"Great StarClan!" breathed Sandstorm, her green eyes wide as she surveyed the flooded landscape.

The other warriors murmured in shocked agreement, but Nightshade was speechless with horror. Her shadow-walker senses immediately connected the shining expanse of water with her recent dream—the faceless silver queen and the mewling kits surrounded by rising waters. The vision's warning was becoming terrifyingly clear.

Fear chilled her as she struggled to understand what this flood meant for both RiverClan and ThunderClan, so that she was hardly aware of Graystripe trying to attract her attention until the big gray cat pressed up uncomfortably close to her side. Panic flared in Graystripe's amber eyes, and Nightshade didn't need to ask why. His odd behavior recently, his nervous disappearances, his reluctance to train Brackenpaw—it suddenly made sense. He had connections in RiverClan.

"This is terrible," he whispered, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "The camp... the kits... they could all be..." He trailed off, his desperate gaze fixed on hers with uncomfortable intensity. "Nightshade, we have to do something. You understand, don't you? You always understand things others don't."

The land was lower on the RiverClan bank, so the floodwaters could spread much farther. As for their camp on the island... Nightshade wondered how much of it remained above water. Despite the tensions between their Clans, she felt no satisfaction at their predicament—only concern for the innocent kits and elders who might be in danger.

Runningwind had padded right to the water's edge and was gazing out across the river. "RiverClan isn't going to like this," he remarked with poorly disguised satisfaction. "And a good thing, too. It'll keep them off our territory." He glanced back at Nightshade, clearly seeking her approval. "Their misfortune is our gain. Now you won't have to worry about border skirmishes. I'd fight any RiverClan warrior who dared approach you anyway."

Nightshade felt Graystripe tense beside her at Runningwind's callous words. She shot him a warning glance, silently urging him to control his reaction. "The warrior code says we must help kits in danger, regardless of Clan," she reminded Runningwind firmly. "We can't patrol the border now. We'd better get back to camp and report this to Bluestar."

"Nightshade's right," Sandstorm agreed quickly, moving closer to her side. "Bluestar will want to know about this immediately."

"Come on, Graystripe," Nightshade added firmly, seeing the warrior look once more with undisguised anguish across the swollen river. His reaction confirmed her suspicions—his connection to RiverClan went beyond casual interest. It was personal.

As they turned to leave, Graystripe lingered at her side, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Nightshade, please... I need your help. There's something you should know." His eyes held a pleading quality that went beyond his usual fixation. "Meet me later, by the lightning-struck oak? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Before she could respond, Runningwind inserted himself between them, his posture deliberately intimidating as he faced Graystripe. "We should keep moving. Nightshade needs to report to Bluestar, not waste time with your whispered conversations."

"I wasn't—" Graystripe began defensively.

"Enough," Nightshade interrupted, her patience wearing thin with their possessive behavior. "We're all returning to camp together. Now."

She took the lead, setting a brisk pace back toward ThunderClan territory. As they ran, she became acutely aware of the shifting dynamics among her patrol members—Graystripe's desperate attempts to catch her eye, Runningwind's protective hovering, and Sandstorm's watchful observation of it all.

The flood had created a new crisis that extended beyond territorial concerns. Something about Graystripe's reaction suggested he had stakes in RiverClan that went deeper than she'd initially suspected—perhaps explaining his increasingly erratic behavior recently. And whatever his secret, it seemed likely to become yet another complication in the already tangled web of Clan politics and inappropriate fixations that threatened to engulf her.

As they approached camp, Nightshade made a decision. She would meet Graystripe later—not because of his uncomfortable pleading, but because any connection to RiverClan might provide crucial intelligence regarding both the flood crisis and Tigerclaw's suspicious activities. As a shadow-walker, her responsibility was to gather information that might protect ThunderClan, regardless of personal discomfort.

But first, she needed to report to Bluestar. The leader needed to know that water had indeed risen—just as Nightshade's prophetic dream had warned—and with it, new dangers that threatened all the Clans of the forest.

As soon as Bluestar heard the news she leaped to the top of the Highrock and gave the familiar call:

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting."

At once cats began to pour out of their dens and into the clearing. Nightshade took her place at the front of the crowd, noticing with a flicker of annoyance that Cloudkit had come bounding after Brindleface, his blue eyes immediately seeking her out with that unsettling intensity that went beyond normal kit enthusiasm. She saw Yellowfang and Cinderpaw listening from the mouth of the fern tunnel, the young gray cat's gaze fixed on her rather than Bluestar. Even Brokentail emerged from his den, nudged along by Mousefur.

The bright morning was coming to an end. Clouds were massing to cover the face of the sun, and the gentle breeze had strengthened until a stiff wind blew across the clearing, flattening the fur of the cats who crouched around the Highrock. Nightshade shivered, her shadow-essence responding to the darkening sky with prickling awareness.

"Cats of ThunderClan," meowed Bluestar. "Our camp may be in danger. The snow has gone, but the river has burst its banks. Part of our territory is already flooded."

A chorus of dismay rose from the Clan, but Bluestar raised her voice above the yowls. "Nightshade, tell the Clan what you have seen."

Nightshade stood up, acutely aware of how every cat's attention immediately focused on her with varying degrees of intensity. "The river has overflowed near the Sunningrocks," she reported, keeping her voice steady. "The water has spread far beyond the normal banks, and the rocks themselves are becoming islands in the flood."

"It doesn't sound that dangerous to us," meowed Darkstripe when she had finished, though his gaze lingered on her rather than turning to Bluestar. "We have plenty of territory left for prey. Let RiverClan worry about the floods. Their misfortune might keep certain cats where they belong." His pointed glance toward Graystripe carried double meaning.

A murmur of approval broke out, although Nightshade noticed that Tigerclaw stayed silent. He sat at the base of the Highrock, motionless except for the twitching tip of his tail, his amber eyes fixed on her with disturbing intensity.

"Silence!" spat Bluestar. "The water could spread here before we know it. Something like this is bigger than Clan rivalry. I don't want to hear that any RiverClan cats have died from these floods."

Nightshade noticed a hot glow in Bluestar's eyes as she spoke, as if her words meant more than she had said. Intrigued, she remembered how angry Bluestar had been when confronted with the revelation about Mistyfoot and Stonefur's ThunderClan origins; yet now her strength of feeling suggested a current of concern running deep within her—perhaps even maternal worry.

Patchpelt spoke up from among the elders. "I remember the last time the river overflowed, many moons ago. Cats from all Clans drowned. Prey drowned, too, and we went hungry even though our paws stayed dry. This is not just RiverClan's problem." The elder's gaze drifted to Nightshade as he finished speaking, lingering longer than necessary.

"Well said, Patchpelt," meowed Bluestar. "I remember those days, too, and I hoped I would never have to see such times again. But since it has happened, these are my orders: No cat is to go out alone. Kits and apprentices must not leave the camp without at least one warrior. Patrols will go out to discover how far the floods reach—Tigerclaw, see to it."

"Yes, Bluestar," meowed the deputy. "I'll send out hunting patrols, too. We must build up a stock of prey before the water rises any farther."

"Good idea," agreed Bluestar. She raised her voice again to address the whole Clan. "The meeting is over. Go to your duties." She leaped down lightly from the Highrock and padded across to talk with Patchpelt and the other elders.

Nightshade was waiting to see which patrol Tigerclaw would assign her to when she noticed Graystripe edging away from the circle of cats. Following her shadow-walker instincts, she headed after him, and caught up just as he broke for the gorse tunnel. "Where do you think you're going?" she hissed in the gray warrior's ear. "Bluestar just said that no cat should go out alone."

Graystripe turned a panicky look on her. "Nightshade, I have to go to RiverClan," he protested, his voice pitched low but urgent. "I have to be sure she's okay."

Nightshade's suspicions were confirmed—Graystripe's connection to RiverClan was definitely personal, likely involving a she-cat. "How will you get across the river?" she asked.

"I'll manage," Graystripe promised grimly. "It's only water."

"Don't be such a mouse-brain!" Nightshade spat, remembering how uncomfortable the gray warrior had seemed around water during previous patrols. "The current is dangerous enough to sweep away even strong swimmers."

Graystripe didn't answer; he just swung around and made for the tunnel again, his desperation clearly outweighing his usual fixation on her.

Nightshade glanced over her shoulder. The other cats in the clearing were breaking up into small groups under Tigerclaw's direction, ready to go out on patrol. She noticed the deputy's gaze already searching for her, his massive head turning to scan the gathered cats. "Stop, Graystripe!" she hissed, halting him at the entrance to the tunnel. "Wait there."

Once she was sure Graystripe had done as she asked, she bounded across the clearing toward the deputy, careful to approach him with other warriors nearby to prevent another uncomfortable private interaction. "Tigerclaw, Graystripe and I are ready to patrol the downstream border near Sunningrocks," she stated firmly. "We can check how far the flooding has spread in that direction."

Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased that Nightshade had paired herself with Graystripe rather than waiting for his assignment. "You should take another warrior with you," he growled, his tone carrying possessive concern. "The conditions are dangerous. I could accompany you myself—"

"Graystripe and I will move faster as a small unit," Nightshade interjected. "And we'll be careful to bring back prey as well."

"Very well," Tigerclaw conceded reluctantly, his tail lashing once. "But report directly to me when you return. I want to know exactly what you observe—and that you've returned safely."

"Yes, Tigerclaw," Nightshade replied, dipping her head before turning to race back to Graystripe. "Okay," she said quietly. "We're on patrol, so at least no cat will wonder where we've gone."

"But you—" Graystripe began to protest.

"I know you need to check on someone in RiverClan," Nightshade meowed. "But I'm coming with you. Whatever your secret is, it's clearly important enough for you to risk your life. And two cats have a better chance of surviving than one alone."

She felt a flicker of guilt as she spoke. Even on patrol, they wouldn't be expected to cross Clan boundaries. Bluestar would be furious if she knew that two of her warriors were risking their lives to go into enemy territory when their own Clan needed them so badly. But Nightshade's shadow-walker instincts were practically screaming that this journey was necessary—that something important awaited them across the flooded river.

"Thank you, Nightshade," murmured Graystripe as they left the tunnel. "I won't forget this."

Side by side, the two warriors scrambled up the steep, rocky slope. As they headed into the forest, retracing the steps of their earlier patrol, Nightshade noticed how muddy the ground was underpaw. The melted snow had soaked the earth like the heaviest rainfall, even without the deadly spread of floodwater from the river.

When they reached the edge of the trees Nightshade realized that the water had risen even farther in the short time since their previous visit. The Sunningrocks were almost submerged now, and the current swirled around them in tight circles. "We'll never make it across there," she observed.

"Let's head downstream," Graystripe suggested. "We might be able to use the stepping stones."

"We can try," Nightshade mewed uncertainly. She was about to follow when her shadow-essence prickled with awareness—a sense of desperate need carrying across the water. She halted, her ears pricking forward. "Wait," she called. "Do you hear that?"

Graystripe looked back, and both cats stood, ears pricked, straining to catch the sound. Then Nightshade heard it clearly—the panic-stricken mewing of kits in distress.

"Where are they?" she meowed, looking all around, her shadow-walker senses questing for the source of the cries. "I can't see them!"

"There." Graystripe flicked his tail in the direction of the Sunningrocks. "Nightshade, they'll drown!"

Nightshade saw that the current had driven a mat of twigs and debris up against the Sunningrocks. Two kits balanced precariously on it, their tiny mouths stretched wide as they wailed for help. Even as she watched, the current tugged at the mat, threatening to sweep it away. The faceless queen from her dream flashed through her mind—these must be the kits her vision had warned her about.

"Come on," she called to Graystripe. "We've got to reach them somehow."

Taking a deep breath, she waded into the flood. The water soaked into her fur at once, and a paralyzing, icy chill crept up her legs. The tug of the current made it harder to stay on her paws with every step she took.

Graystripe splashed in behind her, but when the water reached his belly fur he stopped. "Nightshade..." he choked out, terror evident in his voice. Nightshade twisted around to give him a reassuring nod. She could understand how the river might terrify him, especially given his evident discomfort around water. "Stay there," she meowed. "I'll try to push the mat over to you."

Graystripe nodded, trembling too violently to speak. Nightshade waded forward a few more paces, then launched herself into the current and began to swim, calling upon her shadow-walker abilities to help her navigate the treacherous waters. Her shadow-essence couldn't make her a stronger swimmer, but it enhanced her awareness of the current's flow, helping her understand its patterns as she thrashed her legs to push through the black water.

They were upstream of the Sunningrocks; if StarClan and her shadow-walker ancestors were kind, she should be carried down toward the kits.

For a moment she lost sight of them in the wind-ruffled waves, though she could still hear their terrified cries. Then the smooth gray bulk of a Sunningrock loomed up beside her. She kicked out strongly, fearing for one panic-stricken heartbeat that she would be swept right past.

The current swirled; Nightshade's paws worked furiously, and the river tossed her against the rock, driving the breath out of her body. She scrabbled at the rough surface, bracing herself against the rushing water, and found herself face-to-face with the two kits.

They were both very small—still suckling from their mother, Nightshade guessed. One was black and one gray, their fur plastered against their tiny bodies, and their brilliant blue eyes wide with terror. They were crouched on a tangled mat of twigs, leaves, and Twoleg rubbish, but when they saw Nightshade they started to scramble toward her. The mat lurched and their wails grew louder as river water sloshed over them.

"Keep still!" Nightshade gasped, paddling madly against the current. Briefly she wondered if she could climb onto the rock and haul the kits up with her, but she was not sure how long it would be before the Sunningrocks were completely submerged. Her best plan was still to push the mat over to Graystripe. Looking back, she saw that he had already moved downstream, into a good position to catch the mat as it was swept toward him.

"Here we go," Nightshade muttered. "Shadow-walkers guide us!" She pushed herself off from the rock, thrusting at the mat with her muzzle to guide it into the current. The two kits whimpered and flattened themselves against the twigs.

Nightshade put every last scrap of energy into pushing the mat ahead of her with her nose and paws. She could feel exhaustion draining the strength from her limbs. Her fur was soaked, and she was so cold she could hardly breathe. Raising her head and blinking water out of her eyes, she realized with horror that she had lost sight of Graystripe and the bank. It seemed as if there was nothing in the world but the churning water, the fragile mat of twigs, and the two terrified kits.

Then she heard Graystripe's voice, sounding close by. "Nightshade! Nightshade, here!"

Nightshade thrust again at the mat, trying to propel it toward the voice. It spun away from her, and her head went under. Coughing and choking, she clawed her way back to the surface, to see Graystripe pacing on dry land just a few tail-lengths away.

For a heartbeat Nightshade felt relief that she was nearly there. Then she focused her blurred eyes on the kits again, and fear pulsed through her. The mat was beginning to break up.

Nightshade watched in horror as the twigs underneath the gray kit gave way and the tiny creature was plunged into the torrent. Her shadow-walker instincts surged with desperate purpose as she dove after the kit, her shadow-essence flaring with protective energy. She couldn't shift fully into shadow-form in water, but her heightened senses guided her to the flailing kit as it was swept away by the current.

With a final desperate surge, Nightshade grabbed the gray kit's scruff in her teeth and thrust her head above water, gasping for breath. The shore seemed impossibly far away, but she could see Graystripe still pacing frantically, his yellow eyes wide with fear—not just for the kits, but for her.

As the current pulled her downstream, Nightshade focused all her remaining strength on keeping the kit's head above water. Her own limbs were growing numb with cold, but the precious weight in her jaws reminded her that failure wasn't an option. This was what her dream had warned her about—these kits needed her protection, and she would not let them down.

The question of why RiverClan kits were alone in the flood could wait. For now, survival was all that mattered—and the growing awareness that whatever divided loyalties existed in the forest, some bonds transcended Clan boundaries just as surely as the floodwaters had washed away the borders between their territories.