Prologue
The grey tom cat bared his teeth and let out a threatening hiss.
A white cat crouched over four young squirming kits. They let out tiny mews of terror. The white she-cat let out a yowl. Her ice blue eyes glittered fiercley. Around them was ice, glinting in the moonlight.
There was a battle cry, then a yowl of pain that abruptly cut off.
Eyes glowed then flicked around uncertainly. The grey tom let out such a yowl full of grief, anger, and pain, then he launched himself forward, clawing and biting at everything in sight. Blood spattered the clearing and yowls of pain echoed off the trees. Then it was silent except for the quiet breeze and the soft mewling of the kits: the only survivors. The grey tom was alive though. He drug himself over to the kits and dead she-cat before collapsing to the ground. The wind blew into the hollow, ruffling the fur of the cats. It seemed to whisper, "The chosen ones have arrived."