Hello, readers! This is the very first chapter of Scarlet Sky, Book Three: A Rising Wind. Well, prologue…by the way, this is about six moons since last book.

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A frigid wind blew restlessly across the ice-covered stone, whistling and screaming like a battling warrior. Inside the cave of the Tribe of Rushing Water, there was an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional whisper.

"This weather hasn't let up for a few days now," murmured a brown tabby she-cat, string mournfully out of the cave that was protected only by the waterfall. "Soon we'll run out of food entirely. All of the prey is practically rotted already, and it won't be long before one of us gets sick."

The queen sitting beside her nodded but said nothing. This particular she-cat wasn't very welcome among the cats of her Tribe, since her mate was considered a traitor. But she had friends enough, and she knew that she wouldn't be staying long, just long enough for her kits to be old enough to leave the nursery.

"Besides, it's freezing in here, and our kits are in danger just walking around." The loud, indignant voice of one of the queens seemed enough to break the cold silence.

"Yes, yes, it's true! In fact, we're all in danger!"

"But the weather is the will of the Ancestors!"

"Than this must be a punishment!" A cat cried, loud enough for all of the cats in the cave to hear.

There was a sudden hush, and then someone whispered, "But…for what?" More silence. The queen who had made no sound felt a chill go down her spine, and not because she was cold.

"Maybe," came a drawling hiss from a corner, and all eyes turned. "Maybe, it's because we harbor traitors in our midst." There were a few gasps and cries of outrage, but for the most part the Tribe was silent. "Maybe, if we drive out these traitors, the weather will return to normal, and we will all be saved."

The queen looked around, panic welling up in her chest. Nearly every pair of eyes was focused on her and her two young kits, who were sleeping peacefully between her paws.

"Yes, perhaps. Perhaps we should…just tell them to leave…"

"Tell them?" came the same voice, and the cats' gazes shifted back to the speaker. "Tell them? You think that a family of blood traitors will listen if we just tell them to go?"

The members of the Tribe glanced around at each other, their eyes wide.

"No, we must force them away."

Again there was silence, and then the speaker rose to his feet. It was a ginger tom, with dark brown streaks criss-crossing his back and many scars. He wore a smug smile across his face, and his eye twitched when he turned to stare at the queen and her kits.

The she-cat rose to her feet, and one of her kits let out a pitiful squeal.

"No, no, Claw, you wouldn't, Skyteller wouldn't let you…my mate will be here any minute, please don't do this…" she mewed imploringly, her crystal blue eyes wide with fear.

"But I can do whatever I want. And I want you gone. Besides, the Ancestors obviously want to leave here as much as I do. We extended our hospitality long enough for you to bear your traitor kits, and now we want you gone."

No paw was lifted against Claw as he approached her. The queen took a wary step back, so that she was standing protectively over her kits.

"Leave here, or I will make you go."

The queen glanced behind her at the storm tearing around outside, whipping ice and snow this way and that. She turned back, her whiskers quivering. "Please…" she whimpered, her tail between her legs.

"No, no, I think that it is about time you were gone."

With no warning, the tom leapt forward with a snarl, charging headlong into the queen's side. She was flung aside with a bark of fear, and collided with the stone wall of the cave with a resounding crack. With a feeble moan, she crumbled to the floor of the cave.

The tom laughed quietly, and then turned to the crowd. "See what happens to the mates of traitors? They suffer as the Ancestors will!"

He then whirled again and stood before the kits of the unconscious queen, who were now both awake and crying pitifully. One or two of the queens stepped forward to try and protect them, but they were forced back by a low growl from the ginger tom's throat. "Who agrees that the kits of a dirty traitor should not deserve life? Who agrees?"

None of the cats made a sound, and the tom seemed to take this as a yes.

With a twisted smile, he raised a paw and swiftly brought it down upon one of the kits. There was no sound, but a tiny pool of blood began to form around the small, unmoving body. (A/N. Sorry for the gruesome and depressing death scene. I wasn't sure how else to make it dramatic. Please don't hate me!)

Again, there were a few yelps of surprise and fear from the crowd, but the tom ignored them. He had moved on to the next kit, and was about to deal another deathblow, when an earsplitting shriek rent the icy air. A group of about four cats came racing into the cave, their fur soaked and their whispers hung with little icicles.

"Claw! What is the meaning of this?" one of the cats yowled, his eyes smoldering. Claw looked up; cringing at the sound of the deep, rough voice.

"My lord, I only meant to get rid of the traitors so that the storm would end -surely that is the will of the Ancestors-"

"And who are you to interpret the will of the-" but the cat never finished, as another wail of horror came spiraling up from the group of cats. A gray tom came loping forward, his face contorted with anger at the sight of the dead kit and the motionless queen. He stepped forward and nudged the silent kit, recoiling when there was response. He looked up, anguish in his eyes.

"I suppose this is your doing?" he hissed, spitting out the words like pebbles.

Claw looked around, as if looking for someone else to blame it on, but no cats had blood on their paws. Claw looked at Skyteller, the cat who had called his name, with a plea in his eyes, but the tall tom said nothing, only watched.

"My daughter is dead? My daughter is dead?" the gray tom whispered, his whole body quivering violently. "You demon!" The tom launched himself at Claw, rage boiling in his eyes. In a matter of moments, chaos was loose in the cave.

The gray tom battled furiously with Claw, but he was hungry and tired, and Claw was driven by a maniacal desire to murder the gray cat.

The other members of the Tribe were choosing sides rapidly, and fighting viciously among themselves, and the cave had become a writhing mass of angry cats.

Unbeknownst to the battling creatures around her, the comatose she-cat was rising from her position on the cave floor, and with blurred vision, she watched as battling cats charged past her. Dazed and confused, she padded forward to where her two young kits till lay, though only one was mewling now. She gazed at the dead kit in bewilderment, then stepped past it and picked up her other kit in her jaw.

With unsure paw steps she made her way to the mouth of the cave, and paused as wind buffeted her silver fur. As she was about to step into the storm, she stumbled over something large. She looked down to find a pile of gray fur at her feet, damp with blood. The she-cat cried out in horror. It was her mate. He was dead. With a pounding heart, to sick to think, the she-cat stepped onto the small, narrow path beside the waterfall, wincing as the icy-cold water misted around her.

Plodding along like a tired elder, she forged her way through the storm, powered only by her grief and the determination to prove that her mate' death was not in vain. Even if it cost her her own life, she would make sure that her remaining kit was safe.

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So you've hopefully guessed that the she-cat was Mistystone, and the gray tom was Louis. Her daughter Featherkit was the one that was killed. So sad! I nearly cried as I wrote it. But it gets happy, and don't worry, she doesn't die. But a part of her had died in that cave, with her daughter and her mate…dun dun dun…so ya. That was the prologue. This book will be from the point of view of Windkit (Mistystone's son), Firekit (Redstorm's daughter) and Ravenkit (Pinenose's daughter). I'm so excited to write it!