Come now, surely you've heard of me? I'm quite famous in these parts now, the stuff of tales told to the braver kits by moonlight. I'm the hunter in your dreams, the one stalking the edges of your consciousness, just waiting for you to break. I'm the stuff of nightmares, my dear, but you won't be dreaming this time.
No? Well, I suppose we'll have time for introductions later. After all, I have all the time in the world.
He lounged in the swaybacked branch of the ancient oak, concealed by the shadows that curled over him like outstretched claws. He was almost perfectly still, the gleam of his eyes the only sign of life in the dense woodland. Softly, he clicked long, curved claws against the tree's bark. Watching. Waiting.
You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment, my dear.
His eyes glowed bright for a moment, eerily pale and yellow as the leafbare moon, ears pricked as he listened for something in the quiet forest. The wind whistled past him, the leaves in the tree whispering softly as they fluttered in the breeze. He closed his eyes, letting his ears do the watching for him.
It's simply been too long, my dear. You're all grown up now and probably won't even recognize me these days. A good thing, too. I'm not him anymore. He died many, many moons ago. You'll find me a changed cat.
Somewhere, not far off, he could hear the water trickling through the creek.
You've changed too. Grew up to be a pretty little thing, not at all that scrawny kitten I remember. I suppose we've all had to change. Time does that to you. Time and suffering.
Wind whispering in the branches of the ancient trees, hissing like an adder.
And we've known plenty of suffering in our time, you and I both. But yours stopped, didn't it? You got your happy ending, your loving mate and adoring kits. You're a respected little Clanner now, aren't you, my dear? The past is all behind you now. You've moved on, nearly forgotten all about that other life. It's little more than a half-remembered dream to you now. Except in your nightmares, of course, the ones where you wake screaming.
Those were from me, because I haven't forgotten the past. I remember exactly what happened, and I'll have my revenge.
The soft giggling of kits at play.
I haven't forgotten, and I never will.
The crunching of the undergrowth under a cat's paws.
Ah, here we are. Where are you, my dear? You're going to miss the show, and you're the star attraction.
From his perch, the pale-eyed tom watched as the newcomer padded into view, a young cat with a pelt dark as smoke. He slunk low in the thick undergrowth, little more than a shadow amongst the brambles and bushes. He opened his mouth, drawing in the scents of the forest. Nestled in the shadows, the cat in the tree smirked to himself.
This must be your son, my dear. It's quite obvious. Something about the eyes, I think. I must say congratulations. He looks to be a fine young tom. Must have had a good father.
But wait, his father died, didn't he? Such a tragedy, to lose your lover like that. Found dead on enemy territory, wasn't it? Not to worry, my dear, I'm sure it was just an accident. Although, one does have to wonder what he was doing off CreekClan territory.
The tom in the tree shifted slightly to get a better view. I do believe he's caught a scent. Time for the show to start. With a single sinuous movement, he sprang from the tree's branches to land noiselessly on the ground, crouching low in the bushes.
The dark cat's eyes were fixed on the plump rabbit before him, expression undeniably ravenous as he stalked forward on silent paws. The yellow-eyed tom flicked his tail, and the wind abruptly changed direction, the young Clanner's scent blowing directly towards the prey.
The rabbit looked up, spotting the black tom immediately, and darted away. The dark CreekClan tom's eyes widened in horror and desperation, and he raced after the rabbit. His hidden audience chuckled quietly and turned his gaze to the other hunter out this morning.
Before our little game begins, my dear, I would like you to know that I had nothing to do with the Twoleg being here this morning. It's a creature of habit, you see, coming to hunt in the same places. All I did was nudge your son in the right direction, that's all. So you mustn't blame the Twoleg; it's just a stupid beast. Dangerous, but stupid.
He watched, still smirking, as the young cat cornered the rabbit. He closed his eyes for a moment. Listening. Waiting. Relishing the moment of triumph. Then, there it was, a crack like thunder exploding overhead and the young tom's agonized screams. He opened his eyes to see the Twoleg walking away quickly, apparently displeased with the mangling of the young tom. As soon as it was gone, he rose to his paws and strolled over to the injured tom.
Blood gushed out of the gaping hole in his side, the crimson startlingly bright against his black fur. The young tom stiffened as he saw the stranger approach, pale green eyes searching his face beseechingly as the pained screeching faded into broken, raspy whispers. "Hel—ple—," he choked out, gasping for breath in between every unintelligible plea.
The yellow-eyed tom chuckled softly, circling the wounded tom for a moment before lashing out, thorn-sharp claws gleaming in the dappled forest light. His talons ripped over the young warrior's face, his chest, his neck. The cat's lifeblood drizzled out, and the pathetic whimpers turned once again to shrieks of pain as his attacker turned and climbed back into the willow's curved branches.
It's a terrible thing to lose a son, isn't it? I wish I could sympathize, my dear, I really do. But I can't. You see, this is what I've been waiting all these moons for. Your moment of weakness. Your downfall. Your turn to see what it is to be broken down, bit by bit. I have been waiting and planning all these moons, my dear, and you have no idea how good it feels to know that my victory is almost here.
He could hear the others now, the accompanying warriors of the hunting patrol coming to see what had caused the awful noise. They trickled in, one by one. The first wail of horror and grief was earsplitting, so loud that no one heard the laughter of another. "Snowshadow!" one of them shouted, female. "Snowshadow, get over here."
Ah, there you are, my dear. Right on time.
The white she-cat pelted forward, sheltering her son's body. "Get the medicine cat!" she cried. "Someone, go get Poppystorm!" She buried her nose in her son's neck fur, whispering to him. "You have to stay awake," she murmured. "You have to keep fighting."
High up in his perch, satisfaction curled over the yellow-eyed tom's features. His final game had finally begun. All he had left to do was wait.
"And that, my dear," he whispered, "I am very, very good at."