Torren sat in the damp, wet tent at the ora-Krai camp. After half a year of debating with the strong hold people Yánrak still had not gotten what he wanted. Day after day Torren had watched him become more and more corrupt until he'd cracked. That morning he had led Torren and the ora-krai to the stronghold for one last raid, the final attempt to break their defences.

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Toren froze in terror as the alarm horns sounded around him. He stood, petrified, as the people around him left the fields of crops and ran towards the tall black-stone walls of the inner stronghold. They were at least three hundred metres away from where Toren was standing. He quickly turned to face the forest behind him, to his horror he could already hear the harsh cries and curses of the Orá-krai as they crashed through the trees towards the farming meadow. He would never make it back to the stronghold in time.

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Misttail bounded up the rocky path to the moonpool and pushed through the bushes to the stone hollow. “Here we are!” Shadowsight the Skyclan medicine cat meowed as he caught up to him. “The Moonpool.” For the first time since he had heard the ominous words of the prophecy Misttail felt uneasy. He would be leader soon and he'd have a whole clan to look after. He wove his way down to the pool and silently touched his nose to the water. It was unexpectedly cold and he shivered as the chill passed through his body. Was he in Starclan yet? He could still feel the cold stone under him. read more...