Darkest Night

As the forest thinned and the land opened into rolling meadows, he narrowed his eyes. The Twoleg dens dotted the hillside where it dipped toward the lake. Would Twolegs still be there now that greenleaf had cooled into leaf-fall? He didn’t want to find Twolegs, but if there were no six-toed cats among the Clans, perhaps he’d find one here among their kittypets.

It’s a dumb hope.

He ignored the doubt that was drowning his thoughts. He had to try. RiverClan had cut themselves off entirely. ShadowClan seemed as divided as they’d been when the rogues moved onto their territory, and SkyClan had so few cats that they hardly seemed a Clan at all. Alderheart couldn’t shift the sense of dread that pressed in his belly during the lengthening nights. The Clans seemed to be falling apart; not even their history seemed able to bring them together. This prophecy must be the answer.

He could only hope that they were interpreting StarClan’s words correctly. That they would find the six-toed cat, and that the cat would help lift the darkness that seemed to hang heavier than the storm clouds threatening the forest. He’d traveled to WindClan the day before to ask Harestar if he knew of a six-toed cat. But Harestar had only stared at him uneasily, and Alderheart had left the camp wondering if he’d simply made the WindClan leader more anxious.

He headed downslope, his mouth open as he tasted the air for kittypet scent.

A high-pitched bark made him freeze. His pelt bushed as he glanced over his shoulder and spotted a white-and-brown dog yapping at the top of the hill. It was held by a Twoleg kit, which pulled on the vine attached to the dog’s neck.

Alderheart hesitated. The dog was glaring at him. Its eyes glittered wildly as it barked. With a yelp, it showed its teeth and tugged at the vine, paws scrabbling against the ground. The Twoleg kit yowled angrily as the dog barked harder. Suddenly, with a snarl, the dog jerked the vine free of the Twoleg’s paw.

The dog streaked toward him, and fear seared like fire beneath Alderheart’s pelt. Alderheart scanned the grassy slope. There was nowhere to hide. He ran, pelting over the grass, terror pounding in his ears. He headed for the Twoleg nests, then veered, his thoughts spinning. What shelter could Twolegs give him? He raced across the slope. The sound of the barking was growing louder. He glimpsed the brown-and-white fur of the dog at the corner of his gaze. It was closing fast. He swerved again, running blindly now, with a vague hope of reaching the lake’s edge, as though somehow the water could protect him.

Tree. The thought sparked a moment before he spied the young rowan. It sprouted at the edge of the slope. Dogs can’t climb! He raced for it, his heart lurching as he saw that he’d have to cross the dog’s path to reach it. Pushing harder against the ground, he ran faster. Wind streamed through his fur. Air burned his lungs. He felt the hot breath of the dog on his flank as he flashed in front of it and leaped for the tree. He hooked his claws into the bark and hauled himself up, his hind legs scrabbling in desperate panic as the dog yelped, a whisker beneath him. He pulled his tail clear of the snapping jaws and scrambled onto the lowest branch.

He stared down, his flanks heaving.

The dog jumped and twisted beneath him, its ears flapping, its eyes rolling with rage.

Alderheart flattened his ears against its yapping and tried to catch his breath. He was trembling so hard he thought he might lose his balance. He dug his claws deep into the bark and squashed himself flat.

The Twoleg kit was racing toward the tree, wailing at the dog. As it neared, it lunged for the vine, which still trailed from the dog’s neck. It jerked the dog backward and, growling with effort, dragged it away.

Alderheart watched them go, his mouth dry with fear. Perhaps he should have asked for an escort after all. He stayed in the tree until the kit and its dog had disappeared from view. Then he waited a while longer until he could no longer hear the dog yapping. Unpeeling himself from the branch, he scanned the hillside.

Something was moving near the top. He strained to make out a shape, but the wind was streaming through the long grass and it was hard to see anything clearly against the rippling pasture. He shrugged. It was probably a RiverClan warrior, or ShadowClan. Their territories lay on either side. Or perhaps it was one of the kittypets he’d come here to find. For now, he climbed cautiously down the tree and looked toward the Twoleg nests. He would start there.