December 29, 2016
In the damp morning air, the forest was coming to life. Bugs sang their songs below blades of grass while birds swooped and chirped above the trees. Some creatures scurried along trunks, others slithered over rocks, a lively balance in the way they survived and hunted.
But all of their noise was silenced when the forest's true predator stalked beneath the brambles.
Sleek hides slipped noiselessly over dried leaves and fallen twigs. Pelts varied from whites to browns, some sporting stripes or spots. Eyes flashed in various shades, each one more vicious then the last. The striking contrast of ivory teeth against their muzzles as they snarled silently was starling.
But other than the sudden quiet, their approach would not be heard. Their intrusion in the forest remaining unknown until they had already reached the bramble walls that had been painstakingly crafted. Walls that broke and crumbled as the foreign patrol advanced.
Yowls of alarm raised in the air, but they were warnings that came much too late.
The attack on the camp was strong and well-planned. Cats collided with cats. Blood splatted the ground. One cat fell and never got up again, and then another and another; it was quickly becoming clear to the defenders that this wasn't a fight over territory, this was becoming a slaughter.
Some tried to escape by wiggling out of the camp walls, only to be confronted by lines of enemy warriors, simply waiting to finish off whoever tried to run. Warriors. Apprentices. Elders. Queens. And kits. None were shown mercy that day. And as the last pained cry echoed into silence and only the enemy remained, shouts of victory filled the air. The smell of fear and blood carrying on the wind.
ThunderClan was no more.