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Occasional squalls clawed at Longstride's fur, stinging his eyes with sand and grit.

He perched on a rocky outcrop, his gaze scanning the vast expanse below. The moon, pale as a gnawed bone, leered from the inky expanse, casting an ethereal glow on the desolate scree. The landscape shimmered, a sea of moonstone dust under its meager light.

In the distance, the serrated teeth of distant mountains loomed, dusted with the last vestiges of winter's frost. The wind, a constant presence in this unforgiving land, howled a mournful dirge. It whistled through the canyons and rattled the hardy desert plants that clung precariously to the rocky slopes.

The moonlit scree stretched out beneath Longstride's vigilant gaze, a panorama of harsh beauty etched in rock and dust.

Gone were the comforting smells of damp earth and pine needles, replaced by the stark scent of windswept rock. Moons had passed since he'd left RidgeClan. His father's harsh words still echoed in his heart, a bitter pang. Too many ghosts walked the forest floor, too many reminders of a life that no longer fit him.

Here, with the Skywalkers, there were no ghosts. Longstride felt a responsibility to these cats, a duty to keep them safe. He took pride in his role as a Runner.

The scree may have offered little comfort, but it provided a vantage point, a necessity for a Runner like him.

A flicker of movement in the area caught his eye. His gaze narrowed to slits, scanning the horizon with predatory intensity. Ears flicked upright, straining to catch the faintest sound.

Years of honed warrior training surged through Longstride's memory, an echo of past battles coiling his muscles like a viper ready to strike. The terrain became a map in his mind, potential escape routes and predator paths flashing before him.

He lowered himself closer to the rocky surface, each step deliberate. The scree crunched faintly under his paws, a discordant note that traveled on the breeze towards the unknown.

It was then that a feral tang pricked his senses – the unmistakable musk of another cat. A deep rumble rose from his chest, echoing through the canyons. "I know yer there. Show yerselves," he boomed, a challenge interwoven with a promise of withheld violence: "No harm will come to ya… if ya mean none yourselves."