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Coldpaw padded down to the Moonpool, where the stars glistened in thousands of bright lights. He had felt a sudden urge to consult with his Warrior Ancestors, and had gone a long way from CreekClan territory to here, where their voices were clearest.

He lay down and touched his nose to the surface of the star-water. It was as hot as flame and cold as ice, and seemed to burn and freeze Coldpaw's entire being. He was transported to a silver world of stars and greenleaf. A slight breeze brought the scents of much prey and herbs.

"StarClan, are you there?" he called. There was no answer. But then three shapes seemed to melt out of the blackness of the undergrowth. One, a small grey tabby with blue eyes, led the trio. Two others, one black with green eyes, the other golden with amber eyes, flanked him. All three radiated a power so strong it took Coldpaw's breath away.

In unison, the cats spoke. "We are the Three that should have been. No longer was our destiny intertwained as it should."

Everything was fading. In the darkness, a figure emerged, like a solitary shadow. It was furless, with blind, bulging eyes which stared straight at Coldpaw. In his paws lay a stick. A stick with scratches on it. The cat turned to the stick, then slowly drew his claw over three of the markings, as if it were caressing them. Then, looking back at the young apprentice, it made a line directly over the others.

The being began to also disappear, but an ancient voice rang throughout the shadows.

"There will be Three, old to the new, who hold the power of the stars in their paws."

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Rainflower padded down the rocky path that led to the Mooncreek. She sighed as the cool autumn breeze ruffled her fur. Maybe she would get some answers tonight. She turned her beautiful black head to see if Thunderpaw was catching up.

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