PT: Fffff. I haven't written for Warriors in a while, huh. This was written in my notebook in my cabin on the way from Italy to Greece. And as soon as I returned home to New York, I typed this down. This quality, however, is not my best -groans- I felt like trying another writing style, so...
Disclaimer: Warriors is not mine. Sucks to be me.
--
The eagle flew at him again, screeching; its eyes were bright coals, its claws hooked thorns.
And all he could do was mewl, frozen, as the talons descended upon his head.
--
This was it, then. The end.
The whole Tribe had gathered, eyes wide, and no wonder -- they were leaping from the falls. Whispers were everywhere, and hope and dread. For this was the end.
Or near to it.
Talon held himself up proudly; proud that he was to save his Tribe, proud that he was chosen by his noble ancestors. Proud, fierce, and more than ready.
To protect.
That was all that his life had asked for and that was the most he had. It was both want and need.
His fellow chosen were gathered about him, and he looked ahead. Somewhere, where he was gazing, was Sharptooth, the menace who as of yet had not withdrawn that claw dangling over their heads. Somewhere out there was some graceless creature coming and going as it pleased, picking off one cat after another.
His sister could just be the next.
If he was to keep his purpose to keep she whom he loved the most, she who loved him the most, then he was ready. To face Sharptooth, fulfill the prophecy, protect Tribe and kin. Ensure a future that that would not be marred the way his mother's had been.
This...this was what he wanted the most, above all.
A presence; a familiar scent, the brush of the softest pelt against his. Thus his eyes widened in total recognition, as he breathed, so lowly, one name...
"Are you ready?" spoke the voice that only he heard.
He nodded only after he had felt his heart for the hardness and was rewarded.
"Then go. The Tribe of Endless Hunting is with you. My son..."
"Yes." He knew. His warrior ancestors...
"Talon!" cried the voice of a she-cat; his eyes widened, and the presence followed when he whirled about: There was Brook, his sister, who was in all her lovely and caring glory. She was here!
"Brook," he meowed as she neared.
Sacrifice.
He was not unconscious of Stoneteller's voice announcing their leave; it sounded like dismissal, thought it was not; it was speed from the Tribe. Talon lifted his chin to face his sister when she arrived; their noses bumped together.
"Are you ready, brother?" she breathed; their gazes were locked, familiar gazes.
There was worry in those sisterly eyes.
She was young, younger than him, and all he had left, if not his home.
This resolve...it strengthened all the more. "I am ready," he meowed proudly, "ready to protect."
She nodded, still looking, staring.
When would the next time be...the next time he would see her face? He hoped it to be see, at least ever.
"Farewell, Brook," he intoned, before turning. Still, her gaze was upon him, in his fur.
Leaving.
For her.
One by one, the chosen cats began. One by one, they left the cave for one last time. Their home. To serve their purpose.
Talon walked. Padded. Jogged. Ran.
"Farewell, Talon!" was the echo as he burst past the waterfall, in the cold, cold air.
He had nothing to say.
Out he rushed, with others, all as one chosen to protect. His nose stung, his eyes watered; snow exploded about him, flattened beneath his paws. His heart, it iced over with fire. Under the cold white moon, he went onward, to destroy a common menace.
To protect.