The thing about a storm is that they always seem to run out of rain.
When it does, the sun comes out to shine again and life goes on. Of course, the storm always finds a way back and the cycle continues.
Up in Starclan, a whisper of a prophecy blew on the cool breeze, passing from warriors of the past and eventually to warriors of the present.
The wilds of the hollow will be disturbed when a storm comes to life.
The darkness will descend and only if the storm breaks will the light come to be once more.
As the news spread, cats gathered by a pool of water, peering at the image of those bellow.
With the watchful eyes of Starclan and the pitter-patter of drops of water upon the ground, two kits were born.
A she-cat laid next to two wet bundles of fur. The first, a rather large kit with a brown tabby coat. The second, a smaller kit with a light brown spotted tabby coat. The mother smiled wearily down at her kits while a rather brute of a tom stood over her. His eyes trailed over the two kits, scrutinizing each one.
"What will you name them, Appleclaw?" The tom asked, his gaze moved to the exhausted she-cat.
Appleclaw took a deep breath and rested the tip of her tail on the largest of the two toms. "This one is Thistlekit." Her gaze lingered on the newly named Thistlekit for a moment before moving over to his sibling. "I suppose Wildkit will do for this one."
The tom nodded, giving one last look at the Thistlekit and Wildkit before calmly padding out of the den, into the pouring rain.
The mother wrapped her tail tightly around her kits and rested her head down in the cozy nest, her exhaustion getting the best of her as she drifted off to sleep.
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The den was dark as the rain splashed onto the ground, soaking into the thirsty roots of each plant. Warriors and kits alike slept peacefully, except for one.
Wildkit squirms next to his mother. His first night not only in the nursery but in this unforgiving world. The rest of his life is ahead of him yet he has no idea what fate has in stored for him.
A young she-cat with stars in fur padded down into the den, her gaze fixed on the new tom. She stood over the new family, a warm and calm smile on her face. She crouched down next to the squirming kit and rested her nose upon the forehead of the tiny bundle.
With the beat of the rain as a background, she whispered words that would not be heard for many moons into the kit's ear.
"You are the storm."
These were her last words before trailing back through the den, a radiating heat left in her wake.
This kit would not remember a thing about this night but that young she-cat would follow him for the rest of his life, the words of his fate still on her tongue.
