The sun shone through the clouds and fell gently on the ground beneath her paws. The ice season appeared to be coming to an end soon. The snow was slowly starting to melt and prey were beginning to return to the hunting grounds. She was too young to remember what the sunny season was like. Her memories were clouded when she tried to remember her kithood. She could remember she was born in the wet season, or at least around that time, and that she grew up in the sunny and cold seasons. Her father considered her grown up by the time the ice season began and left her to live on her own. 

She didn't have many fond memories of him. He was her only parent as far as she could remember. Her mother left, or at least that's what he told her. She was no fool. She knew he was a liar. He had done something to her, but he refused to tell her what it was. She was glad he was gone.

She stopped once she reached a body of water. A creek perhaps? No, it seemed too big to be a creek. It was a river, but it wasn't frozen. That was unusual. There were stones that allowed her to reach the island in the center. Her eyes fell on the massive stone pillars that stood on the ground on the island. They didn't seem completely natural. It was like someone or something had put them there. Was this the land her father spoke of in his stories? He had told her to never venture to the valley. He spoke of hills and mountains, rivers and waterfalls, forests and prairies. It was always a fascinating place until he spoke of the dangers. He always spoke ill of the cats who lived in the valley. She was curious about the tales. Perhaps these crazed, horrific cats knew more about the strange abilities she possessed. Maybe it was best if she didn't learn about them at all. After all, her abilities had killed her littermates. She didn't want to cause anyone more harm. Her father taught her how to keep it from killing herself, but that was all he taught her. She knew he had the abilities as well, as she saw him use them in cruel ways to other cats. She was never interested in hurting anyone.

The lynx-point molly crossed the river on the cold, wet stones that made a path. Once she arrived in the center, her eyes widened in fascination. There were strange coloured markings on the stone pillars. There weren't a lot, and they appeared very vividly, as if they were just recently added to the pillars. She pressed her paw against one of the strange markings curiously, but they felt no different than the pillars themselves. What a peculiar place. She was intruiged. 

The smell of another cat had her hackles raise immediately. She was used to the harsh place in the mountains outside of the valley. It was kill or be killed. She got ready for a fight, but the molly clearly wasn't capable of taking on a stronger cat. She wasn't very strong to begin with.