The dawning sun rose, casting soft light on a meadow stained with blood. The sky was painted with a vivid shade scarlet; it seemed that the colour was leaching from the clouds onto the grass.
But the writhing cats on the battle field had no time to herald the new day; if they stopped fighting, they would die. And that would be rated as a defeat- an insufferable fate. They had no choice but to weave, duck, dodge, bite and fight.
A slim white she-cat leapt onto the back of a large ginger tabby, claws flashing. She sank her teeth into his throat with a gush of red that stained her sleek fur scarlet and hid the black speckles on her pelt. The tabby fell with a gurgling roar, but the she-cat had already moved on, searching for her next opponent.
Her name was Dawnshade, and she was warrior born and bred. She lived to fight, relished the spilling of blood. She'd been trained to fight since the age of six moons- the only cat that could rival her skills was her father Firstar. The fact that the two Clans, BirchClan and CreekClan, had been warring for seasons suited her just fine.
A black she-cat yowled and threw herself at the white warrior. She was a BirchClan cat; she reeked of dead leaves and rotting wood. Dawnshade slipped underneath the she-cat as she soared over her, then slashed upwards at her exposed stomach with her blood-stained black claws. The she-cat crashed into the ground. The slick gleam of intestines peeked through her fur.
Dawnshade left the gasping warrior and moved on. Cats howled in rage and pain all around her. More blood left their havens of veins and arteries to pool on the green grass of the meadow. It did not take much skill to decide that CreekClan was winning; they always did, took thrashing their weaker enemy in their stride. They normally deserved it anyway. They stole prey, overstepped boundaries. This time they'd chased a furious badger into CreekClan territory. It had cost them a warrior and a respected elder before they had managed to drive it off.
Firstar was enraged. At the Gathering, he had accused Petalstar with the indirect murder of his cats and launched an attack on the unsuspecting BirchClan. The stars watched on impassively, until the rising sun had clouded them from sight. CreekClan had gotten their victory. They only battled on to make a point:
We are better, stronger, faster than you. Do not mess with us or we'll make you sorry.
BirchClan, no doubt, were regreting their actions by now.
Dawnshade, her white teeth buried in the throat of a small yellow tom, watched her father dodge a wild blow from Petalstar. He batted her paw aside before cuffing her roughly around her ears. She let out a yowl that was lost in the cacophony of battle, and staggered.
Suddenly, the Dawnshade was ripped away from her convulsing victim by a snarling grey tabby tom.
"Murderer!" he spat, lashing his tail. His claws sprang from their sheaths and ripped into the ground with an impassioned fury.
"Who, me?" Dawnshade asked demurely, backing up a step. The grey tom watched her move- but not closely enough. He was taken by surprise when she leapt at him. She effortlessly bowled him over and raked her claws down his stomach. The manoeuver elicited an agonised snarl from his throat. He'd underestimated her strength. They always did; it only made killing them easier.
However, she did not expect the tom's sudden, desperate burst of adrenaline. His feet flew towards her stomach and planted in it with a quiet ompff. She fell away, trying to suck air into her winded lungs. The tom struggled to his paws, eyes narrowed, but by the time he managed to remember how to walk, she'd already recovered and regained her feet.
"My, whatever gave you the clue?" Dawnshade hissed, streaking forwards and slamming her bulk into his chest. He coughed and fell onto his back again, the wounds on his stomach leaking more blood. The grass beneath him was slick with it.
"You..you killed...him," he wheezed, eyelids fluttering. He did not see her fangs find his throat, the vicious movement that claimed his life. He didn't see her turn and spring back into the seething fray; he was too busy dying.
A familiar shriek drew Dawnshade's attention. Itchilled her unspilt blood, froze her in place. She knew that voice, had grown up with it. For the first time since the battle began, she felt fear inching through her veins.
She whipped her head to the side, searching, eyes wide with horror. Rivermist lay on her back, her soft grey fur doused in blood. Her mouth was open in a silent wail. A wiry she-cat had her pinned. She snarled in triumph and raised her paw to strike a death-blow.
Another screech broke through Dawnshade's haze of panic; she jerked her gaze away from her prone friend. Shockingly, the Clan's prodigy, the one next in line to be deputy, had been cornered against a tree. Two scarred toms blocked any escape route there might have been. Frozenstorm, his pale grey pelt matted with blood, growled defiantly, but it was clear he had no room to fight. He would die, in a mere matter of moments.
Yet so would Rivermist.
Danwshade hesitated. Torn. But only for a moment, an agonizing moment, before she made her decision.
Then she was off, racing across the sodden meadow, dodging brawling cats with hisses and snarls. Her movements felt too slow, sluggish, as if she were moving underwater. She cursed herself for her brief pause and urged herself on faster.
Her heart- however blackened and shrivelled it may be- ached with the weight of her decision.
The pained moment was over; she launched herself at the tabby warrior, sinking her claws into their pelt and ripping them away from their target. She fell on them with a feral cry, ripping through their pelt and into their skin, burying her pain under a river of blood.
A terrified shriek heralded the death of Rivermist.