Post by Shinko on Apr 29, 2010 18:22:40 GMT -5
Malice glanced up into the sky, a purr rising in her throat. It was the full moon, the time for the monthly Gathering. On these nights, a truce was held between all four Clans. Most of the defenses had been pulled out of the territory and back to the camp itself, and a great many of the warriors from each of the Clans left their territory entirely. Among those to leave were always the leader, deputy, and medicine cat. This practice was, of course, unremarked upon. It was the night of truce, the one night the Clans could relax their vigilance, for who would risk StarClan's anger by launching an attack on the Full Moon?
In short, it was the perfect night to enact the second phase of her plot to set the Clans at war.
Her nose wrinkled against the foul stench that clung to her fur, Malice stood. A dip in the river that afternoon had washed off the scent of crowfood that marked her as a rogue, and a good roll in the DarkClan scent markers had sealed the deal. With any luck, no cat old enough or canny enough to recognize the reclusive CloudClan warrior who hid at the back of the crowd during Gatherings and only spoke with a certain LeafClan warrior would come across her on this night.
She trotted away from the border, into the territory of the forest fools of LeafClan. Any sense of compassion she may have once felt for them had died with Redfern. They were only one more group of cats to be destroyed.
* * * * *
Brindlepaw sighed, staring up through the thick canopy to the stretch of stars that was Silverpelt. Somewhere up there was his mother, the cat who had died to give him his hallow, miserable life. It would have been better if she had lived without having me. He thought sadly.
He was not attending tonight's Gathering. His shoulder injury would have seen to that, even if his youth hadn't. Most of his Clanmates were back at camp, enjoying the night off. Brindlepaw could not bear to stay near the other apprentices and face their scorn thought. So he had left camp on his own, sneaking away before Blackpaw noted his absence.
Suddenly, a wave of reek washed over the apprentice, and he only had a split second to identify that scent of DarkClan before something bowled him over from the side. He yowled with pain as claws bit deep into the tender flesh of his stomach. Kicked out with his back legs, managing to score a blow to his enemy's face. The attacker leapt backwards with a hiss of pain. Brindlepaw scrambled to his feet, trying to identify the warrior, but she had slunk into the darkness of the thicket and it was impossible to make out more than that she had a pair of glowing golden eyes.
Then, this warrior (who from the reek that clung to her pelt must have been from DarkClan) charged towards him again. He stumbled a few steps backwards, but his wounded shoulder betrayed him, giving out as he tried to turn to run away. The she-cat was on him again, her teeth closing on his scruff so hard that she drew blood. A paw sailed towards his face so fast that he barely had time to register it before a wash of pain sliced through his face. He screeched with agony. He tried to roll over to kick her again, but that was his undoing. As soon as he had gotten sideways, she dove for his exposed throat. Brindlepaw wanted to yowl with pain, but he could barely breath. He struggled to get loose, but blackness was welling up in his oxygen deprived mind.
At that moment, the sound of frantic footsepts in the brush heralded the arrival of his Clanmates from the camp, drawn by the commotion of the fight. Brindlepaw's attacker hissed with frustration, releasing his neck and vanishing into the thicket. With the pressure of her fangs off of his neck, the apprentice took several great gulps of air, whimpering in pain as his torn throat protested. Then, the blackness that had hovered on the edge of his consciousness overtook him and he fainted.
In short, it was the perfect night to enact the second phase of her plot to set the Clans at war.
Her nose wrinkled against the foul stench that clung to her fur, Malice stood. A dip in the river that afternoon had washed off the scent of crowfood that marked her as a rogue, and a good roll in the DarkClan scent markers had sealed the deal. With any luck, no cat old enough or canny enough to recognize the reclusive CloudClan warrior who hid at the back of the crowd during Gatherings and only spoke with a certain LeafClan warrior would come across her on this night.
She trotted away from the border, into the territory of the forest fools of LeafClan. Any sense of compassion she may have once felt for them had died with Redfern. They were only one more group of cats to be destroyed.
* * * * *
Brindlepaw sighed, staring up through the thick canopy to the stretch of stars that was Silverpelt. Somewhere up there was his mother, the cat who had died to give him his hallow, miserable life. It would have been better if she had lived without having me. He thought sadly.
He was not attending tonight's Gathering. His shoulder injury would have seen to that, even if his youth hadn't. Most of his Clanmates were back at camp, enjoying the night off. Brindlepaw could not bear to stay near the other apprentices and face their scorn thought. So he had left camp on his own, sneaking away before Blackpaw noted his absence.
Suddenly, a wave of reek washed over the apprentice, and he only had a split second to identify that scent of DarkClan before something bowled him over from the side. He yowled with pain as claws bit deep into the tender flesh of his stomach. Kicked out with his back legs, managing to score a blow to his enemy's face. The attacker leapt backwards with a hiss of pain. Brindlepaw scrambled to his feet, trying to identify the warrior, but she had slunk into the darkness of the thicket and it was impossible to make out more than that she had a pair of glowing golden eyes.
Then, this warrior (who from the reek that clung to her pelt must have been from DarkClan) charged towards him again. He stumbled a few steps backwards, but his wounded shoulder betrayed him, giving out as he tried to turn to run away. The she-cat was on him again, her teeth closing on his scruff so hard that she drew blood. A paw sailed towards his face so fast that he barely had time to register it before a wash of pain sliced through his face. He screeched with agony. He tried to roll over to kick her again, but that was his undoing. As soon as he had gotten sideways, she dove for his exposed throat. Brindlepaw wanted to yowl with pain, but he could barely breath. He struggled to get loose, but blackness was welling up in his oxygen deprived mind.
At that moment, the sound of frantic footsepts in the brush heralded the arrival of his Clanmates from the camp, drawn by the commotion of the fight. Brindlepaw's attacker hissed with frustration, releasing his neck and vanishing into the thicket. With the pressure of her fangs off of his neck, the apprentice took several great gulps of air, whimpering in pain as his torn throat protested. Then, the blackness that had hovered on the edge of his consciousness overtook him and he fainted.
