| CHAPTER 1 |
Beneath a lush, sunlit grassland was the vast, empty undergrounds that hid VeilClan from the rest of the overworld. Bats screeched eerily in the distance and salamanders slithered silently along the smooth ground. A spiraling path encircled a massive clearing surrounded by the cavernous walls. Several crevices and holes were in the walls to indicate specific dens. The leader’s den was a massive rock with a pointed tip, a yawning hole inside to reveal a nest for their leader Willowstar. Several bat-lengths beside her was the narrow crevice of the nursery den, small enough for cats to slip in but difficult for any bulky intruders to come through. Across the clearing was the warriors’ den, the apprentices’ den beside it. Beneath the spiraling fleet of stone was the elders’ den. And finally, near the leader’s den but set closest to the center was the medicine den, a bulge from the wall with an opening. Altogether, water had formed the VeilClan camp many, many seasons ago, long before they even discovered it from the overworld.
Dim light from an unknown source engulfed the clearing. Several VeilClan cats basked about in the center of the clearing, either lying about or discoursing with one another.
Sloethorn was laying in his mossy nest, watching his relaxing Clanmates in ample monotony. He shifted in his nest uncomfortably, releasing a muted sigh. Sloethorn remembered their former leader, Batstar, who had lost his last life due to a strange lump in his belly. He was VeilClan’s second leader overall, as they had only moved underground just recently. Their third and current leader, Willowstar, had a fine dignity that highlighted her lithe body. Determination and willpower had seemed to carry her after the death of her father. VeilClan was going to be seeing a bright future with her.
Sloethorn opened his jaws to yawn but he felt a certain dryness in his throat. He closed his mouth and groaned. His tongue felt as dry as a rock due to the lack of water source nearby in the underground.
Exhaling, Sloethorn rose up in his nest and stretched. He padded out of the warriors’ den to go look for his brother Pikefang. Sloethorn scuttled silently past the soothed bodies of his Clanmates, trying not to disturb them from their peace. The black warrior couldn’t find Pikefang anywhere out in the clearing. Maybe he’s out in the Brightcave, he thought. But before he could whisk towards the spiraling path a long-furred black tom bounded up in his path. It was Pikefang, his thick tail waving in the air.
“Hey Pikefang,” meowed Sloethorn, feeling his voice crack of parchedness.
Pikefang smiled. “Hi there.” His voice was fluent.
Sloethorn gave his brother a distressed look and flicked his tail-tip. “Whiteflower hasn’t been doing her job as mosswater cat,” he complained.
The massive tom nodded, his eyes misted over with empathy. “Slacking,” he meowed brusquely.
“You’re right about that,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Forsaken has she been. She hasn’t been going outside of camp as often. She’s got to remember that she’s a cave-dweller and not a bat on a wall.”
“When bats can see,” snorted Pikefang jokingly.
Sloethorn turned and padded away. “I’ll see to her now,” he told his brother over his shoulder.
Pikefang gave him an incredulous look, his whiskers twitching. He then curtly nodded and ran off to the warriors’ den.
When Sloethorn went over to a small boulder with a well-sized opening in it, he spotted Whiteflower’s white fur with orange splotches. It was a grayish blue beneath the shadows of her cave. At the soft sound of Sloethorn’s muted paw steps, Whiteflower lifted her head and looked at him wearily. She looked as though she had arisen from a sleep that lasted for moons.
“What’s the deal?” meowed Sloethorn, impatiently, before giving her a chance to greet him.
Sluggishly, sleep ebbed away from the she-cat’s eyes and were then replaced with rage. Immediately her neck fur bristled. “Why do I always have to do this?” she snapped.
Sloethorn’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re the mosswater cat.”
Whiteflower leapt to her paws and, immediately, the sleepiness ebbed away from her body. “How dare you talk to me that way?” she hissed. “Walking up and down the spiral path has ached my limbs and I can’t stop complaining about my hips hurting. If being a mosswater cat means to wear out your bones… then I quit.”
Sloethorn lashed his tail. “Better go tell that to Willowstar.” He couldn’t experience what his aunt was going through. He wasn’t in her paws. As much as he hated using that tone with her, Sloethorn had to find a way to let her know that he was not the only one who’s close to dehydration. And what other cat was there to blame other than the mosswater cat for this problem? In fact, dehydration was an impending problem that VeilClan has yet to face.
Angry, Whiteflower brushed past the black tom, her tail whisking in his face as she passed him. Sloethorn shook it off, watching her vanish into the leader’s cave.
Sloethorn felt another scent wash over him. A pretty silver she-cat with black splotches stood close to him. She gave him the look of amusement, her eyes glittering in the dark. “She’s your aunt, you know,” she meowed matter-of-factly.
Sloethorn twitched an ear and stepped away. “Yeah, I know.”
“Learn to care for her more than to let her give water to us.” The she-cat stepped closer, her eyes hard with earnest. “Whiteflower is getting old, unlike her sister. Her aching bones are keeping her from doing her job. That’ll mean she will be joining the elders’ den soon.”
Sloethorn was silent. He stared down at his paws, ears drooped. I haven’t looked at it that way…
The she-cat tipped her head to the side. “Well then?” she pressed on.
“Dewstorm,” he meowed, looking back up at the she-cat, his eyes full of remorse. “You know how amazing she is at collecting water for us.” He tried to level his voice, sounding as reasonable as possible. “She has a strong heart and amazing speed. She could outrun all the bats in the underground!”
“And hopefully catch them for us, too.” Dewstorm meowed lightheartedly, then adding in a staid tone, “If you understand—”
“I do understand!” Sloethorn snapped, his anger welling up in his stomach, making it hurt. Dewstorm leaned her pelt closer to his but he torn himself away, pelting for the warriors’ den. I know she’s my aunt, Sloethorn thought, but she’s got to do this for her Clan—for us!
On his way there, he crashed into Whiteflower. Her pelt seemed even more ragged and unkempt than before, like a wild rogue that lurked from the shadows. Her orange eyes were deep pools of lethargy, her eyes rimmed with gloom. She looked down at her nephew.
“Watch where you’re going,” she meowed bleakly. “I’m going to fetch water for you and your brother. The Clan could wait for another day.”
Sloethorn could practically hear relief yowl through the blood in his ears. He was parched! Whiteflower turned away and staggered a bit before picking up broken speed on the spiraling path. Sloethorn watched her body get smaller and smaller until she vanished in the vast upper room, the Brightcave. At the same instant, Pikefang emerged from a conversation he shared with Adderwhisker and Nightpaw, who walked up beside him.
“Who was that?” asked Adderwhisker, rubbing his face with a forepaw.
“Whiteflower,” he mewed, giving his brother a hopeful look. Pikefang reflected his happiness and dipped his bead brusquely. We won’t be so thirsty now, brother. Talking was like licking over a gritty cave wall. Then, we can return to warrior duties.
From the small crevice of the nursery den, a yellow tabby she-cat emerged with three tiny bodies bouncing around her paws. It was Sleekfur.
Pouncekit, a dark tabby kit, lifted his chin arrogantly as he walked passed Adderwhisker. “I’m going to be as brave and strong as my father!” he declared in a tiny mew.
Adderwhisker let out a mrrow of laughter. “I’ll teach you how to catch all the bats in the cave,” he purred.
Snowkit walked over to Nightpaw, looking at the black she-cat with eyes like moons. “Why do you get to be so lucky?” he whined.
“How am I lucky?” asked Nightpaw, confused.
“You have an amazing mentor!”
Only Sneezekit remained with her mother. Sleekfur sat in front of them, with Sneezekit following her and sitting beside her in the same proud manner. The kit then looked down at her paws, her ears lowered in bashfulness. She looks like a nice cat to apprentice, thought Sloethorn. She’ll need to learn how to be more social and not try to desolate herself all the time. Runny nose or not.
Maybe she'll become his apprentice one day. His heart bundled up with expectation.
| CHAPTER 2 |
When Whiteflower returned she slowed down in a ragged limp and sat down two moss-balls in front of Sloethorn and Pikefang. The two black toms looked up at her, their eyes bursting with gratitude, and hunkered down to begin noisily lapping up the water-mosses. The moss-balls were waterlogged and caved in on one side so that water could rest inside.
After what felt like moons, Pikefang rose his head and licked his lips. His whiskers were beaded with drops of water. “I wonder where she gets this water from…” he mused to himself, relishing the water’s sharp taste.
Sloethorn rose up afterwards and shook the water from his whiskers. “It’s a mystery to all of us,” he meowed in a low voice. “But we must be thankful for the water she gets, and to the other mosswater cats before us.” By the tone of Sloethorn, Pikefang could tell that he was just as relieved.
The sound of approaching paw steps came near. A small white she-cat with brown splotches came up to them and stopped beside Pikefang, her eyes glowing with amusement.
“Greetings, Nutstem,” purred Pikefang, his tail waving.
Hot with lighthearted discomfiture, Nutstem flicked an ear. “Hi,” she mewed. Her eyes rested on the slightly leaning water-moss, the ground beneath it faintly wet. “So I see that Whiteflower’s finally brought some water.” She added at Pikefang, “But why so little?”
Pikefang went to search for the right words. How can I tell her that she only got this for me and Sloethorn but not for the whole Clan? He took a deep breath. “Whiteflower’s been growing back pains, especially in the hips. Her limbs are growing tired from the restless walking, so she was only able to get some for me and Sloethorn.”
Sloethorn thought that Nutstem was going to swipe a paw at him or either snap. But the she-cat paced forward and touched noses with Pikefang. He could feel his brother’s pelt growing hot with embarrassment.
“You two are the strongest warriors in VeilClan,” she purred. She took a step back from Pikefang and looked deep into his amber eyes. “We’re going to need lots of bats.” Pikefang wasn’t sure what she meant by that but he only responded with a brisk nod.
For a while Pikefang and Sloethorn began discoursing with Nutstem. Pikefang felt warmth begin to rise up in his chest. Nutstem was sitting fairly closer to him and he could feel her tail lightly touching his. As awkward this may have been for him, Pikefang doesn’t want to move a muscle. He enjoyed her presence and the way her light voice carried frivolously in the air.
After several moments all three had decided to prepare to hunt for their Clan. Before they left, Pikefang had went to go fetch his apprentice Spiderpaw. He peered through the crevice of the apprentice den, finding Spiderpaw curled up in her nest asleep.
“Psst,” hissed Pikefang. “Spiderpaw, wake up. We’re going on a hunting patrol.”
Almost at the same instant he finished meowing, Spiderpaw shot her head up, her eyes wide with and attentive like spiders. Without question, she stood up in her nest without stretching, and scuttled towards Pikefang’s side.
As Pikefang returned with his apprentice, the group soon headed for the spiral path, the pebbles showering behind them. Pikefang felt a bit nervous that they weren’t told to go out hunting by Thornblaze. He kept assuring himself that Thornblaze was a reasonable cat, and if he wasn’t okay with it then he’d tell them to simply not do it again.
Sloethorn took the lead up the slope with Pikefang and the others right behind him. The pebbles fell on the camp ground, resonating sharply in the colossal cave hollow. They went up a spiraling path that circled around the camp, the clearing getting smaller and smaller as they went further up. Faint, silver light began to seep into the darkness as they charged onward, the pebbles spewing behind them.
Sloethorn dropped back and let Pikefang take the lead, with Spiderpaw close behind him. He could feel his brother’s breath scrape against his bushy tail.
They slowed down to a halt in a massive area filled with faint, silver light. Jagged stones were dispersed here and there. Strewn holes were on the roof of the cave above them, sending shafts of pale, silvery light from them with dust motes floating around. The cats mused in awe at the sight of the beams once more. Those holes lead to the Outside World, mused Pikefang with wonder, his breath literally taken away.
“The Brightcave is very beautiful,” mused Nutstem. “And it never ceases to astound me.”
Pikefang felt cold wind whip against his flank as Spiderpaw strode up to one of the pools of light, taking gingerly small steps towards the center of it. She looked up at the hole above her, her eyes squinting at the light.
Cautiously, the others caught up with her and Pikefang stepped closer to where she stood, standing near the edge of the pool of silvery light. “Careful, Spiderpaw,” he cautioned. “Anything could fall from the Outside World.”
Nutstem looked at Pikefang, her eyes glinting with interest. “Do you really think there’s more land outside than to what is inside of the caves?”
“There could be,” meowed Pikefang. “But I’m not certain of it.”
Sloethorn padded up to Spiderpaw, his whiskers twitching. “I’ve heard stories from Fernwhisker about cats who’ve stood in those beams before. If any cat stands there, they would be lifted off into the Outside World!”
Pikefang frowned at Sloethorn as Spiderpaw leapt back with a squeak, her tail bushed and eyes wide with terror. She scuttled a few paces back and began licking her chest fur in feverish embarrassment.
Nutstem snorted. “Don’t listen to Sloethorn. He’s being bat-brained.”
Calming down, Spiderpaw threw Sloethorn an accusing look. “Hahah, very funny, Sloethorn,” she mocked. “You’re the funniest cat in the underground.”
“Okay,” meowed Pikefang, growing impatient. “So are we going hunting or are we just going to gaze at the beams?”
The others mumbled in agreement.
“How’s about we split up in two groups?” suggested Nutstem.
Pikefang looked at Nutstem as if he was going to reject. But he flicked his tail-tip and averted his eyes away from her. “I guess that doesn’t sound bad,” he meowed. “Spiderpaw can come with me, while you and Sloethorn could go.” But at the mention of Sloethorn going with Nutstem, a peculiar sensation stung through his chest. The thought of the both of them being alone together made him almost feel sick and uneasy, but he tried to push the feeling away.
As the cats departed into separate tunnels on the far ends of the Brightcave, Pikefang forced himself to look back over his shoulder. Nutstem has seemed to be in the leader instead of Sloethorn, her tail lifted in the air with confidence. She was so self-aware, and Pikefang liked that about her.
Pikefang took the lead in front of Spiderpaw as they scurried through a small tunnel. The tunnel grew darker as they moved further away from the Brightcave. Stone walls were brushing on either side of him, and Pikefang had to use his whiskers to guide him through the darkness. Spiderpaw was silent and self-possessed behind him, her breath brushing against his haunches.
Soon they entered a small, confined hollow. Shimmering pointed rocks lit up like precious stone along the walls by a single shaft of light from a hole in the roof. Dark shapes dangled from the jagged stalactites. Bats!
But the bats were out of reach. It was impossible to reach them with one jump. Pikefang quickly had an idea and suggested that maybe he could use the rocks jutting from the walls as paw holds.
Silently, Pikefang bounded up the projected stone. The rocks were flat and slick. Catching him by surprise, Pikefang nearly slid and tumbled on his own whiskers. Gathering up his strength, Pikefang leapt on another ledge, scrabbling at the edge with his claws, his lower body dangling perilously in the air.
“Pikefang!” hissed Spiderpaw, her claws clutched at the smooth ground. The apprentice was staring wide-eyed with horror as Pikefang was clinging for his life.
He tried to lift and grasp with his hind legs but he felt that with every movement he made, his body would slip further down. Pikefang gulped, peered down, and slammed his eyes shut. Quietlight and Nutstem were the size of mice. Cave-ancestors, help me!
Digging his claws into the smooth rock, he gathered enough strength in his forelimbs to thrust his shoulders forward, flinging his body up. His belly slapped loudly onto the surface. He swung his head up and saw that one of the bats swayed faintly. It twitched an ear but its eyes never opened.
Sending silent thanks to his cave-ancestors Pikefang was a few mouse-lengths beneath the bats. He took a few paces and hunkered into a hunter’s crouch, readying himself. He bunched his haunches and sprang for three bats. They awoke and began to flurry away, but Pikefang had managed to grab one of them in his jaws by the neck. He gave the bat a killing bite and it went limp. The second one was too plump to fly properly. Dropping the fresh-kill by his forepaws, Pikefang slapped the lazy bat with a sheathed paw, sending it downwards towards the three she-cats.
Spiderpaw circled excitedly and gazed up at the bats. She reared back and opened her mouth, ready to speak.
“I got it!” Nutstem called out. She raised on her hind legs and gaped her jaws, catching the bat in her teeth.
Pikefang peered over the high ledge. “Nice catch!” he commended. While Nutstem had the bat dangling in her jaws, he noticed that Spiderpaw looked rejected, her ears drooped and whiskers sagging. Was she about to catch that one? Shoving the guilty feeling aside, Pikefang picked up his quarry and hurtled downward until he met up with his Clanmates.
Quietlight exchanged glances with them. Her eyes were like full moons. She was silently praising them with a wave of her tail.
Nutstem nodded in approval. “Let’s head back to the others,” she suggested through fur.
Pikefang picked up his catch. He looked at his apprentice again, but she only looked away. “Come on,” he ordered, muffled.
He led the way back into the expansive hollow. They sat their fresh-kill down and waited for the others. For a moment, he thought he could hear their voices faintly echoing in the distance. All was a crisp silence until a yowl split it into two. Pikefang’s fur bristled with alarm. Sloethorn! They’re in trouble!
| CHAPTER 3 |
“Pikefang,” meowed Nutstem nervously, construing his mind. “That doesn't sound too good!”
Before Pikefang could drop his quarry Nutstem was already gone. Horrified, Pikefang, Quietlight, and Spiderpaw followed hard on her heels. Everything was a brown-grayish blur around him, his paws thrumming on the ground. Knowing that his brother was in trouble made his heart quicken even more. We’re coming, Sloethorn!
Like the tunnel before, the walls enclosed around them and brushed against their sides. They had to drive their bodies forward in order to squeeze through the tight burrow. When they entered a tiny hollow, a sharp, metallic scent crashed into his nose. Blood!
The room was well-lit by a hole in the roof, much like the previous hollow before. A strange shaft of yellow light formed a pool on the ground. He could see Sloethorn, Dewstorm, and Russetfoot fighting off a large, red creature. It had a bushy tail and pointy ears, its muzzle short and legs long. What is that thing? thought Pikefang in revulsion.
It snarled and snapped its jaws at Sloethorn, who intercepted the attack by scratching the creature’s face. Blood dribbled in front of its eyes. It swung its body around to where its lower half was positioned inside the beam of light. Its hind legs had seemed to stick to the pool of light as it worked and kicked its forelegs at Dewstorm. Pikefang and his group watch with bristling pelts.
“Look!” meowed Spiderpaw, pointing at the red creature with her tail. “Do you see that? The light is holding the fox in place. This is our chance to attack!”
She was right. Pikefang was proud of his apprentice for being so observant. He summoned up his courage to enter the shaft of strange light. But what if those tales turned out to be real? Pikefang thought in fear, imagining his body being lifted off the ground. Taking a deep breath, Pikefang yowled and sprung at the creature, with unsheathed claws. He dug his claws into its warm flesh and clung to it like a tick. His black pelt blazed a pale yellow under the light, warmth bathing his spine. It felt odd, yet soothing, to him.
The red creature reacted immediately to his attack and began bucking wildly. Pikefang was flung off into the air and crashed hard on his side, the wind knocked out of him. He gasped for air as Sloethorn and Nutstem rushed up to his side, the others either fighting the creature or standing stiff with shock.
“Are you alright?” gasped Sloethorn.
Pikefang thought of the warmth that the shaft of light gave him. Energy began gradually rolling back into his limbs and he stood up. “Just had a little doozie, that's all,” he meowed coldly.
Sloethorn stared at his brother with relief, then with rage as he looked at the red creature. “Now let’s teach this thing that he’s in the wrong cave!” he snarled, spreading his limbs out in a crouch. Pushing a powerful force, Sloethorn lashed his claws out and raked down the creature’s flank. It twisted in pain and threw its neck back, snapping in the air as Sloethorn ducked away.
Russetfoot had managed to bite its bushy tail and opened his jaws to release it. “This thing really needs to chill out.”
Dewstorm was standing on a ledge and leapt down, her limbs sprawled out and claws unsheathed, glistening in the shaft of light. She raked the creature’s face, dealing a mighty blow. Pikefang’s eyes glowed with hope. There we go, Dewstorm! Get 'im! The red animal yipped and whined, tail tucked between its legs, and hauled off into a tiny hole along the wall.
All the cats gathered around the pool of light, their eyes wide with exhaustion and triumph.
Quietlight bounced up on her paws, her tail waving in the air. Excitement sparked in her eyes. We did it!, Pikefang could tell she was saying.
Russetfoot fluffed his chest out arrogantly. “We showed him!” he meowed. “Now we’ll just have to make certain he doesn’t return.” Pikefang could see that Russetfoot, Sloethown, and Dewstorm had several scratches along their pelts. But that didn't seem to bother them the slightest. He wondered how long they had been fighting.
Panting, Pikefang turned to his brother. “What did you catch?” he asked.
Sloethorn had turned away and vanished in the shadows, coming back with a limp, white salamander in his jaws. He dropped it at his feet. “We caught a salamander, three bats, and a mouse.” Pikefang was surprised at the amount of prey they caught, especially compared to his group. Maybe if Quietlight and Spiderpaw had caught those bats then we’d have plenty more.
Pikefang shook out his fur and beckoned his tail for Nutstem, Spiderpaw, and Quietlight to stand beside him. “We caught two bats,” he meowed arrogantly. His heart sunk when he nearly saw Sloethorn’s lips crinkle with laughter.
“Only two?” he meowed, trying to sound sympathetic, though his hilarity stood in the way. “You got yourselves a pawful there.”
Hot with embarrassment, Pikefang turned away and began heading back through the tunnels. “Yeah, we can’t carry so much.”
As all the cats recovered and returned back to the exposed hollow, they slowed down to where they had split up before. Pikefang skidded to a stop and stared in disbelief. The two bats that they caught were gone. Someone’s stolen our prey! He felt fur brush against him and his heart sunk in humiliation when he noticed that it was Sloethorn.
"B-but we had them right here!" meowed Pikefang, his eyes sparking with irritation.
Sloethorn sniffed the ground, looking up at his brother with a worried look in his eyes. “The scent of bat is stale here,” he murmured. “Are you sure this was where you left it?”
Pikefang was just as lost. “Of course I'm sure," he snapped.
Spiderpaw padded up to where their fresh-kill used to be. “Preposterous,” she squeaked. The brown-and-gray she-cat lowered her head to take a good lungful of the stale scent. “I smell another cat,” he meowed. “And it’s not from one of our Clanmates.”
“What?" snarled Nutstem, clawing at the ground. "That can't be true. Another cat living down here. Phah!"
Pikefang looked at his brother’s group and he felt envious that all of them were carrying prey in their jaws. He glanced back at his group, who were empty-pawed and angered. He longed for a hole to yawn beneath him and take him away to another cave. What a hopeless hunt...
As they headed back down the spiraling path, a few of their Clanmates gathered eagerly around them. Cherryhawk, along with Darkpaw and Stumpymask, came up with admiration in their eyes.
“Oh, where’d you find so much prey?” meowed Cherryhawk to Sloethorn.
Sloethorn had dropped his prey down by his feet. “We nearly risked our lives trying to find these,” he confessed coolly. He lowered his head and his eyes glazed with the memories of the unanticipated brawl.
Pikefang was surprised that the others didn’t bother asking what had attacked them. Adderwhisker and Needlenose both emerged from the warriors’ den. Pikefang held back an appalled snort; he didn’t like seeing the both of them around. When they’re together, it’s even worse.
As the two tabbies approached, Sloethorn threw Pikefang a fleeting look before tossing the salamander right next to Pikefang's paws. Pikefang looked at him and narrowed his eyes. You sly little...
But before Pikefang could do anything about it, Adderwhisker looked at the salamander at his paws. He sniffed it and his face scrunched up in disgust, throwing his head back. “Eek!” he gasped. “What is that nasty white thing you caught?”
Pikefang kept his cool. “It’s called a white salamander,” he meowed matter-of-factly.
Adderwhisker swung his gaze at Cherryhawk, his eyes brimmed with over-the-top revulsion. “Tell me, Cherryhawk, what has he brought to us—to our kits?” Cherryhawk only mrrowed with amusement.
“I told him it was a white salamander,” repeated Pikefang straightforwardly at Nutstem. He caught a look from Sloethorn and he expected his gaze to be glistening with amusement. But instead, seriousness hung over Sloethorn’s eyes. Pikefang understood what his brother wanted. He, too, wanted to learn more about that red creature they had fought.
And the only cat they relied on about information like this was their deputy: Thornblaze.
Leaving the others behind to deposit their prey, Pikefang and Sloethorn padded towards the leader’s den, where he saw Thornblaze and Willowstar sitting beside each other in a muted conversation. When the brothers had arrived the lanky she-cat met their gaze, her eyes warm and genuine. “Greetings, Sloethorn and Pikefang,” she meowed. “Is there something you want to talk with me about?” She paused and gasped shortly after seeing the visible scars on them: one on Pikefang’s shoulder and a nick in Sloethorn’s ear, with scars down his flank.
Pikefang held a grave expression. “We found a red creature in the undergrounds.”
Thornblaze widened his eyes. “What were you doing out there in the undergrounds anyways?” he gasped.
Sloethorn stepped up towards the ginger deputy. “Hunting,” he confessed curtly.
“And what were you doing out hunting, and without our say-so?” added Willowstar firmly.
Pikefang flicked an ear. “It was Nutstem’s idea,” he lied.
“Since when did I appoint her as deputy?” Willowstar meowed. She looked at Pikefang and Sloethorn with a hard look. “Tell me,” she meowed. “Were any of you badly wounded?”
Sloethorn shook his head. “Russetfoot had a good number, too. But none of us were hurt that bad.” He looked expectantly at Thornblaze. “Do you happen to know any tall, red creatures with black limbs and short muzzles? And with smelly breath?”
Thornblaze traveled his eyes around the camp as if expecting to find any of his cats with a similar description. He hummed in thought until finally giving Sloethorn a look of assurance. “A fox,” he replied in a low voice.
Sloethorn tipped his head to the side. “That was a fox we were attacking?” he gasped.
The yellow tabby tom nodded decisively. “I’ve never seen one with my own eyes but I’ve only heard about them through the elders’ stories.”
“I thought foxes were just something to scare the kits away.”
“No,” Thornblaze's voice was stone. “They’re realer than ever.” He paused for a few moments before asking brusquely, “Did you drive it away?”
Pikefang tipped his head to the side. “Hm? Oh, yeah." He then puffed his chest out proudly. "We made sure it was never coming back.”
A purr of satisfaction rose from Willowstar’s throat. “I’m proud to have such fine warriors in VeilClan,” she meowed. “Not only can you hunt well, but you have proven us enough that you can defend our Clan with such dignity.”
Pikefang and Sloethorn exchanged hopeful glances. They’ve shown their loyalty to their Clan. What more could they have done to show that VeilClan was their home?
“Thank you,” murmured Sloethorn, dipping his head gratefully.
Thornblaze pricked his ears at the sound of Adderwhisker’s over-dramatic voice in the distance from the clearing. “He’s still prattling like bats in a blind fit?” he meowed, twitching his whiskers.
Sloethorn rolled his eyes. “He just never seems to shut up.”
Willowstar stood up and was about to yowl at Adderwhisker but Pikefang watched as Cherryhawk gave his ear a silencing cuff. Her mate flinched away and fell silent, remorse glinting in his eyes. Willowstar purred in amusement. “A good mate comes with a great virtue, no?" Pikefang and the rest shares a small bout of laughter with the leader. A sting came from Pikefang's nicked ear. It was best if they had went to the medicine den now.
| CHAPTER 4 | After emerging from the medicine den, Sloethorn saw that his Clan was already beginning a small feast. This was in commemoration towards their hunting patrol for fighting a fox and driving it out of the undergrounds.
Sloethorn remembered that, several moons ago, the Clan had to face their first threat in the underground: a horde of rats. That was when Sloethorn and Pikefang were apprentices. It was easily assured that they had drove the rats back to the overworld, but Sloethorn couldn't help but feel a wave of uncertainty about the fox. We only drove the fox in a tunnel, he thought, we’re not sure if it'll come back or not.
It was still a mystery on how it had entered the caves in the first place. Where they had fought the fox, there was a hole in the roof. Maybe it slipped and fell in by accident?
Sloethorn had picked up a plump bat from the fresh-kill pile. He turned to join Pikefang, Nutstem, and Stumpymask, who were all lying about, eating their prey.
Sloethorn sat next to his brother and took a large bite out of his bat. He chewed and swallowed before meowing, “So I guess we are the heroes now.”
Pikefang swallowed his share. “Not heroes. Just a bunch of gallant warriors.”
“He told you, Sloethorn,” mumbled Stumpymask before taking a monotonous nip at her salamander, the same one that Sloethorn had caught.
Silently dumbfounded, Sloethorn puffed out his chest and cleared his throat inattentively. He dropped his head down and sank his teeth into his bat, eating noiselessly
.
Stumpymask let out a mrrow of laughter. “I won’t blame you, Sloethorn,” she purred. “In fact, you were the one to catch this tasty salamander.”
At the mention of salamander Sloethorn flew his head up, eyes glinting with frustration. Still, he kept his mouth taut and said nothing.
Sloethorn heard paw steps approaching them and saw Needlenose and Cherryhawk running towards them with their tails high. Cherryhawk’s belly was swollen with kits. Needlenose had a limp mouse dangling from his jaws.
The brown tabby waved his tail in greeting.
Sloethorn bit back a reply but the others mewed in hospitality. I still don’t trust this cat, he thought. He and Adderwhisker are up to no good.
Needlenose allowed his mate, Cherryhawk, to sit down first. He sat down and placed the bat at her. Cherryhawk lowered gently and began nibbling gingerly at the mouse.
Nutstem looked at Needlenose quizzically. The tabby held his chin gallantly high. “Aren’t you going to eat, Needlenose?” she asked.
The warrior nodded. “Yeah,” he mewed, “but Cherryhawk needs the mouse more than I do. With her expecting the kits in less than a moon, both she and the kits need the energy.”
Sloethorn glanced at Cherryhawk, who hadn’t looked up for a while. He tried not to show thoughtfulness in how polite Needlenose was being, especially since this was their first litter together. Your civility doesn’t interest me, he thought stingily.
Cherryhawk finally lifted her head as she licked her whiskers, savoring the taste. “That was very delicious,” she purred to Needlenose. She pushed the leftover to the side. “Oh, aren't you excited for my children?” she added to Sloethorn. We’ve already heard this…
But he didn't want to say that aloud, since he and Cherryhawk had been close friends for the longest.
“We can’t wait until they arrive to VeilClan!” Nutstem answered for Sloethorn, thankfully.
“Have you thought of any names for them?” meowed Stumpymask.
Cherryhawk lightly tapped her tail-tip on the cave floor. She twitched an ear and shifted her feet. “I really wanted a kit with the name Stormkit,” she meowed.
“Stormkit?” echoed Nutstem. “That’s a lovely name.”
Sloethorn couldn't help but notice at how interested Nutstem was amongst the group. It was something about the way she said it that made Sloethorn think otherwise.
“I’m full,” grumbled Stumpymask as she stood up and turned away. “I guess I’ll be sleeping for moons.” Almost as soon as Stumpymask left, so did everyone else. Only Sloethorn and Nutstem remained.
Then it hit him that the feast was coming to an end. It felt so short to him. So meaningless. He felt Nutstem’s breath graze against his cheeks.
“Do you think Pikefang will accept me?” she whispered.
Sloethorn flinched away in surprise. “Accept you for what?” he meowed, even though he already knew what she clearly meant.
Nutstem stood on her paws and sat down again, curling her tail around her forepaws. She was acting very shifty. “As a mate,” she sighed. “I feel that our friendship has settled into something greater.” There was a long pause in between them.
“Maybe... he likes you back?.” Sloethorn tried to sound encouraged, though he couldn’t help but form a growing lump in his throat.
“You mean it?” mewed Nutstem, hopefully.
“Yeah.” As he spoke, he spotted Pikefang from the corner of his eye, approaching towards the crevice of the warriors’ den. “Go to him.”
For a moment Nutstem lingered, as if refusing. She then dipped her head and bid farewell before padding assertively off to Pikefang near the warrior's den. Pikefang’s eyes lit up when she went over to him. It’ll get to them soon, thought Sloethorn. Very soon.
***
Time passed after the feast was over and most of the cats were asleep in their cave-dens. Sloethorn wasn’t sleepy at all. He was lying in his nest, the feeling of pacing back and forth itching his pelt. He felt the peaceful buzzing of snores around him, the warmth of his brother’s pelt pressed against his flank, Nutstem right next to him. Sloethorn was proud of her to have finally confessed her love to Pikefang. Sloethorn felt uncomfortable with the two new mates sleeping beside him, especially if one of them was his brother.
Sloethorn had decided to sneak out of camp and silently loped up the spiral path. Once he was sure to be out of earshot, he broke into a scurry. He relished the way the wind slunk through his fur, his whiskers pressed against his face. Once he entered the Brightcave clearing, he slowed down to an impatient scuttle.
Snuffling the air, Sloethorn stood where Pikefang’s quarry had mysteriously vanished during their hunting trip. The cat’s scent is still here, but very stale now.
Pattering noises echoed in one of the tunnels. Silently, Sloethorn slunk towards the tunnel where the sound was coming from, pressing his back against the shadows near the threshold. There was definitely someone in there. He parted his jaws to taste the air that blown downwind. A cat’s scent crashed into his lungs and he gasped. It smells like the fool who stole my brother’s bats!
Immediately he ran into the tunnel, charging deeper into the widening burrow. Since the walls were further away from him, it was hard for him to use his whiskers to guide him through the darkness. Instead, he used his nose to follow the scent trail. It had seemed to become stronger as he harried further into the tunnel.
A chink of light filled a hollow clearing weakly. He slowed down as the entered the area. Small patches of grass were speckled about on the smooth ground. He found it strange for there to be any source of vegetation here, as there needed to be a source of light. But he looked up at the tiny hole that beamed down a thin ray of the strange light, which was now yellow.
The cat’s scent was suffocating now. He looked around but couldn’t find any sign of him.
Weight instantly crashed down on top of Sloethorn and his neck was fastened by teeth. Claws dug into his shoulders, pinning him down to the ground. Sloethorn let out a startled grunt.
“What are you doing here?” a voice growled above him, muffled through Sloethorn’s neck fluff.
Sloethorn tried to struggle free but the stranger’s weight was holding him down. “You’re trespassing in VeilClan territory,” he growled. “Every inch of these tunnels are ours to walk on, not yours.”
The cat dug his claws in deeper. Sloethorn drew his lips back in pain, hissing.
“You mean to tell me that you own these tunnels?” growled the cat. Relief flooded over Sloethorn as the tom released his grip. The weight vanished from above and he saw a hefty shape step in front of his vision. The stranger was a massive ginger tom with broad shoulders, his long black claws still unsheathed. His eyes were shining a stormy green against the dim-lit hollow.
Sloethorn tried to mask his fear scent with a flick of his tail. “Not one to sniff-and-greet, huh?" he snorted. "I'm Sloethorn. And who the bat-dung are you?"
But the ginger tom blinked at him in surprise. He straightened up and flattened out his fur, sliding his large claws back in. “I’m Robin,” he meowed, his voice suave yet smooth like rock. “I live here.”
Sloethorn didn’t want to goad a challenge. He then recalled that this cat’s scent was all over the bats that Pikefang had caught. “Were you the one who took those bats?” I know it’s you so don’t you lie to me!
Robin sat down. “Oh, you mean the bats in the large clearing?” He gave his forepaw a quick lick, showing arrogance. “No one was out there to claim them, so…”
“So you found it right enough to take them at your own risk,” pressed on Sloethorn, his frustration nearly spilling out of his pelt.
“Thank you for catching those bats for me.” Robin’s meow was rather sardonic. His eyes shone. “Especially that fat one. I’ve never been fed like that for moons!”
Sloethorn was about to open his mouth to argue as two more shapes emerged from the tunnel behind them. The two newcomers stood on either side of Robin, one a silver tabby she-cat with blue eyes and the other a soft gray tom with darker specks. They both looked young and healthy. The silver tabby she-cat seemed more benevolent than the others; the gray tom seemed troubled.
“Robin, you haven’t told us you had a friend!” exclaimed the she-cat. She gave Sloethorn a sugary curtsy. “Nice to meet you! I’m Milky.”
“Hey… I’m S-Salamander,” the gray tom stammered awkwardly.
Robin narrowed his eyes at Milky. “He’s not my friend,” he growled.
Milky shrugged, looking rather candid. “I am only trying to welcome guests,” she mewed rationally. “You are welcome here at any time,” she added to Sloethorn.
“But we barely know this cat.” Robin stepped in Milky’s way, his thick pelt blocking her out of Sloethorn’s view. The ginger tom’s voice went low, like chippings of ice. “We can’t trust any other cat now besides us. We can’t just accept some random cat to side with us, especially after what had happened to our old home…”
Sloethorn’s whiskers began twitching with curiosity. “Where did you guys come from?” he nosed in.
“It’s none of your business,” growled the ginger tom, turning on Sloethorn cuttingly.
“We are from the Tribe of Shouting Eagles,” answered Salamander, stepping up to Sloethorn. The gray tom’s eyes became heavy with grief. “Our Tribe lived in the overworld. We are the only survivors from a terrible attack by big, yellow monsters.”
“There are more of us,” added Milky quickly.
Sloethorn's eyes widened with wonder. Wow! The overworld? I'm looking at cats from the overworld! “What made you guys want to live underground?” He wanted to know more about their derivation, his quarrel with Robin pushed to the side.
Solemn recollection weighed in Robin’s eyes. He turned away from the group and sat down, his back facing towards them. “Our old home was in a forest,” he murmured lowly. “We were chased out of our homeland and…” Sloethorn could see Robin’s body cringe. “…kit-mothers and elders were crushed by falling trees. There was nothing our Healer could do—nothing we could do. We just simply ran and ran and... Our single hope of a new home was in the underground.”
Pity began churning thickly in Sloethorn’s chest. He couldn’t blame Robin for attacking him. Sloethorn was an intruder to their new home, and possibly their only home. He had all the reason to attack.
“We only have the underground to feed us, nurture us, protect us,” murmured Milky distantly.
Sloethorn was disturbed by how quickly the sugary she-cat become so cold.
Salamander nodded solemnly. “We’ve d-decided to split up and live in different parts of the underground. That way, we’ll manage to grow into three different Tribes.”
“Our Stoneteller is lost down here,” continued Milky. She gestured her tail at Robin. “But he’s our Stoneteller—unofficial Stoneteller—for now. Well, mines and Cry’s. Salamander’s just here to visit.”
Sloethorn was nodding in sympathy as they spoke, but perked his ears. “Come again?” he asked, confused. “What’s a Stoneteller?”
“A Stoneteller is the one responsible for leading the Tribe and being their Healer, which is a cat who tends to their wounds.” Salamander answered. He flicked his tail for his Tribemate to continue on, too meek to carry on.
“He isn’t officially a Stoneteller, though,” prompted Milky. “But he keeps us protected and safe from danger. That’s why he attacked you.”
Feeling embarrassed, Sloethorn dipped his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
The silver tabby she-cat twitched her whiskers, her eyes glistening with that youth once more. Yet again. This freaked Sloethorn out. “Don’t be! We welcome you here at any time.” Sloethorn thought that Robin was going to argue over that statement. But the ginger tom remained silent, staring down at his paws.
Salamander shifted humbly on his paws. He then looked up at Sloethorn. “Where did you come from?” he asked.
“I came from a Clan called VeilClan,” meowed Sloethorn.
“VeilClan?” echoed Salamander, his body stirring with energy.
“I thought the Clans were dead,” gasped Milky in wonder. Sloethorn’s eyes widened.
Dead?