NOTE: No warrior cat characters appear in this. Only the structure of the group of cats and the terminology are related to the warriors' series.

This was an idea a friend of mine had. She, however, does not like to write so handed it over to me. I'm writing this for her as a favor. Hope all of you and my friend love it!

Review and Enjoy!

Cracking Hearts

Chapter One: Blood in the Blizzard

The howling wind as enough to chill anyone to the bone. Snow danced ungracefully upon it. Leaf-bare was known to be harsh, unforgiving, and deadly. It was times like these that nothing could survive. Temperatures plummeted. The wind picked up speed. Snow flew from the sky and the ground. A normal night turns into a blizzard.

A long-legged, pure white tom pushed through the wind and snow. His ears were pressed flat against his head. Deep blue eyes would nearly shut as the wind blasted him nonstop. Dragging behind him in the snow was his long tail. He was not used to hunting out here. Originally he came from a land far south. It was a land of endless fields and sky. Then he lived in the world of the Twolegs, men as they called themselves. This was not the world he was used to. Another pawstep forward. Another faint crunch of snow. This tom pushed onward. He had survived in horrible conditions before. Surely he could fight through a storm.

He shivered as another blast of wind struck him. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was a battle no one could overcome. With a resounding hiss, the tom took a few more steps. He was not about to give up yet. That time would come but not now. Not while he still had the energy to fight onward. The man who had owned him for a time believed in fate. This cat knew enough to know that fate was a decreed path. One choice or experience led to another. Eventually the end was reached, fate finally finished. Maybe it was true. Maybe not. As the chilling wind raced over his body, the tom wondered just how accurate that idea of fate was. Supposedly it was nigh impossible to avoid. No matter the path, the individual would always reach the same end result.

But could possibly come from being stuck in a blizzard?

"Death would be a good answer," the tom thought with a shiver.

His paws and long tail were near frozen. Ice clung to his shorthair, making him look like a frozen porcupine. A growl emanated from his stomach, reminding him that he had failed to catch a mouse. The prey, after all, knew to find shelter before the blizzard hit. Not that there was much living around the area. Most animals had fled the cold winter for warmer climates. Others remained buried deep in their holes. It was not easy to dig them out.

But this tom had no choice but to stay. He had been driven out of the Twoleg territory by armed men. It seemed a little extreme. But then again, they believed he had somehow clawed another Twoleg to death. That was an unforgivable sin. Quickly the tom shook his head, spraying ice in all directions. Briefly he saw the image of another cat. He knew, deep down, that this was the true killer. A brown tom with flecks of black and red in his coat and amber eyes. Oak. A wild cat who hated Twolegs. Was quite known to hate Twolegs. But it was unfortunately this white tom that had found the body, and been found with it. Blood on his paws from trying to stop the bleeding throat had sealed his fate. He was lucky his former master could not bear to kill him.

Banishment was the only other option.

"I'm an idiot," the tom hissed as he huddled behind a thick oak tree trunk.

He should have known it was a setup. Oak had been too innocent about sending him that way. The brown tom also had friends. They could have done the dirty work. The tom was certain they did the dirty work. If only he had the time to find evidence…

The tom sat up straight. Faintly on the wind he could smell it. A scent that meant trouble. A scent that somehow told him he needed to find the source. Bounding back into the storm, he raced upwind. By doing so he could smell the trail. His heart hammered loudly in his chest. Maybe fate did exist. Maybe it was fate that he would be here, in this blizzard, able to help. He did not know if that was the case. All he know was that someone was in trouble. All he knew was that he could not fail a second time.

For the scent was blood.

A few minutes later he could hear the screeching. Another cat! High-pitched yips faintly came to his ears. Foxes. Young foxes. They were using numbers to bring down a cat. It was not uncommon for foxes to hunt cats. But normally it was a full-grown targeting kits and elders, the weakest, rarely healthy adults. These foxes had to be desperate. By running upwind, this tom was downwind of them. The foxes would not know he was there until it was too late.

With a yowl, the tom burst from the bushes and charged the three foxes.