Featherpool’s beautiful silver tabby pelt was bristling in horror as she watched the two cats. Two clan cats, she recognized one as an apprentice of her own clan, and another cat she did not seem to recognize. They seemed older. The two were purring and licking each other fondly. Seconds later, three kits had appeared out of nowhere, in between the two cats. Two other toms and one little she- kit.

Once they appeared, their calming forest background disappeared in fire, and the shimmering river ran red with blood. Shrieks and cries of loss, pain, and terror echoed throughout the burning forest. However, the pair just got up,oblivious to the chaos happening around them, hurried their kits away from Featherpool, and stalked away, tails twined. Featherpool gazed at the two cats, her usual sweet and calm voice replaced by pure anger, “Stop! Wait, who are you?What's happening!” Featherpool yowled. Her cries were desperate. As she was about to retreat, a voice sounded from the shadows. “This will be the result,” it hissed, “if these two come together. The moon in the storm will always shine bright, but both will fall, under the spotted cat’s heart.” and the mysterious voice was gone.

It was a prophecy.