The Lost Heir [Book 1]

★★★ Chapter Two ★★★

Song Setting: Finale | Madeon

Character of the week: Silverpool

Unfortunately, that's when things began to go awry.

Later that afternoon, torrents of rain poured from the dark sky, flooding the valleys and plains with water. The dens were soon overflowing with mud and debris, and the rain had begun to wash away the earth from the roots and rocks that secured the walls of the SwiftClan camp. All hunting parties and patrols had been instructed to stay in camp until the storm passed, and no matter how soaking wet, every available Hunter and Warrior were working to prevent any collapses.

If it weren't for the imminent danger of rockslides and sickness, Frostkit might have enjoyed the experience. She loved the rain, and didn't even particularly mind being wet, but everyone having to crowd into the Hunters' above-ground den certainly wasn't a perk. Still, it was warm in the burrow, where Frostkit and her companions spent most of their time from that point on. Because the rain didn't stop, and the thunderstorm raged for three days before it even began to let up. Luckily, prey animals were washed from their burrows on a regular basis, and Hunters had no problem retrieving somewhat drenched fresh-kill for the Clan.

To make matters worse, Larkstar left for the gathering on the fifth day when the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and came back with less than pleasing news. The long-lived territory dispute with AmberClan had only grown more fierce, and SwiftClan had lost hold of a large portion of the low-lying plains; with the cover of the rain, there was no way to defend it against attacks. The sullen leader had called to consult with Hollyheart, his Deputy, and a few respected senior warriors.

Late that night, Frostkit found herself awake and staring out across the muddy camp. The den was filled with gentle breaths and sighs, cats huddling up against each other, though they were already pressed for space. Since the rain had begun to fall, she'd watched it every night. The small kit had never seen rain like this before, and hard as she tried, she couldn't see it in the same dreary way the adults did. She glanced down at the damp earth, where she'd been pressing her paws to try and make the most perfect paw prints she could. The moment she lifted them to look, they crumbled at the edges and turned back to mud, and the she-cat lowered her head in exasperation. With a sudden determination, Frostkit shook out her rain-specked fur, and padded quietly towards the mouth of the den, barely managing to keep from tripping over the splayed tails and legs of other cats.

The water sloshed up the back of her legs as the she-cat made her way across camp. She was headed toward's the leader's den, aware of the lack of bustle. Even at night, four or more Warriors always stood guard, but now the camp was desolate. Already, Fallowburr and Sorrelmist had been admitted to the medicine den with minor colds, and she could hear muffled coughs as she passed by.

Frostkit was too cold and shaky to try and move stealthily, but the group of cats within the leader's den were too intent to have noticed her anyway. It was hard to judge by the tone, but she somehow knew it wasn't going well. Finally under the outcropping that sheltered the den, she settled into a crouch, ears pricked to pick up the dialogue as she came closer.

"...I wouldn't put it past them to attack us right now, while we're vulnerable." That was Wolfcry, Larkstar's brother, skeptical as he let on.

"It's just as hard for them to fight in the rain as it is for us," Silverpool argued.

"They're adaptable and unpredictable. That's not a good combination," Wolfcry retorted.

"He's right. We should attack before they have the chance to," Hailstorm growled, and Frostkit could almost hear his claws scratching the rock from where she was hidden.