A soft wind blows sand into your fur. Salt meets your lips as it flies off the crest of sapphire waves. Heat beats down on your pelt; you curl your claws into soft, white sand. Half-buried grey rocks are scattered on the beach where you stand - they are marked by hundreds of claws marks, some older than others.

What is this place? And who are the cats watching you from a distance?

"We are SeaClan, traveller." A husky voice whispers behind you, "Welcome to our beach."