The height of greenleaf had come and gone. The blazing heat of the past moon slowly died as cool winds overtook it, the trees of the forest sighing with relief at the reprieve. Prey stirred, more vigorously now that the air was no longer red-hot, and the cats of RockClan found themselves wanting for nothing.

    "Got another one," Robinflight mumbled around the mouse tail clamped in her jaws. She buried the freshkill before rejoining the patrol.

    "That makes for the sixth piece of prey we've caught today," Beavertail said proudly, padding off in the direction of the MoorClan border. Shademask followed, giving Robinflight a nod on his way past. The new warrior was living up to her name – of the rodents caught so far she'd chased down half.

    "Let's hope the prey keeps running," Stormfall added, bringing up the rear.

    "Especially now that RockClan is growing," Robinflight said slyly, bounding up to the front of the patrol. Shademask heard a muffled purr from behind him.

    "Mothpelt says Rainheart's due within the half moon," the soon-to-be father replied.

    Shademask flicked his tail, accidentally hitting the grey tom's nose. By the next Gathering, there would be new members in RockClan, and Rainheart and Stormfall would be parents.

    The gurgling of the stream that divided RockClan and MoorClan territory grew louder as the patrol traipsed across the stretch of meadow between the water and the forest. Beyond the border fields of tall straw-coloured grasses stretched all the way to Twolegplace. As they neared the stream, Shademask spotted a patrol approaching them from the other side.

    "Cris-, I mean Creamfoot!" Robinflight greeted, waving her tail in greeting at the former alley cat.

    "Robinpaw!" Creamfoot responded with just as much enthusiasm. Though the Clans had been divided, friendships were still strong between them.

    "It's Robinflight now," the tabby and white she-cat said, sticking out her chest proudly.

    "Little Robinpaw finally a warrior," a ginger tom teased. Shademask remembered his name to be Lionfang.

    "How's the prey running?" Bramblefire asked, green eyes on Shademask.

    It had been a long time since he'd spoken to his littermate and Shademask found he did not quite know how to respond. "It's running well now that it's cooler." His voice sounded odd even to his own ears. Moments later, he realized he had forgotten to inquire about Bramblefire's Clan.

    "How is MoorClan doing?" Stormfall asked quickly, filling the silence.

    "Same as always," Bramblefire assured. "We should be heading off, though, Jaystrike asked us to check on some fox scent another patrol found recently."

    "We'll let you know if we scent any fox on our side," Beavertail said by way of farewell. The MoorClan patrol, already heading back into the tall grasses, acknowledged the offer with a flick of their tails.

    As the RockClan patrol doubled back to collect their freshkill, Shademask felt his body growing steadily more hollow. He had not seen Bramblefire since two Gatherings ago, and even then he had not known what to say to his littermate. What did one say to a brother he'd fought against in two rebellions? Guilt crawled up his chest and into his throat at the thought.

    A tail rested gently on his flank and Shademask looked over to see Stormfall watching him out of the corner of his eye. The guilt threatened to choke him as he thought of Rainheart and her ruined face and his own inability – his refusal – to help.

    He was the only one of his littermates who had stayed, who had not supported the rebellion. If he had fought alongside Nightchaser and the rebels, was it possible Wrenflight would be alive right now? One thing he knew for certain was that there would be no divide between him and Bramblefire, or him and Mothpelt. A fragmented family, and it was all because he hadn't seen past Dawnstar's facade.

     As the patrol arrived back in camp with mice, shrews, and a squirrel swinging from their jaws, Shademask caught sight of Lightchaser. She sat in a pool of waning sunlight, grooming her sleek fur, but looked up in time to catch his eyes. Her hazel irises filled with warmth.

    The torment within Shademask faded slightly. If not for her, he might have stayed a DarkClan cat forever. But he chose to follow her and, in many ways, Lightchaser had saved him.

    He carried the squirrel he'd caught over to her, nuzzling her affectionately.

    "Good haul," Lightchaser commented. The freshkill pile, with the additions of the patrol, was overflowing.

    "Catch anything today?" he asked, taking a bite of the squirrel to quell the guilt threatening to burst out of him. The taste of the rich blood further washed down his worries.

    The she-cat's eyes lit up. "Yes, actually. That crow over there is mine." It looked big enough to feed four warriors.

    "Looks like that stealth training helped," Shademask said warmly, wrapping his tail around her. For the past four moons, he and Rainheart had been taking turns helping Lightchaser with her stealth. Though she still could not walk the forest without snapping at least two twigs, Shademask had to admit she had come far.

    "It's not over yet," Lightchaser sighed. "Speaking of, I asked Oakshade to do an assessment of it, since he was usually the one catching me during stealth training. Looks like he's almost ready to go."

    Near the warriors' den, Oakshade was saying goodbye to his mate, Thistleshade, and heading for the camp entrance. Lightchaser swallowed the last of the squirrel and pressed her nose briefly to his cheek. Her breath tickled his whiskers and Shademask felt his heart skip a beat.

    "Good luck," he murmured. "I know you'll be just fine."

    Even though he knew Lightchaser would be back before the sun disappeared below the horizon, Shademask still felt his heart sink as he watched her go.

    //

    The forest was silent and all around him the light of day faded. His paws moved with purpose, though that purpose escaped him at present. He padded onwards, dark pelt blending into an even darker world.

    The tall stones rose up before him, grey and lonely. A strong scent hit his nose but went unidentified, too familiar to be of any notice. Passing between the rocks he found the clearing beyond empty.

    Stark white moonlight illuminated the clearing floor, where he found strange markings on the disturbed earth. There had been a struggle, some tousling in the dirt. Deep gouges ran parallel to him, as if someone had dragged their claws along the earth.

    So intent on studying the marks, he did not realize that he was suddenly standing in the centre of a circle of cats. Their faces were in shadow, unrecognizable. When he looked up, he saw the light of the moon shone on a singular cat sitting atop one of the rocks, her cream and blue pelt glittering.

    His heart leapt – until he noticed her eyes. They held none of the warmth he had expected, only coldness so deep he felt he was drowning in a river. Her eyes were the wrong colour, he realized, not the colour of forests but the colour of resin. They narrowed, becoming slits, and he felt a surge of understanding pass through him, though she had not spoken.

    It was kill, or be killed.

    Three shapes were shoved into the middle of the circle with him. The sound of mewling hit him but already he was moving forward. Distantly, he felt his claws slide out of their sheathes, but he could do little to stop them. The scent from earlier – the one he had ignored – hit him once more and his mouth watered. Metallic, red, and warm; he craved it.

    Somewhere, someone screamed his name, but he was too far gone now that the bloodlust had hit. His claws flashed in the moonlight but even as they descended he felt nothing but emptiness.

    Three bodies lay before him, tinier in death than they'd been in life. His eyes rose to meet those of his master but, this time, he found they were the hazel colour he knew.

    Horror seeped into his fur slowly at the disgusted expression on the other's face. The stickiness on his paws weighed him down to the ground, the blood on his claws seeping into the earth and holding him to it.

    There were other bodies now scattered around him as if by a violent wind. He wanted to look away but a sick fascination kept him watching. Slowly, their bloodied heads turned to him, eyes sightless yet staring right at him.

    Then, as one, their mouths opened and a single word hissed into the air like smoke.

    "Murderer."

    Shademask blinked awake, heart beating faster than a shrew's. For a moment, the sleeping shapes around him frightened him but, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he recognized he was in the warrior's den. Beside him, Lightchaser continued to sleep peacefully.

    Portions of the dream flashed back to him and his breath became short. Feeling suffocated, he all but ran into the camp clearing.

    A glowing half moon hung high above the trees, their leaves still now that the cool wind had died. Tomorrow promised to be another hot day. Shademask breathed in the static air, willing his heart to slow.

    Claws scraped against wood and his eyes flew open. A lone figure descended the Fallen Tree, their shoulders tight and drawn together.

    "Mothpelt," Shademask greeted her. The she-cat jumped, as if she had not noticed him at all.

    "Shademask," she said distantly. Her brows drew together. "Do you need anything? You smell like you're in shock."

    The black tom shook his head, slightly taken aback. "No, just a bad dream."

    The medicine cat nodded. "Yes, me too." Shademask looked up at the sky and realized Mothpelt was returning from Moonwaters, where the medicine cats met every half moon.

    "We should try to get some sleep," she said. "Our duties won't get themselves done on their own tomorrow."

    As the she-cat walked to her den, Shademask felt the urge to call out to her, to ask her what she had dreamt about. Her tight shoulders told him something bothered her but, as always, he did not know how to comfort her.

    Instead, he turned back to his own nest which had already gone cold from his absence. Curling up, he turned his head to Lightchaser. Her patched sides rose and fell in a steady rhythm, breath stirring the moss of her nest. He remained like that, watching her sleep, until darkness finally took him again.

// In your opinion should the cats of DarkClan be condemned, even if they found the light in the end?