The first sensation Nettle felt was the feel of the moss under his belly— warm, soft, and a little prickly. The moss of his nest pressed against his pelt on all sides, and he enjoyed it, wishing he could stay there forever and ever and ever. Light danced behind his eyelids— vibrant shades of dark yellows and oranges with a little red around the edges- and for a while, he just sat there, immobile, and watched them swirl. He wondered for a second if the sun had a heartbeat. Maybe that was what the colorful pulsing was. He opened his eyes and yawned sleepily.

It was early morning, earlier than he'd ever been awake before. The sky wasn't the bright blues or fiery shades of sunrise he had expected, but a dim, gloomy gray that spoke of rain and a dreary time when the sun hadn't yet poked over the horizon and when the moon was already gone. Nettle decided he didn't much like this time. It was better for him to go back to sleep altogether.

He tried to settle back down and curl his tail over his freezing nose, but a strange sense of wrongness crept into the back of his mind and wouldn't disappear. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep, something was... off, and he didn't know what.

Nettle finally gave in and opened his eyes, attempting to peek over the annoying fuzz of his tail. It was a futile effort, and he soon gave up and sat up fully, looking around the nursery slowly and carefully.

Then it struck him.

It was such an obvious thing, too— how could he have missed it before? He couldn't see his mother anywhere. She was always here at this time, curled around him. No wonder Nettle was so cold. He shivered momentarily, then glanced over at Twist, the she-cat who stayed in the nursery to take care of the kits. The gray-and-cream she-cat's flank shuddered slightly with every breath she took, and Nettle realized that she was probably as chilly as he was.

Nettle inhaled, then exhaled, watching the fog-like cloud, created by his breath, drift away. He looked back over at Twist, then stood up, stretched, and walked over to her. Maybe she knows where my mother is, he thought with a twinge of hope. Maybe she just left to go to the dirtplace or something.

For a few seconds, Nettle watched Twist sleep. Then, he leaned forward and nudged her side with his nose. Twist shifted slightly, but went back to dreaming. Nettle sat back on his haunches, trying to decide what to do next. Finally, he poked her side with his paw, hoping that this time that the wake-up method would work. "Twist?" he inquired.

Thankfully, it did work this time. Twist uncurled herself slowly from her nest, stretching, then settled into a comfortable position. Once she had finished getting comfortable, she watched Nettle, the faintest hint of annoyance in her eyes. It was an odd emotion to see in her eyes; Twist was normally calm and gentle. Nettle guessed she was grouchy at being woken up so early.

"What's wrong, Nettle?" Twist asked, her voice lacking any trace of irritation. Nettle wondered briefly if he had imagined the look in her eyes earlier.

"It's—uh— my mother... I don't know where she is, and I'm sort of worried," Nettle said quickly, suddenly anxious. The slightest bit of insidious worry was starting to creep through his veins.

Twist's eyes narrowed in confusion. "That's odd. She didn't say anything about going anywhere today." She rose from her nest and padded over to his mother's, then sniffed the nest. "Well, Cinders hasn't been here in a while, it would seem. She might be in camp already."

Nettle could detect the obvious uncertainty in Twist's tone— his mother wasn't exactly the kind to wake up early, and she wasn't the kind to take a walk in the forest either. Twist sighed and shook her head, then padded outside into the camp with Nettle at her heels.

The camp was mostly deserted. Sierra and Haven were talking at the edge of camp, and Morning and Hawk were sharing tongues near the prey pile. Twist hesitated for a second, then walked towards Sierra, her tail flicking slightly— the first sign of worry. Nettle hung back. Sierra was rather intimidating, and he could hear just fine from the edge of the camp.

"Sierra?" Twist asked, sitting down in front of Sierra and her apprentice. Nettle stifled a laugh as he realized Twist had to look down on the short Matriarch, who was smaller than both Twist and Haven. Suddenly, he realized why Sierra often climbed up on ledges to speak— she'd have to look up at the Clan otherwise!

"What is it?" the ginger she-cat asked, evidently annoyed. Twist stepped back and lowered her head in submission, and Sierra nodded, satisfied.

"Cinders isn't in the nursery, and, as you can see, Matriarch, she isn't in the camp either. She isn't the type to take walks in the forest, so I was wondering if you knew anything about her whereabouts," Twist told her. Nettle noticed that she made no effort to conceal the worry in her voice this time.

For the first time, Nettle saw something like confusion in Sierra's eyes. The red she-cat stared at Twist for a second, then shook her head. "No, I don't know where she is, unfortunately. Morning!"

The tortoiseshell tom's head snapped up, his tongue still sticking out slightly from when he'd been grooming Hawk. "Yes, Sierra?" he said quickly, putting his tongue back in his mouth.

Sierra drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't very tall at all. "You were on guard duty with Hawk last night. Did you see Cinders leave the camp?"

"Yes," Morning replied, thinking. "She said she had to go the dirtplace a little after moonhigh. She didn't come back."

Sierra's expression darkened, and she sat back with a sigh. "Haven, organize search parties. She can't have gone far." She glanced up at Twist, pity shining in her eyes. "We'll find her," she promised softly.

Twist dipped her head in sorrow, then turned around and padded towards Nettle. "Let's go back to the nursery," she said gently, laying her tail across Nettle's shoulders and guiding him towards the yawning entrance of the nursery.

Nettle cast one more sorrowful glance at the gray sky and followed Twist back into the nursery.

***

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

The rain woke her up. She was used to the sound of water, but there was something odd about this one— the rain tapping against the ground seemed louder, almost unnaturally so, and she wasn't wet at all. It took her another second to notice the second odd thing: there was a constant pull on her body, as if she was slowly moving, but her paws were still and she had just woken up. And there was something strange about the moss of her nest as well; it was too soft for the moss she was used to. She twitched her tail in confusion, then opened her eyes.

Cinders hadn't been expecting the scene she woke up to. Right in front of her nose, a soft, artificial material that smelled disgustingly of Twolegs lay, and she realized suddenly that it was the same material her nest was made of. Opening her eyes wider, she tried to get up and look around.

It was a futile attempt. Her leg throbbed suddenly and violently, and her paws gave out from under her. She lay on the strange soft material for a second, breathing heavily, before she tried again. This time, she braced herself for the inevitable pain.

Cinders finally managed to sit up by leaning against the back side of the material and holding her front left leg, the one that had given her pain, off the ground to avoid putting weight on it. She sucked in a breath and nearly choked— this whole place seemed. . . wrong. An acrid smell she couldn't quite place filled the air and stung her eyes.

Forcing herself to ignore the odd scent, Cinders glanced down at her wounded leg— and drew back in horror. It was deep and smelled of something like rot and death, scents that couldn't mean anything good. Worse, it was edged with rotted, black skin, and thin dark veins radiated out from the wound in every direction. Forcing herself not to panic, Cinders looked around for burdock root, chervil— anything she could use to help heal it. It was obvious that if this wound went untreated, she could die.

When a desperate survey of the— was it some kind of den?— yielded no results, Cinders could no longer hold back the panic in her chest. It curled into her veins and choked her until she could barely breathe and until the world spun in flashing colors before her eyes. Closing her eyes tightly and gulping in as much air as she could, Cinders willed herself to calm down. When she opened them, the world was normal again.

Cinders considered her options. She could either stay here and hope something good would happen soon, something that would free her from whatever this place was. Or she could try to escape herself. Her desperation chose the last option for her. Limping over to the nearest side of the odd den, Cinders stopped and stared.

The wall was completely transparent, and behind it, trees and grass and sky flashed by in a dizzying display of speed. A faint, catlike shape stared back at her from the wall, and Cinders realized suddenly it was her reflection. Cinders mentally berated herself— she needed to concentrate. Standing up on her hind legs, she began to scratch ferociously at the transparent wall.

Five minutes passed, and she was left with nothing but throbbing back legs and an unbroken wall. It was still as smooth as before, minus the barely visible thin white scratches that marred its surface in places. Though she didn't see any other cat around, Cinders made a crucial decision and yowled desperately for help.

She screeched again and again and again, letting the desperate cry echo around the enclosure she was trapped in until her ears and throat ached from overuse. Cinders stopped for a second to catch her breath and heard what sounded like faint, angry shouting, though she couldn't pinpoint the direction it came from.

A few seconds later, an odd hissing noise came from all sides. Cinders looked around in confusion and spotted a circular hole in the top of the den with what looked like fog coming out of it. The fog was quickly filling up the enclosure, and its acrid smell, far stronger than the underlying scent of the enclosure, finally reached Cinders' nose. Alarms went off in every corner of her head and she struggled to find a way out of the sea of fog that surrounded her on all sides— to no avail.

A few seconds later, she was asleep on the floor.

by Catty