Creeping, creeping
In the night
Looking for
A victim.
Dog-tooth claws,
Hit the ground
Leaving holes
Like gaping maws.
Blood stained collar,
Studded with teeth,
Catch a leaf.
Rip, shred,
The leaf is dead.
Crazy grin,
Sharp teeth
Do not care
If prey they eat.
A camp,
A camp,
Soon will be damp
From the blood
Of all but Scourge.
Pass the nursery, a tiny snack?
Hesitation, yet Scourge turns his back.
The kits must wait until later,
They are second raters.
There is one who must be dead by the end of the night.
The leader's den!
At last!
Long last!
But the cats will rise,
So Scourge must be fast.
Enter the den,
Meet a sleeping cat.
Quiet, peaceful half-brother, and well fed
HE is the one who must be dead.
He stirs, about to wake,
But Scourge's claws,
They are not fake.
A slash,
A slash,
From toe to head,
And FIRESTAR will soon be dead.
He snaps awake!
But far too late!
He thrashes and wails,
but then he spies,
A glint of ice-blue;
Scourge's eyes.
Is he dead?
Is dead?
His stomach is bright red.
Yes, he is dead.
Scourge rips and twists,
there are the guts.
Dinner for Scourge.
Sandstorm awakes,
She enters the den,
and stifles a scream.
Scourge turns,
hunger in his eyes,
Which is the last thing,
Sandstorm ever spies.
All of ThunderClan is dead,
All the others will be soon.
Scourge's fur is bright red,
But he is not dead.