The Forgotten Promise

Prologue

Shadows flickered in the light of the moon, caused by a moth or raven. Two sharp eyes shot up toward the sky, then narrowed. Was it another omen?

The ginger she sprinted through the heather into camp. She stepped into the medicine cat’s den, her fur ruffling against the slight breeze that drifted into the hole in the camp that was used as a den. The wind drafted the scent of herbs, moss, and earth to the she’s nose.

“Ravenclaw,” she mewed. “I think I’ve seen another omen.”

The dark black tom turned and looked her over. “What did you see, Gingerpaw? This could be important. We’ve been waiting for a sign from StarClan for moons. It’s been quite long since they’ve spoken to us besides half-moon, and even then, they hardly share any important words with us.”

Gingerpaw nodded. “There was a flickering onto the ground. I think it was caused by a bird, like a raven or owl. It didn’t seem like a coincidence, as I was out there seeking answers from our ancestors.”

Ravenclaw nodded. “Thank you, Gingerpaw. I will ask StarClan in my dreams tonight. Perhaps they will answer us.”

Gingerpaw dipped her head to her mentor and curled on the nest, then closed her eyes. She almost wished it wasn’t an omen. She’d felt chills curl up her spine when she’d seen it, and she guessed it meant nothing good. The last omen, after they’d spoken to their warrior ancestors, they’d promised they would tell them some important news soon. But it had been moons since then, and the three medicine cats, Ravenclaw, his apprentice Gingerpaw, and Larkflight had been waiting for an answer since.

Gingerpaw quickly fell into a dream. She was trotting through a dark forest, a cold wind whipping through her ginger fur. Suddenly, her name was whispered repeatedly, echoing between the shadows.

One became clearer than the others. She whipped towards its strong, sweet voice, straining to see the figure behind it.

“Gingerpaw,” it wisped. “You must be wary. Many offers will call up to your Clan’s name. You must answer them, and answer them well; embrace them and give them shelter. If you do not, your Clan will face a tragedy so great, it will outnumber all destruction ever happening in all its history. Do be warned, however, young medicine cat; you must not explain any of this that I tell you now to anyone except two cats. Or else, the consequences shall be very dangerous.”

“Wait,” Gingerpaw said. “How will I know who I can tell?”

“You will know who to tell and who not, and when or when not to tell them.”

Gingerpaw nodded. “I think I understand.”

The voices suddenly started fading away, drifting back into the dark shadows of the forest.

“Wait!” Gingerpaw yowled. “Don’t go! Who are you? Why are you giving me this message? Wouldn’t it be better to give it to one of the full medicine cats?”

“You are the only one who can deliver this message to the certain cats,” the unknown voice replied. “I am Heronwing. There is no more I can tell you. I must leave.”

Gingerpaw caught a glimpse of dark ginger fur in the shadows, and then the trees and life were swallowed by darkness.

Gingerpaw awoke with a start. Her bedding was tousled around her, and moss clung to her fur. She anxiously knead her claws into the soft ground below her. Who was Heronwing? And what had he meant? Was it a prophecy?

She looked outside. Larkflight and Ravenclaw were both gone.

The young she padded out into camp, where Finchfeather was assigning patrols. Warriors bustled around the camp, the two apprentices following their mentors. Wetslip was sitting outside the nursery, and Ashdawn sat beside her. The two of them watched the silver she’s kits playing in the clearing, sharing tongues peacefully as sunlight washed over their fur.

She scanned the camp, letting out a breath of relief. Everything was completely normal. She decided that as soon as she found Ravenclaw or Larkflight--better yet, both of them--she would tell them of her dream.

But for now, she decided, it’d be best to get some breakfast.