Lost Hope: Book 3: Flame and Snow

Chapter 2

Crash!

      Burrowpelt sprang from the undergrowth, landing on three paws and spearing her target with a claw. She let the scrawny mole drop to the forest floor and looked down at it with a satisfied grin.

      "Great catch!" Sparrowfeather padded up to her side, his own prey dangling from his jaws.

       Burrowpelt smiled. How nice it was to just hunt with her best friend again without worrying about a stupid prophecy. But her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a not so pleasant voice.

      "Come on, I want to get a little more prey before sunset," Griffinwing said. She was Sparrowfeather's sister, and although Burrowpelt considered her a friend, she could be quite annoying sometimes. Burrowpelt only hung out with her because she was mostly always with her brother.

      "Of course, O' Great Leader," Burrowpelt said in a mock admiring tone. Sparrowfeather could barely contain his laughter at the quip and Griffinwing glared at them both before tossing her head moodily and leading them out of the clearing.

      Sparrowfeather sighed, grinning, and followed his sister, throwing Burrowpelt a 'That's Griffinwing for you' look.

      With a smile, she padded after them.

***

There was just something about the river that drew her toward it. Something about it's enchanted ripples that made her step forward. It's waves made her vision rock back and forth. . .

      back and forth. . .

      back and forth. . .

      Her paw splashed gently into the water, and then the other. She couldn't even feel the chill, couldn't even feel the sharp stones beneath her.

      And then she was sinking. Sinking below the surface, sinking beyond the depth of the river, sinking into a different dimension altogether. Sinking.

      And even though she could feel the water filling her lungs, she did not ache for air, nor panic at her seemingly drowning state. This was fine. This was normal.

      Was it?

      Her eyes shot open to reveal a starlit meadow beneath a waning half-moon. It's light bathed her in silver and she felt her paws tingling with anticipation.

      A pale tom approached her. His eyes were the most real thing in the clearing; swoon-worthy pools of pearly water. She felt like she was losing herself in his gaze, too far gone to be found.

      His nose met hers and his long tail twined with her own fluffy one. His warmth was a welcome feeling, one that she craved wholly.

      And then, it was gone.

      An earsplitting scream shattered the peace that had enfolded her and now she was drifting through a river of blood. She struggled to keep her head above the surface, her claws raking through the thick current uselessly.

      As she swiveled her head around, looking for somewhere to swim to, somewhere safe, her eyes met that of a dark creature, one with brilliant pools for eyes. His eyes.  

      Burrowpelt woke with a gasp, her whole body racked with shivers. What in StarClan's name was that? Not another prophecy she hoped. Why can't I have a bit I peace?

      Peace. His eyes were peace. And then they were not.