Clover looked up into the empty sky. The moon was shining high in the sky; it was past moonhigh. Still, Chestnut had not returned. Her mother had left, taking Clover's father, Applefur, to his home in the Big Forest. She had not returned, leaving her scent fading as the sky grew darker and lighter with the coming dawn. Clover sighed. She wondered wearily if the Big Forest was far away. Maybe Chestnut knew she would return late? The thought didn't satisfy Clover, but it was enough to get her to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Clover woke with her fur clinging to her skinny frame. The smell of water told Clover it had rained that night, and the cold that suffocated her body made her aware of her mother's expiry. So she hadn't come back late. She wasn't coming back at all!

Clover forced herself not to panic, and instead retired from the safety and shelter of the old Twoleg box left in the alley where Clover and Chestnut made their home. Puddles swirled around her paws, uncomfortable and deep, leaving her paws dripping every time she stepped out of one. She couldn't turn back. She had to find her mother.

Clover pushed her way through the soggy, hard sea of rock and icky smells. She came out at a little gap in the small alley, opening to a wide, busy Thunderpath. Still, no sign of Chestnut. Her scent trail led to the side of the path, where Clover stopped dead. Her mother lay there, bent in the wrong way, blood smearing down her sides. Chestnut sat lifeless. Chestnut was dead.