Brightkit was running through the forest, running for his life. He didn't know who was chasing him, only that they were getting closer with every step and Brightkit was tiring quickly. After all, he was only three moons old and the smallest kit of his litter.

Brightkit gasped as he felt a claw graze his shoulder, which was bruised from when the older warrior had fallen on him the day before.

He forced his aching legs to move faster, dashing madly away from the danger. His eyes widened and he skidded to a stop as he came upon the river.

The young kit looked over his shoulder. Whoever was chasing him was coming fast. He looked back at the river, his breath quickening in his chest. There was no way he could swim across that! He shuddered. He was not looking forward to learning to swim, but there was no time to dwell on his fear of water now. He had to escape the thing chasing him.

He looked to his left and spotted a tunnel that hadn't been there before. Crawling into it, he grunted at the effort it took to maneuver through the small space. He was a small kit, but this tunnel seemed to be barely wide enough for him to fit. Its crumbling walls were cold and damp, and the scent of mold clouded his nostrils.

Dirt rained down on Brightkit's face as long, sharp claws scored the ground around the hole. He scrambled backward, trying not to let them dig to him. He felt a sudden pressure on his face. He turned to look, but nothing was there. The pressure moved down to his neck and he let out a strangled mew, finding it hard to breathe.

The pressure increased, choking him, suffocating him. The walls of the tunnel squeezed tighter around him and he regretted his decision to come down here. He should have just crossed that mouse-brained river!

Brightkit's vision began to swirl with dark spots. He struggled to take a breath. His throat felt constricted, the pressure singling out his windpipe. A fuzzy black veil was creeping around the sides of his head and slowly blocking everything from view. The last of his vision faded...

And he woke with a start in the RiverClan nursery, trembling. The sun beaming at him through the entrance made him blink to get the brights out of his blue eyes. When he looked up again, he saw his littermate, Sharpkit, standing on his neck without even noticing he was there.

Trying to catch his breath that was pulsing rapidly through his lungs, quickened by fear, he mewed croakily, "Sharpkit! You're standing on my throat!"

Sharpkit looked down at the tiny tortoiseshell kit condescendingly. "Oh, am I? Sorry." His voice sounded taunting, not sincere at all. Brightkit swallowed as the pressure was released from his windpipe. Nearly suffocating in sleep was not a pleasant experience.

Brightkit shook scraps of moss out of his mainly black pelt as he got to his paws. His littermates were playing mossball inside the den because it was too early to go outside. They were noisy kits and would most likely wake up the whole camp, including the elders, who slept like logs.

The runt of the litter shrugged and exited the den. While talkative, he could be quiet when he wanted to (which was rare except when he had no one to talk to, or rather, talk at), and besides, his siblings and mother never really noticed him anyway, except to call him names about his size, his fear of water, and the one ginger patch on his left side that stuck out like a sore paw.

He pushed all of the resentment and loneliness down inside him and replaced it with a mask of cheerful, talkative, bubbly kit-ness that should be much more normal for a kit his age. It was his usual personality, and would come more naturally to him had he grown up around cats who didn't reject his friendliness.

Opening his mouth to taste the cool, fresh morning air, Brightkit padded into the clearing that was RiverClan's camp. He trotted toward the fresh-kill pile, determined to eat before his littermates fought over the pile and took the prey from the littlest cat, which was him.

Brightkit picked out a large minnow that didn't smell too bad for a fish, and bit into it, wishing, not for the first time, that he was not a RiverClan cat. He had heard stories from the elders about other Clans, like ThunderClan, RiverClan's enemy; SkyClan, the one whose territory had shrunk a little recently because of Twolegs; WindClan, and their mouse-brained apprentice, Thornpaw, who had chased a rabbit onto RiverClan territory; and ShadowClan. There really weren't many bad things to say about ShadowClan, except for their rotten stench.

SkyClan would be interesting to live in, Brightkit thought. I would like to learn to climb trees.

He finished his minnow and decided to find a ball of moss so as to alleviate boredom by playing mossball with himself. He could generally leave camp whenever he wanted because it was easy not to be noticed when you were a runt.

The reeds and cattails tickled Brightkit's pink nose as he left camp. He padded to the nearest tree that had moss growing at its base, and clumsily sliced some off with his tiny claws. Morning dew clung to it, so Brightkit lapped up the excess moisture with his tongue before carrying the ball of moss into camp.

Once he was safely within the boundaries of the camp, Brightkit batted the ball away and chased after it gleefully. He leapt, pretending to be a warrior, and pounced on the unsuspecting moss ball.

"Begone, you ThunderClan scum!" he yowled squeakily. "Sunningrocks is ours! Go back to your little forest!" Cats began to emerge from their dens. Oops, so much for being quiet.

Brightkit kept shredding the moss ball and leaping on top of it, until he realized it no longer resembled a ball, and was now more like a few scraps of green scattered everywhere.

His ears flattened in embarrassment, and he decided to go back into the nursery to try and pester his littermates to play with him.

As the kit neared the nursery, he heard the sounds of a tussle as his littermates play-fought. A few moments later, Larkkit burst out of the nursery, triumphant.

"Ha! Take that, Cloverkit! I won! And I finally beat you too, Sharpkit!" Her tail was high in the air and her sharp claws were unsheathed against the earth. They had been sheathed when she was playing though.

Brightkit bounded up to her, his eyes shining with hope. "Hi Larkkit! Do you want to play with me?" He looked up at the gray-furred kit, and she glared disdainfully back.

"Beating you in a battle wouldn't even be considered a win," she hissed, before stalking off toward the fresh-kill pile, the rest following.

Brightkit stared after them, his tail slowly drooping so that it was dragging on the ground. He swallowed a hurt mew, and his whiskers quivered with increasing intensity until he came up with another idea.

Maybe the elders will want to play! His tail waving in the air again, he dashed off toward the elders' den. The nursery and elders' den were next to each other on high ground in case of floods, so it didn't take long for Brightkit to reach his destination.

He burst inside and pounced on Oaktuft, careful to keep his claws sheathed so as not to hurt the frail old tom.

"Oaktuft! Want to play with me?" Brightkit meowed enthusiastically, sitting on Oaktuft's back and climbing through his long brown fur.

Oaktuft gave a mrrow of laughter, rolling onto his side and making Brightkit slip off of his back. "Hello, Brightkit. You seem full of energy this morning."

Brightkit nodded, chasing Oaktuft's long tail, which was sweeping back and forth on the ground.

Grasspool, another elder who had been wounded in the war twenty-five moons ago, rolled over, grumbling, into Patcheye, who backed up into a wall.

"Don't mind her. She's usually grumpy, it isn't because of you. Now, who wants a badger ride?" Oaktuft meowed with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Me! Me!" Brightkit shrieked, leaping onto Oaktuft's back and curling his paws around the elder's fur. Oaktuft grunted.

"Careful, Brightkit! I'm not as young as I used to be." He carefully rose to his paws while Brightkit tried to stay on his back, laughing. Oaktuft laughed along with him, a rasp in the back of the old tom's throat. He ambled out of the cozy den, stumbling a bit on a rock right outside the entrance. Brightkit could feel the old cat's shoulder blades moving up and down.

Oaktuft trotted carefully down the small slope of the clearing, wheezing slightly at the bottom. "Woo hoo!" Brightkit yowled. "Come on, badger! Let's go get those other kits over there!" He saw a lone tom with one small ear look up for a second when he spoke the word "badger".

Oaktuft looked back at Brightkit mischievously, then tried to bounce as much as possible while making his way to Brightkit's siblings. Brightkit shook with laughter as he was jostled around.

"Rarrr! I am a ferocious badger! And I have come to-" Oaktuft's meow was cut off by a fit of coughing. Brightkit stopped laughing, concerned. When Oaktuft recovered, he mewed shakily, "I'm fine. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. I have come to destroy all cats who cross my path!"

Redkit giggled. "But we didn't cross your path, you crossed ours!" The kits yowled playfully as Oaktuft turned and ran up the small hill in mock fear, his fastest run slightly slower than the kits. The kits laughed as they chased Oaktuft and Brightkit, and Brightkit hung on to Oaktuft's pelt for dear life because even though the elder was slow, his step was bouncy.

Oaktuft's wheezy laugh echoed through Brightkit's ears as he turned and ran back down the hill, chasing the kits now. Cloverkit, the fastest, was in the lead. Sharpkit, the leader of the group, was right behind her.

They ran around like that until the elder's breaths grew labored, unnoticed by the kits. Oaktuft charged up the hill again, stumbling and throwing Brightkit around. Brightkit had a suspicion he was doing that on purpose. He laughed and held on tighter.

Coming down the hill again was when it happened. Oaktuft seemed to be holding back a cough. He came to a sudden stop, his chest heaving more than it should have been for the amount of time he had been running. Then he shook it off and started chasing the kits again, but Brightkit could tell something was wrong. The elder's breaths were shuddering, his laughter faltering. He was trying to draw breath, but unsuccessfully.

Brightkit's perch fell out from under him as Oaktuft toppled to the side. Brightkit fell, but immediately scrambled to Oaktuft's side to see if he was okay. The tom waved the kit off, trying to stand. Brightkit's siblings ran off, wide-eyed and afraid, as Oaktuft wheezed and got to his paws.

"I think... that's enough... for today..." Oaktuft broke out into a fit of coughing. "Maybe I could tell you a st-story," he meowed, his legs trembling with lack of air. Brightkit worriedly accompanied the elderly cat as he slowly hobbled back to his den.

About halfway there, Oaktuft tried to breathe and collapsed, nearly unconscious. Brightkit squeaked, too shocked to run for the medicine cat. A few moments later, Windystream and Leopardpaw came running over.

Brightkit nudged Oaktuft's head as the tom lost consciousness. He backed away, stifling a wail, when his friend didn't stir. He looked at Windystream, the medicine cat. He was talking to Oaktuft. "Oaktuft? Oaktuft, can you hear me? Hang in there, buddy. You'll be all right." Leopardpaw, having nothing to do, glared at Brightkit. Oaktuft was her grandfather and Windystream's mentor before Windystream had chosen to be a medicine cat.

Windystream started massaging Oaktuft's still chest. Brightkit watched, fear taking over his thoughts. He breathed a sigh of relief as Oaktuft's chest started rising and falling rapidly, too rapidly, but at least he was breathing.

"Too much physical exertion," Brightkit heard Windystream murmur to Leopardpaw as they helped Oaktuft to his paws and into the medicine den where he collapsed again.

Brightkit felt terrible. It had been his fault that Oaktuft had fallen like this. If he had not begged him to play, this would not have happened. He padded away slowly, trying to think of what he could do next to alleviate boredom.

He brushed through the cattails and exited camp, his paws finding their way to the river. He sat and stared at the edge of it, marveling at its terrifying beauty as it rushed past, thundering against the stepping stones peeking above the surface.

There were three cats near the river. One was a gray and white tom who was fishing- the same cat who had looked up when Brightkit had been talking about badgers. The other two were Stormpaw and Rushpaw- friends of Sharpkit's. Sharpkit looked up to the apprentices and wanted to be like them someday. They were playing on the opposite bank. Maybe he could join their game.

"Hey, Stormpaw! Rushpaw! Can I play with you?" Brightkit yowled.

The two toms, one gray and one ginger, stopped their game of tag and surveyed the kit across the river. Brightkit sat down and waited for their answer.

"Yeah, sure! You can play with us!" Rushpaw yowled back. Brightkit's heart leapt. Finally someone who wanted to play with him!

"You just have to cross the river first!" Stormpaw yowled as if it were the punch line of a joke. They both cracked up, their mrrows of laughter bouncing off Brightkit's confidence, putting cracks in it.

"What's the matter, Brightkit? Can't swim?" Stormpaw taunted. Rushpaw laughed.

Brightkit stood up angrily. He'd show them he wasn't afraid! Even if he was... He'd cross the river using the stepping stones. He made his way to the first stone, trying to rebuild his confidence. He put a tentative paw on the slippery stone. His heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage.

The rest of his paws hopped up on the stone beside the first one. Brightkit's whiskers quivered as he looked at the gap between the stone he was standing on and the next stone in the path. He gathered his haunches and leaped, barely clearing the edge of the rock. His paws slipped, but he regained his balance.

Now, Brightkit was isolated in the middle of the river, the spray from the water surrounding him and getting his pelt wet. He faced the next stone, trying not to focus on the river, to focus instead on his breath going in and out of his lungs. He bunched his legs and leaped again, stretching his body out over the water.

His front paws landed and slid across the wet stone. His left front paw caught a ridge in the rock, and before he knew it, he was tumbling head over heels into the frothing river.