Iceclaw's Fate/Prologue

Wind blew through the hills, spreading flecks of snow. The grass was cold, the sky gray, and the rivers frozen, taking with them the vulnerable creatures of winter. A wide expanse of empty moorland spread beyond the river, bleak and frozen. In the midst of the storm, one creature alone sat calm on the bank, a timid rabbit. Hustling along, a shadow pursued it, pouncing on it swiftly as if it were a gray cloud. His thin white pelt was streaked with snowflakes, wet and thin from hunger.

A sleek shape emerged from the bottom of the moor, wraithlike and as white as the snow, holding a small shrew.

"Is that you, Whitefur? A rabbit? It still looks like some in the Clan will sleep with an empty belly tonight."

"Did StarClan have to send all this snow? All the prey's in the burrows. Was Ashstar wrong in appointing a kittypet as deputy? Rainwhisker, I'm not sure if we're supposed to be here," Whitefur replied hoarsely.

A she-cat emerged from nettles behind them, jaws empty and eyes blurred. "Maybe he wasn't right, but still, no cat can deny that Reedfur has served the Clan well. He has brought us through season upon season as Ashstar has ailed. We have always prevailed — why will we not now?" she asked doubtfully. "But we need to get out of this StarClan-forsaken weather and bring our prey back to camp first, in case you didn't notice, Whitefur! We're helping no cats my dawdling here."

"Well, I suppose so, Flowerpetal," Whitefur grouched.

Tails down with disappointment, the three of them padded back across the moor through the treacherous wind. Arguing voices greeted them loudly as they reached the camp.

"But Lilyfur, it's so cold! I don't want to go out!"

"Shush, Thrushkit! Don't worry, the patrol will bring back prey for us," the gray queen chided. "What have you there? A sparrow, shrew, and rabbit? Give the rabbit to the elders, they're getting thin."

Another yowl sounded out across camp as they entered. "Whiskernose, don't step on my paws, you clumsy furball!"

Whitefur's whiskers twitched with amusement. "It sounds like Boulderfur stepped on his paws again, eh? I'll bet Whiskernose will miss him once he goes to StarClan, though," he added dejectedly. The light brown tom had been ill for moons and getting weaker ever since greencough had ravaged the camp last leaf-bare.

The patrol placed their catch on the meager fresh-kill pile, where patches of grass stuck out of the snow like tufts of bracken-colored fur.

"Owlstar, I'm not sure if we can survive like this — all the prey is dying, we're dying, we don't have a medicine cat, we're short of kits. Can we survive?"

Gazing down around the bare ground, the dark brown tabby surveyed the empty, quiet, camp with impassive hawk-green eyes. Have I have failed my Clan after all these moons of struggle?

A waterfall churned