Razorfang waited, working the muddied snow with his claws, as he watched Ghostclaw catch her breath. "Well?" "We delivered your message. And the attack?" He curled his lips in disgust. "We scored a victory." Mudpelt muttered, "If we took more cats, we could've won." "As you wish, Razorfang," Ghostclaw said. The mist grew thicker and thicker, obscuring the tom's vision. The pain dimmed, and suddenly the mist cleared, revealing a grassy pasture bathed in sunlight. Something told him that wasn't right; he could hear the winter wind howling somewhere in the distance, but the hills called him to them.