PEBBLEPAW

I wonder when Otterheart will be back, the small grey tom wondered as he bustled about the medicine den. Pebblepaw did not mind being alone, preferring the solitude of the medicine den to the cramped and noisy confines of the apprentice den his littermates slept in. Company did not concern him all that much; the herbs the medicine cat brought in and whether they would fit into the spaces he left for them in the medicine storage did. The better part of the morning and afternoon had been spent cleaning and organizing, something that Otterheart, his mentor, praised him for often.

A sudden commotion brought him out of his meditative state and he peeked out of the entrance to the den, surveying the crowd below. The unmistakeable scent of blood, coupled with the tang of poison, rose to meet him and the medicine cat apprentice quickly withdrew into the den. His breathing suddenly turned shallow and his head swam. The air inside the den smelled of the sweetness of juniper and the sharpness of catmint; the rest of the camp smelt of death, a smell that Pebblepaw thought he might never get used to.

"You alright?" came a muffled voice from the entrance of the den.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Pebblepaw asked innocently, smoothing down his fur and turning to see Otterheart.

The tabby she-cat dropped the catmint and yarrow in her jaws onto the floor of the den. "I know that the scent of blood is something you're not comfortable with." Pebblepaw avoided meeting her eyes and hung his head, knowing the truth in her words. Though his strengths as a medicine cat apprentice were many, his weaknesses equalled them; not handling blood too well was one of them. Being the future medicine cat of RockClan, Pebblepaw assumed he would pretend that blood didn't bother him, though just the idea of spending his life pretending made him anxious.

"We'll work on it." The tabby she-cat nudged her apprentice's head with her own, letting him know of her support. "You can stay in here and sort while I find out what is going on." Nodding, the tom turned to the freshly picked herbs.

No sooner had Otterheart left than two new figures stood in the entrance. These two were much smaller, one a light cream colour, rather than the darker tabby of his mentor, and the other black with white markings. Even through the scent of the catmint in his jaws, Pebblepaw recognized the scents of his littermates, Asterpaw and Starlingpaw.

"Do you have a moment?" Asterpaw asked quietly, glancing behind her. She looked apprehensive and almost fearful. After receiving a nod from him, the she-cat continued.

"I had another vision."

Pebblepaw turned to her immediately, hastily putting the catmint away so that he could give Asterpaw his full and undivided attention.

"What happened this time?"

"I was carrying some fresh-kill when I inhaled the scent of it," Asterpaw started, shuffling her paws nervously. "It smelt of blood and death and that must have triggered the memory. Before I knew it, darkness surrounded me and everywhere there were cats fighting. And then, there was a voice, saying something about kits and how they would be the death of 'them' - whoever 'them' is."

Asterpaw paused and the trio was silent. Starlingpaw blinked her large yellow eyes in the dark, causing her sister to shiver as she remembered another detail.

"The speaker had yellow eyes that turned to me at the end of the vision." This, in turn, made Pebblepaw's fur stand on end as he remembered his own dreams.

"I've seen something similar," he confessed. "A couple nights ago I had a dream. In it, there was also a battle, but the words were different. The speaker said, 'These kits could lead us to victory'. I woke up after he turned his yellow eyes to me as well." The siblings exchanged wary looks as each one tried to figure out what the two visions meant. Starlingpaw spoke first.

"That doesn't make any sense. If the speaker is the same cat in both visions, the kits they're referring to can't mean both death and victory."

"Suppose they are two different cats?" replied Asterpaw. "Would it mean that the kits are the death of one group and mean victory for another?"

Both she and the black apprentice turned to Pebblepaw, who was busy mulling over the information. His whiskers twitched as he thought deeply.

"We will both need to try to remember as much as we can from the visions." The grey tom, knowing that the two visions could not have been coincidental, also knew that they would not be able to reach a conclusion without further research. "Maybe what the cat's fur looked like, what gender they were, a description of their voice? Anything that we would be able to compare in order to make sense of all of this."

Before Pebblepaw could continue, the sound of Beetlewatcher's voice calling a Clan gathering floated up to the den. The tom nodded to his littermates, signalling that they could talk later, and took a deep breath. With it, he inhaled as much of the scents of the medicine den as he could, before stepping onto the path that ran down the cliff edge just outside of the den entrance.

Below him, by the Fallen Tree, his fellow Clan members gathered around something - no, someone - and the scents made the apprentice's fur stand on end. Not wanting to move closer, should the smell of blood make him dizzy once more, Pebblepaw narrowed his eyes in an effort to see the shapes below. Starlingpaw and Asterpaw emerged behind him and, being the curious she-cats they were, padded down the cliff path right away. Asterpaw stopped just after the nursery entrance while Starlingpaw continued down. She stopped suddenly, turning back to her siblings with a look of anguish on her face.

Pebblepaw could not hold his breath any longer. The smell of Sparrowstar filled his nose, accompanied by something else that left a metallic taste in his mouth. Gagging on the unmistakeable scent and taste of blood, the apprentice retreated into the medicine den, where he sat in his nest trying to catch his breath. A sob escaped his throat and the apprentice curled up in the moss in an effort to keep any more from emerging.

Otterheart returned not long after and, taking in Pebblepaw's distressed state, curled herself around him and began to awkwardly try to comfort him. The grey tom was grateful for her efforts, but knew that the she-cat did not like comforting others, whether they were patients or, in this case, scared apprentices.

Once he thought his episode was over, the apprentice lifted his head to meet Otterheart's yellow eyes with his own. Though her body was warm, her eyes were cold, letting Pebblepaw know everything he needed to.

"Why?" he croaked.

All Otterheart could do was shake her head. Pebblepaw turned away, burying his nose in the desert moss of his nest. He should have known the question would remain unanswered by his mentor. The mysterious workings of StarClan would have stumed even Sparrowstar herself, were she still alive. The tortoiseshell leader taught him everything he knew about their warrior ancestors: who they were, why they existed, what they did for the Clan.

This can't be happening, he thought. It just simply can't be true. But even as he tried to convince himself that this was just some cruel joke that StarClan was playing on all of them, there remained a voice somewhere deep inside that told him it must be true.

Sparrowstar, his beloved leader, was gone.