"You cannot expect us to leave, Fox's Snows!"
"Do you expect us to live like wandering rouges?!"
"ENOUGH! Rabbit's Tail, The Tribe of Rushing Water has already claimed the closest territory, and we all know the Tribe of Spreading Plain DIED when they tried to fight the monsters on their territory! If the Tribe of Frozen Pine are to survive, we must leave. NOW. Fetch the kits, we have to MOVE."
"We'll all freeze!"
"Well hopefully, the twolegs will first."
In the generations since, we became known as the Tribe of Ice. We are the thick-furred cats of the tundra, the unfreeze-able fighters of the glacier. The Ancestors still watched over us, although not like in the ways of the past. Our life, and the lives of our kits, should not be possible. But still, we live. But still, we fight. But still, we look to the skies. To the snowdrifts.
