The tom's nervous paws padded on the dusty flooring. His breath was ragged with age and produced white tufts in the cold air. His heart thudded against his rib cage, threatening to burst out it seemed. 

The inside of the medicine ward was large, carved from an ancient birch. The sides were smoothed with rocks by LandCats that were now long dead. 

The tomcat sighed, walking over to one side of the hollowed den where a moss nest lay waiting. Settling his aching body on the nest, he looked at the ceiling. Curved above his head, maybe fifteen feet high, was intricate carvings engraved in the wood rings. Long and curved, he had spent all his moon cycles as a healer, memorizing every line, every arch. 

His mentor told him that the carvings told a story. A story of the Dark Realm. The place where all evil spirits go. A dark and horrible forest, where shrieks and yowls become the bird song. The carvings showed a tear that ripped across the sky, and tendrils and evil leaking from it.

But there were heroes in the story. Six cats came from every angle, stopping the carved tendrils from getting past them. One of the cats, the one in the middle, was smaller than the rest. Instead of having a blank face, he had his muzzle open, pointed towards the sky, in a silent cry.

The tomcat smiled, remembering his mentor's voice telling the story of the Guardians of the Void. He lay his head down on gray paws, closing bright, sky-blue eyes.