TB MOONRISE -- Prologue (Patreon)

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Bright moonlight filtered into the cave, casting rippling lights on the stone walls through the wall of water that protected the entrance. Every sound bounced off of the dark walls, echoing endlessly between the great stone spires that drooped from the ceiling or rose from the floor.

Shapes moved near the entrance of the cave – two large-bodied cats padded in behind the waterfall, unperturbed by the constant noise. Between them they dragged not prey, but the body of another cat, her mangled shape leaving a trail of blood against the stone floor over the cavern.

More cats stirred within the cave as the scent of blood filled the air, lean shadows appearing from shallow scoops in the floor or dark side passages that led to other, smaller caves. Eyes went wide and ears flattened as a chorus of worried murmurs filled the air.

“Oh no,” whispered one. “Not Pale…”

“Oh, ancestors!” another cried. “How can you let this happen?”

The bulky cats carried the body of Pale to the center of the cave and laid her down, gently and reverently. The worried cats gathered around her body in a circle, trembling as they huddled together. A kit cried in somewhere in the crowd, a cry of fear and horror at the state of Pale’s torn body.

A ginger tom pushed through the crowd and fell to his haunches beside the body. He pressed his muzzle into Pale’s bloodstained fur and shuddered.

“M-Mother…?” murmured a voice. All the cats fell silent as the young cat approached, her ginger fur identical to the toms aside from the white spots that dappled her coat. Her eyes widened. “Mother! No!”

She lunged forward and pressed her paws against Pale’s body, rocking it back and forth as if to wake her. Her mews were tangled with sadness. Eventually the ginger tom pushed her aside and pressed against her, his tail wrapped around her smaller body.

“Hush, kit,” he murmured, “she is with our ancestors now…”

“We are sorry, Red,” meowed one of the cats that had entered with Pale’s body, a broad-shouldered gray tabby. He glanced to his companion and added, “We heard her cries… but we were too late.”

Red’s eyes flashed with grief and rage. “Something must be done!” he growled, baring his teeth. “We cannot live like this! Who will we lose next?”

“I am sorry for your loss, Red.” The crowd parted around a long-furred white she-cat as she padded forward, coming from one of the caves near the back of the cavern. Her eyes sparkled with sorrow. “Pale hunts with our ancestors now.”

The other big cat that had carried Pale’s body, a dark brown tabby, spat on the floor. “Our ancestors are just as powerless as we are!”

His declaration sent a ripple of unease through the gathered cats. The conviction in the white she-cat’s eyes did not waver, and she stepped forward.

“Stoneteller is in the Cavern of Reflection now, looking for guidance in the light of the full moon!” she insisted. “Do not lose faith!”

“How can we not?” Red spat, bristling around the she-cat he was shielding. “One by one we die, and our ancestors do nothing! Tell us, Snow - how am I supposed to feel, seeing my mate lying dead? How is Sun supposed to feel, knowing she will never see her mother again?” The young she-cat trembled at her father’s words. “Tell us all how we are meant to have faith in these times?”

Snow narrowed her eyes. “Grief is blinding you, Red,” she reasoned. “Do not give in to hysteria!”

The gray tabby tom stepped forward, his lips curled over sharp teeth. “By the time our ancestors do anything, there won’t be any of us left to even ask for their aid!”

Snow flattened her ears, eyes widening as she realized that the situation was billowing out of her control. She took a step back, her tail trembling, as the murmurs and worries of the other cats filled the cave from wall to wall.

“Tribe!” called a voice, just as the chorus was growing too loud. “To me.”

The voices silenced. A skinny brown cat, his muzzle gray with age but his eyes sharp, padded through the wake left by Snow. The white she-cat dipped her head as he sat beside her, a ripple of reverence spreading through the crowd, calming all but Red, who was still bristling with frustration.

The brown tom raised his chin and looked upon the crowd before him, his eyes unhindered by the darkness of the cave. His eyes rested upon Pale’s body, and he sighed.

“I am so sorry, Red. She walks with the Tribe of Endless Hunting,” he promised. “She has good hunting, swift running, and shelter when she sleeps.”

A grateful murmur spread through the crowd, and Sun looked happy through her grief – but Red still did not look satisfied. His eyes burned for justice. The brown tom seemed aware of this, and raised his muzzle to speak once more:

“Our ancestors have been as troubled as we,” he assured. “The tria we face is a darkness that seems insurmountable. Now more than ever we must stand together, as one Tribe, and face what lies ahead.”

“Have they given us hope?” a black she-cat asked, her eyes round. “What have our ancestors told you, Stoneteller?”

Stoneteller blinked at the cats surrounding him. “Their words were careful,” he responded, “like a cat picking their way along a ravine – but they have shown me a prophecy: From whence the sun dies comes a storm, they say, that will cleanse the Tribe.”

Eyes brightened all around, and more speculative murmuring started. Grief and frustration and hopelessness changed to relief and confidence as the cats wondered as one what the prophecy meant.

“Does this mean we’ll be saved?” Sun asked, coming out from beneath Red’s embrace. Her eyes were bright and hopeful. “That no one else will die?”

“The Tribe of Endless Hunting cannot stop death, little one,” Snow promised morosely. “But the message does seem like the end of our woes will come soon.”

Sun’s eyes widened, and her tail shot up. She looked to her father, her whiskers twitching – but Red seemed to be the only cat unconvinced by his ancestors words. The ginger tom’s eyes locked on to Stoneteller, his body rigid with skepticism.

“When did our ancestors say the storm would come?” he asked.

Stoneteller blinked at Red, hoping to reassure him, but he knew that grief was a powerful thing. “Soon,” he promised. “Our ancestors say our deliverance from darkness will come soon.”