt comes back." A voice sounded behind him and he turned, but he didn't see any cat. "There is a danger, to you, to Darkclan. Explain it to them."

"What's the danger?" He questioned, hoping that the apparition of his dream would be trustworthy, although according to everyone else who had heard any of the old stories, they were.

"You already know." The voice spoke now from in front of him, yet he still couldn't see who was speaking.

"I don't! I need help with this!"

"Do you not think I have not given you help? There is a way through the danger, remember." This Grayclaw heard something in the voice, something familiar.

"Gorsepelt? Did you make it? Are you... in the stars?" A claw of sadness pierced his mew.

"There is danger. To fight it, you will need to find an unlikely ally."

"Who?" Grayclaw asked, but he could tell he was awaking.

He lifted his head, realizing it was morning.

"Grayclaw, take Dripflower and patrol the borders!" Thistlethorn called from his place beside the Spike-Rock.

 

Over the day, Grayclaw's thought were racing about his dream. What was the danger? Who was the unlikely ally? Surely not someone from his clan, but then, who  else did he even know? He patrolled the borders with Dripflowed over most of the day, and was quite relaxed when he arrived back at camp, since Thymepaw and Emberfur were back from their journey.

He stepped inside the pair's den, blurting out everything that had happened the last night.

 

"Unlikely ally..." Thymepaw repeated.

"Danger..." Emberfur said worriedly.

"Do you have any idea what the dream meant? What's the danger?" Grayclaw asked nervously.

"Grayclaw, think for a moment." Emberfur said. "You encounter rogues, then get a dream speaking of danger. Think. The rogues must have been part of a larger group trying to encroach on our land."

"So who is the unlikely ally?" Grayclaw asked with a sigh.

"I have no idea." Emberfur replied.

Grayclaw left the den, deciding to walk out to the clearing again, since it clearly had some kind of relevance.

Then he spotted a cat sitting in the clearing.

"Sandy!"

She turned to him. "Ugh, you again."

"So, no friends this time?" Grayclaw asked. "You know I can fight you off."

"I'm not looking for a fight. I'm actually supposed to be threatening you."

"Wh-"

"I don't want to though. Our group, well, we want to steal this land. Pretty easy to figure out. The thing is, DarkClan has fought off oruges before and the way you fought against Cliff, well, he's a terrible fighter but, I don't think we can win. So, I'm here to say that when they arrive, please don't kill them. I beg of you. Fight them off, but don't kill them."

"What, you think we're that awful? We don't kill. It's in the code. We don't kill unless absolutely necessary." Grawclaw looked shocked.

"Good. I... I... I need you to... Um... well..."

"Get out of my territory, Sandy." He growled.

"I do want to warn you, they will attack within the week, and they will attack powerfully. We are nearly twenty strong."

Grayclew gaped. That was more than the warriors in DarkClan for certain, though the apprentices and elders could fight if they had to, considering the rogues didn't have formal training, but.. twenty?

"Don't let them drive you out. If they do, Tire will become even more greedy. He'll want the entire mountain later, even the wastes and and the streets. Just... don't lose."

PART 2 COMING SOON HOPEFULLY NEED TO ACTUALLY WRITE IT!!!!

   Wishfeather crept along the ground, striding easily through the underbrush. He could hear the hawk in the trees above him, screeching in anger as the scent of the terrible bird filled his mouth.

   He quickly darted under a juniper bush, legs trembling in fear as the hawk let loose a loud caw. He gathered himself, then launched himself into a sprint along the rugged and rocky terrain of his territory. He quickly glanced behind him, snarling in anger as he saw the hawk, talons still bloody from their encounter a few moments before, flying at high speeds towards him.

   The others always said he was scared of hawks. He was, but he had a good reason. This is the fourth time! He always tried hunting at the northern end of the territory, always going in spite so that they thought he wasn't scared like a kit of a bird.

   He was scared right to the Place of No Stars of a bird.

   He leaped across a small stream that flowed down the rocky ground, picking up speed. Wishfeather glanced again and saw the hawk flying above the canopy of trees, cawing loudly. 

   Wishfeather turned quickly, heading back the other direction, towards camp. If I can make it to camp, someone can fight this thing, right? His paws pounding on the ground, he ran past the Spike-Rock, the training clearing, and the patch of herbs that Berrywhisker was always tending to. The hawk stayed right on his tail the entire time, the giant bird squawking loudly and carshing through the branches of the large pines of his territory.

   "Grayclaw! Hawk!" He cried out as he spotted the hunting warrior, who was mid-pounce, a mouse between his paws.

    "Wishfeather?"

   The gray warrior struck quickly. And the hawk dropped.

   "I swear this is a pattern. Four times!"