A cold crescent moon bore down on the forest, wind frigid, icy winds kicking up waves of snow through the trees. In the middle of it all, a lone figure dragged herself through the snow, leaving a bright trail behind her that marked the flawless white with streaks of red. The figure, a silvery she-cat, knew that she was dying. But Starclan damn her eternally if she died before bringing the new life that was currently in her plump belly into the world. She had discovered her pregnancy just as the first victims of the plague began died; her father, who she looked up to more than any cat in the world, among the first bodies. Almost immediately nearly the entirety of her family fled Waterclan for their lives, with her small group making the long trek to Summerclan, where they knew they had relatives that would take pity on them. Swangrace hissed in pain, clentching her teeth tightly as she hauled herself up into an old, hollow log. But the journey had made her too weak. Combined with her family history of difficult and painful kittings, the warrior knew the chances of her surviving this were slim to none. That didn't matter. For as long as she could remember, all Swangrace had ever wanted were kits of her own, but until now, she thought she never could. Her family would be alright, they always were. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would take care of them.

Her little stars.