The colours were different here. Everything was grey, or white, or black. Some greenery broke through here and there, sometimes a patch of blue sky. In the night, everything was washed in a cool, yellowish light, turning friends into foes and foes into friends. In the darkness, it was hard to tell who was who.

    And the smells. Just the thought made her wrinkle her nose. Everything smelled of smoke. It seemed to penetrate everything, even the brick walls that rose up on all sides. Even the cardboard walls of her tiny den smelled of it.

    But she was thankful that, though it all smelled strange and looked even more so, she had had a safe place to stay the last two moons.

    Has it been that long already? she wondered.

    She sighed. Two moons. Two moons since the deaths of Cedarheart, Swallowstorm, Goosepelt, Snailwhisker, and Wrenflight. Two moons since the alley cats graciously took them in, sparing nine spots in their already crowded brick and cardboard camp. Two moons since her littermate took to sitting atop fences, staring up at the sky.

    Something stirred at her side. She purred. Only a moon since this particular bundle had arrived.

    Blinking open his eyes, the kit stared up at her, still kit-blue meeting her own hazel gaze. He mewed, nuzzling at her stomach and she obliged, shifting onto her side. Without a moment's hesitation, the kit began to feed.

    She looked down at him as he suckled, warmth building in her chest. The kit's grey fur blended in nearly perfectly with her own, an almost exact replica of his mother. She thought sorrowfully of the other tiny bundles, the ones stillborn and the ones dead within the night of their birth.

    But this one had survived. Despite his crumpled ears and twisted back leg, he had lived.

    "Cinderblossom?" The she-cat swivelled her ears to the den entrance. She knew that voice anywhere.

    "Mothpelt," she replied. "How are you?"

    The other she-cat blinked once. "I wouldn't be worried about me."

    Cinderblossom nodded, understanding her words. "I'll go to him as soon as Dewkit is finished."

    The two she-cats turned their attentions to the still suckling kit. Mothpelt purred in amusement as Dewkit kneaded at his mother's belly.

    With some sadness, the queen thought about the kits she had left behind, not even her own but almost as if they were. In the thick of battle she had seen Cherrypool and Thistleshade protecting them and, seeing their determined faces, had known they would not escape DarkClan. Leaving Rainkit and Reedkit behind would have been pure torment for Thistleshade.

    "He's strong, despite everything," the healer mewed. "And he's free."

    The queen nodded, that same warmth as before enveloping her entire body. Though her kit had been born into a world full of smoke, he was free.

    But not completely.

    "Will you watch him for me?" she asked Mothpelt.

    The younger she-cat nodded affirmatively, already curling herself around the moon old kit. He let out a distressed cry as his mother moved away but she shushed him soothingly, pressing her nose to his tiny pink one.

    "I'll be back soon," she promised, whisking away with a swing of her tail.

    The alley cat camp was busy, cats moving to and fro in the warm sunhigh light. The strange black ground – asphalt, the alley cats called it – burned her pads as she padded across it, the mid greenleaf sunlight especially strong in the jungle of concrete and brick.

    "Lovely to see you out and about," called a dark tabby from near the freshkill pile. It was stocked with rats and mice, mostly, and Cinderblossom found herself missing the birds of the forest.

    "Thank you, Bronco," she replied, padding over. "Have you seen him?"

    The dark tabby's eyes darkened. "Same place as always."

    Cinderblossom nodded, noticing the cats around them had paused in their actions, watching their exchange. She purred as she walked, as if nothing were amiss, and headed for the maze of fences.

    Leaping atop the nearest one, she carefully trotted along its length, happy to find how much easier it was to stay balanced without a round belly of kits. It was a long trek to the edge of the Twolegplace but she found she enjoyed the freedom. She felt she had been cooped up in her den for too long already, and Dewkit was only a moon old.

    Finally, she reached the outermost line of fences, quickly spotting against their whiteness the black figure she was looking for. She approached him carefully, knowing how volatile he had become since their failed rebellion, and settled beside him. For a moment, she only followed his gaze, staring into the distance to a place where she knew the High Rocks still stood, guarding the cats of a Clan they both despised.

    "What are you thinking about?" she asked.

    The tom flinched at the words. "Nothing."

    Cinderblossom sighed. "Nightchaser, you know that's a lie."

    "The same things as last time then," he hissed, never once looking at her.

    The queen nodded. She knew what troubled her littermate best out of any of the rebels; after the sacrifices of Cedarheart and Swallowstorm, and the deaths of Snailwhisker, Goosepelt and, especially, Wrenflight, the former truth-teller had become very detached, spending his days wandering the Twolegplace or simply sitting atop this very fence, watching the horizon.

    She knew it was because he couldn't face the others. He couldn't bare to sleep either, his mind haunted with images of the night of the rebellion. They woke him, cold beads of sweat in his fur and the guilt in his chest so constricting he could hardly breathe.

    "It's my fault," he said through clenched teeth.

    "You said that last time," Cinderblossom reminded him gently. "But you really don't need to blame yourself."

    Nightchaser lashed his tail. "But it was my fault! Sootstar gave me a clear warning that that was not the night to attack DarkClan and that, if we did, we would lose valuable lives."

    "But the alley cats didn't know that," the grey she-cat argued. "By the time Sprucetail and the others got us out of the prisoner cave they were already attacking the camp. We had no choice but to join them."

    "We could have run away then," he replied stubbornly.

    "And left the others behind?!" Cinderblossom said with disbelief. "Sprucetail would have never agreed to do such a thing, and you know Wrenflight would have disapproved too."

    "Don't."

    His voice was hard, the guilt and hurt thick within it. The queen bowed her head, feeling slightly guilty herself for mentioning that particular she-cat. Yet, it was the only way to rein him in when he began to have these thoughts.

    She shifted closer, pressing her fur against his. To his credit, he did not shift away as he had the past couple of times.

    "I know you blame yourself," she whispered. "But none of it was your fault. You fought bravely. You saved me from Smoketalon, for StarClan's sake! And, thanks to you, StarClan still exists and are growing stronger and stronger. The time to strike will come again soon and, when it does, we will be ready. Then, we will truly be able to start over."

    Cinderblossom tried to keep the confidence from leaving her voice for her littermate's sake. Though they trained with the alley cats every day, widening their skill sets, the fact still remained that DarkClan's cats were much better-trained and more experienced.

    But Nightchaser seemed to take her bait, almost as if he were clutching on to anything that would give him some hope and keep the darkness at bay. His mask of sorrow lifted slightly and she had to stifle her purr.

    "You're right," he said finally, shoulders losing some of their tension. Cinderblossom's eyes fell upon the scar on his right shoulder, given to him by their father.

    She sighed. "I need to go back to Dewkit. Will you be joining me?" Her voice held hope, but she knew of his decision before he even spoke.

    "I think I'll sit here for a moment longer," he replied, white-rimmed eyes looking out over the fields.

    Cinderblossom nodded, knowing there was no point in trying to persuade him otherwise. He would sit here until night fell, sometimes longer, and his eyes would shift from the High Rocks in the distance to the stars high above.

    Nightchaser, always chasing the night, she thought to herself as she crossed the tops of fences once more.

    And perhaps chasing the stars was what they needed to do to keep the darkness at bay. For now, it was enough to wait.

// And that, unfortunately, is the end of Unmasked. Continue on to the author's note for my concluding thoughts and some exclusive content!