All was silent. The canyon was still, the night circle's light beaming down on the canyon. A slight breeze caused a nearby tree's plants to flutter in wind, all was quiet. The silence was shattered by a large male sharptooth, over 60 feet in length, his black spinal sail covered in scars.
The fin-back lifted his heavily scarred head, looking to the moon. His red eye's contracted slightly as he pondered his next move. A slow growl of frustration came out of his jaw, and he turned to his pack.
Over 100 sharpteeth stood behind him, all various types, Blade-backs, Big-Biters, Horned Sharpteeth, Fast-Biters, all kinds. "We will move out tommorow, we must rest here for the night." He said, and his pack began to lie down to sleep.
However one large male Big-Biter approached him. He was dark green, nearly as large as the Fin-Back, with one of his eyes squeezed shut. "Our pack is half starved, we require food." Bladefang said to the Fin-Back.
"I know, our scouts have reported a herd of duck-bills not more then a mile off, we can catch ourselves food tommorow." Darkclaw replied. Bladefang nodded, but his face still showed discontent.
"Don't worry, you will get to kill that long-neck when we get to our target." Darkclaw continued. Bladefang's one working eye narrowed as the memory returned to his mind of his near death experience at the hands of...hatchlings.
"Yes, I know, but first we have to link up with Redclaw." Bladefang pointed out. Darkclaw nodded. They needed their ally, the supposed last surviving member of the dreaded Sharptooth Triumvirate.
Both remembered their glory days, the days when they and their followers had enslaved entire flatteeth herds, using them as live-stock, ruling a territory many times larger then the normal sharptooth territory.
Darkclaw snarled at the thought of the failure. All those years ago, that battle occurred. The Battle of the Great Valley, the place where he could have ended the last area of resistance to his rule.
The fight was decisive, but not in his favor. He lost so many good soldiers, and soon his territory was vulnerable. Many sharpteeth formed their own large packs and invaded his territory, hoping to increase their hunting ground.
His army resisted of course, but he had neither the numbers nor the morale to go on. As the last of his armies were destroyed in those last few hours of war, he and his most loyal followers fled.
Bladefang and Redclaw were seperated from him and his soldiers, and soon both assumed eachother dead, and continued a reign of terror in their territories.
Bladefang was injured badly hunting small prey, and only his soldiers rescuing of him saved his life. As bladefang was nursed back to health, Darkclaw began rebuilding his army.
Now they were nearly ready to resume carving out their empire, and soon, they would hold the world by its throat. Darkclaw roared his rage to the heavens, it was nearly time for war.