A Traitor in JasmineClan

Prologue

Ah, NightClan. It hadn't been long since the death of their faithful leader, Maplestar. Perhaps two moons. Maplestar's deputy, Nightfur, has since taken the role of leadership.

Everything seems to prosper under Nightstar's leadership. He helped the clan rebound from mourning, and now JasmineClan is stronger than ever, with kits on the way and apprentices to be taught.

Part of him still doesn't believe that he's leader. It all happened so fast, the passing away of Maplestar. Part of him doubts himself. How could I ever possibly lead the clan Maplestar helped grow, helped build up? She was our foundation, the tom thinks to himself on a bright day, sitting on the High Ledge. Then again, as he looks around, the clan is visibly full of energy, happiness, and life is... well, back to normal and even better.

For example, one of the clan's most respected cats, Lionear, is gathering warriors for a patrol she has the honor to lead. Taking this as a learning opportunity for his apprentice, Brackenthorn, also Lionear's mate, somehow rounds up the lively Briarpaw. The patrol seems excited to hunt, after all, Newleaf promises a handsome reward for any attempt at hunting.

In fact, Shadowstone is entering camp with his apprentice, Sandpaw. She's a very talkative young cat, and talks to Shadowstone until his ears are steaming with annoyance. They're both carrying plump prey, Shadowstone with a hare, and Sandpaw with a vole. In this moment, Nightstar is thankful to have such promising apprentices, especially Sandpaw, who seems to have a knack for hunting.

"How come you catch hares all the time? Why can't you teach me soon? I'd love to catch prey ten times bigger than you ever could! I'd be-"

"Listen, Sandpaw," Her mentor cuts her off, "if you're going to catch hares, you're going to have to stop chattering yourself and listen to me for once so your skills can grow and flourish." He huffs, grateful to have Sandpaw shut up for at least a few moments.

"That's no fair! I do listen, it's just that..." Sandpaw searches for an excuse, the desperation on her face, "your claws are totally bigger than mine!"

Shadowstone sighs a "Mhm" and Nightstar chuckles. Seems I've set my brother up with a pawful.

"Nightstar!" A friendly, muffled voice exclaims, making Nightstar turn his head.

"Greetings Fallowpelt," The leader recognizes the deputy.

He drops a hare by his paws, a frequent gift of Newleaf. "All the hunting patrols today have been successful. Lionear's is the last hunting one for the day, we already have enough prey to last a moon!"

"Perfect, Fallowpelt," Nightstar meowed his approval.

"I might as well join Lionear and see what else I can catch," Fallowpelt picks up the hare and dips his head.

Nightstar dips his head back and continues to overlook his clan.

In the middle of camp, Sootfeather and his mate Whimbrelstorm are presumably taking a short walk.

"I'm nervous, you know. What if a fox breaks into camp and takes the kits? What if a neighboring clan starts a battle with ours and takes the kits as hostages? What if-" Whimbrelstorm worries, frowning and taking shorter, slower steps.

"Whimbrelstorm," Sootfeather manages to calm her down with a gentle touch of his tail, "you'll be the best mother. I know the kits will be safe by your side and mine. I would give my life to protect them. So would the clan. Plus, we haven't had a fox attack or battle in seasons." Ironically, Sootfeather is rather peaceful about his yet-to-be-born kits. He used to be one of the most nervous cats of the clan. Whimbrelstorm had definitely helped him out of his shell.

"You're right," Whimbrelstorm purrs. "Our first litter will be raised with care and affection- Oh, I can't wait to have them!"

Nightstar smiles. Though he wasn't a big fan of sweethearts and romances, he could tell Sootfeather and Whimbrelstorm were perfect for each other.

~

Everything seems to settle down as it gets later in the day. Most cats disappear by nightfall, either into dens or to the surrounding woods and moors for patrols.

Checking on the patrol wouldn't hurt. Nightstar shrugs to himself as he finishes a mouse from the preypile. The tom eagerly starts to pad to the exit of camp, a small hole in a wall of flowering jasmine bushes.

"Nightstar!" A voice calls, somewhat urgently.

Nightstar turns his head to find one of his best warriors, Appletuft, in a state of stress. He was usually seen confidently carrying his freshest catch, like his brother Fallowpelt. They're very similar, and close too. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"Hornetleg found some weird new herb, and needs your help identifying it immediately," The red mackarel tabby states, his brows furrowed.

"I will see to it right now," Nightstar complies, beginning to trot to the medicine den. Appletuft follows, wanting to help.

The cats make it to the medicine den, but before Nightstar could step a paw forward into the den, his name is called in terror.

"Nightstar, Fallowpelt is dead!"

His ears perk up and his expression turns from concern to horror. That couldn't be true, right? Maybe he was mishearing things. Nevertheless, he sprints across camp to where the voice had called him, being led to the jasmine bushes.

"Fallow.. Fallowpelt.. He- We-" Lionear struggles to speak, her pelt shivering with shock, terror, and sadness.

Two warriors emerge from the bushes, carrying a limp, light brown body over their backs. These two are Brackenthorn and Thriftcloud, desperation on their faces. "We need Hornetleg. Now," Brackenthorn commands to his apprentice, who soon appears beside him. She nods and sprints off.

They gently let down the body. The tom, who was alive, well, and eager just a long few moments ago, was now dead. Upon closer inspection, piercing marks made by fangs in his neck were oozing the last few droplets of blood before the wounds could scar up. Fallowpelt must've been wounded for a while, peculiarly.

Poor, shaken Briarpaw sprints back to the scene with Hornetleg by her side. The tom, confused and concerned begins checking for breathing, for a pulse, for anything to signify he was alive, by a miracle from StarClan.

"We- I think it may have been a fox," Lionear shakingly mumbles, biting her lip.

Hornetleg shakes his head. "It can't be. His scent entirely consists of jasmine."