PROLOGUE

The she-cat pushed through the crowd, mumbling apologies as she slipped through the maze of fur and paws. Another gathering. Felt like just yesterday there’d been one. A shrill meow shot through the air, every cat’s eyes drawn to the four cats atop the Great Rock.

There sat the leaders of the clans: Darkstar, leader of Stoneclan; Cloudstar, leader of Meadowclan; Patchstar, leader of Nightclan. And Palestar, leader of Creekclan. My clan.

My clan. Why do the words sound so wrong? So false? The she-cat winced. Why do the words feel so hollow now? Why not warm and full, like before? She ignored the tear that slid down her snout.

The words of the leaders seemed to flash by. Like always. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the crowd began to die out as the four cats atop the rock returned themselves to the crowd. The she-cat slipped through the horde once again, head low. She doesn’t try to talk to anyone. Not like there’s anyone left to talk to. 

“Foxpelt!” A calico she-cat purred as she trotted towards Foxpelt. But that doesn’t mean anyone won’t try and talk to me. “Foxpelt! Been moons since I’ve seen you!”

“H-Hello, Patchfur.” Foxpelt said, trying not to meet her face, but her bright green eyes were like catnip. “Yeah, I was s-sick the last Gathering.”

“Oh,” Patchfur said with a sad face. “Too bad.” Her face then lit up again with a smile. “But, oh, guess what! Darkstar appointed me deputy! You know, after Blackfur’s ‘accident’.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Foxpelt managed a smile. “I mean, for the appointance thing. By the way, how is Blackfur doing?”

“He’s a lot better now.” Patchfur said as she began to wash her leg. “He still can’t walk, but he’s not in as much pain.”

“Well that’s a relief.” Foxpelt meowed.

“You can say that again.” The she-cat purred. “Granitepelt says he won’t be able to fully run or hunt again, but he can at least get back on his feet, so he’s been helping him out in the medicine den.”

“That’s good.” Foxpelt began to continue before a shrill meow made her whip around. “Oh. Hello, Fernclaw.” She held back a growl.

“Foxpelt,” The brown tom meowed darkly. “Palestar is returning to camp. Streampelt has grown sick.”

Foxpelt nodded, before turning back to Patchfur. “Guess I have to go.”

“Oh,” Patchfur nodded, before rubbing lightly on Foxpelt’s head. “See you next Gathering then.”

Foxpelt returned the gesture. “Same to you. Goodbye, Patchfur!” She purred as she trotted away behind Fernclaw. 

The returning trip to camp seemed a lot quieter than before, at least, until a shrill, small cry shot through the air. The band of cats ran towards the noise, padded paws silent on the firm ground. The small mew sounded again, and Foxpelt shot ahead of the patrol, brushing through the thicket and briar around her. 

“Foxpelt!” Fernclaw shouted behind her, but his call was lost to the wind. Foxpelt stumbled over a small drop, landing on her side and rolling through the leaves until she came to a stop.

Foxpelt warily rose, before her eyes widened at the sight before her. A small black and white kit had been left near the Great Oak, tucked away by the brambles. Foxpelt's ears perked up as the black and white kit's cries grew louder. She veered off the path, her eyes searching the shadows beneath the tree branches. There it was, a tiny, trembling figure huddled under a thick cluster of leaves, its eyes reflecting fear. The kit looked no more than a few moons old, abandoned and lost in the vastness of the forest.

"Don't worry, little one," she murmured, her voice as soft as a whisper in the night. "You're safe now."

Her paws moved with gentle precision as she scooped up the kit, feeling its small frame shiver against hers. It was surprisingly light, and she could feel its rapid heartbeat through its thin fur. The patrol had caught up to her, their eyes reflecting a mix of pity and concern.

"We need to get this kit to Gingerpelt," Foxpelt said firmly, her gaze flicking to Fernclaw.

Fernclaw nodded. "I'll inform Palestar."

The group moved swiftly through the forest, the kit's weak mews a constant reminder of the urgency of their mission. As they approached the camp, Foxpelt could see the glow of the medicine den's entrance. She quickened her pace, her legs trembling slightly with the effort.

"Gingerpelt!" Foxpelt called out, her voice carrying the weight of the situation. "We've found a kit in need of your care!"

The medicine cat poked her head out of the den, her eyes widening at the sight of the tiny creature. "Bring it in, quickly," she instructed, her voice filled with compassion.

Foxpelt laid the kit down on the soft moss within the den, watching as Gingerpelt's skilled paws began to examine its tiny body. The kit's mews grew softer, and its eyes began to close as Gingerpelt's gentle touch seemed to bring it some comfort.

"What happened?" Gingerpelt asked, her voice low and soothing as she worked.

"We're not sure," Foxpelt replied. "It was just... left here. Alone."

The medicine cat's eyes met hers, a silent understanding passing between them. "We'll do everything we can," Gingerpelt promised, already mixing together several herbs for the kit.

Foxpelt stepped back, watching the scene unfold with a mix of hope and trepidation. The fate of this innocent life now rested in their paws, and she couldn't help but wonder what trials awaited the kit in the harsh world of the clans.

Later that night, as many warriors, queens, and elders gathered near the Great Tree, a lush, swooping willow that overhung part of the creek, Foxpelt's heart seemed to pound as though it would jump from her chest.

"Tonight," Palestar meowed from her perch atop the Great Tree. "We have taken in a kit that was abandoned. There is already a short stock of prey, but we are in need of a mother to care for it." The queens all avoided Palestar's gaze, wrapping their tails around their own kits and cleaning them.

I must say something, or the kit will be dead by sunrise. The thoughts pounded through Foxpelt's mind just as her heart to her chest. "Palestar," She suddenly called, everycat's eyes shooting to her. "I will care for the kit until it can be apprenticed."

The whispers among the other cats as she said those words made her wish she'd been born a panther, that she might rip apart the rest of them. "Half -clan... why should she take care of it... Palestar knows better than to trust her... of course a stray would care for one like her..."

Palestar glared down at Foxpelt, before cutting through the doubting whispers. "Very well." She said solemnly. "Foxpelt shall care for the kit. As of such, you shall name her."

Foxpelt's eyes went wide at her words. She thought for a moment, before replying with, "Bramblekit. The kit shall be known as Bramblekit."

Palestar nodded. "Very well. You shall care for Bramblekit until she can be apprenticed." The she-cat turned to the rest of the crowd. "Now, return to your night."

A small voice rang out from the crowd. "Will there be a naming ceremony?"

Palestar turned to face the cat. "No."