Smokepaw's ear twitched. A fly was buzzing around the ThunderClan apprentice's den, and noisily decided to land on his ear. Sunlight filtered into the den and the young cat turned his head back into his nest. Strangely it was quite moist. Rain must've fallen during the night, and Smokepaw sniffed. All he could smell was fresh-kill.
There were several flies in the den, buzzing around in silence. The cry of an eagle jolted the young cat awake and he opened his eyes.
Suddenly Smokepaw remembered the attack. His heart throbbed in his throat. All around him were bodies. Bodies of his friends, bodies of his family, bodies of cats from another Clan. And there was so much blood, covering his own gray pelt and.. everything.
He stood up, and his paw landed on his friend Quailpaw. It sank into her open ribcage and Smokepaw felt bile rise into his throat. No noise came out of his mouth; his growing fearscent filled his mouth yet did not overcome the scent of blood and death.
Smokepaw ran out of the den to his camp, where Ripplestar lay on top of three dead kits with his jaws bared. Warriors who died fighting lay in puddles of dried blood.
Smokepaw's mentor, Thrushtail, was by the rock ledge. Her skull was smashed and shards of it lay around her bloodstained tortoiseshell pelt. Her apprentice made his way to her, picking his way through the bodies with his eyes shut tightly. When he got to the dead she-cat, he gagged on the stench of her corpse, which was stronger than most of the other bodies.
He lay his head on her shoulder, and whispered a prayer to StarClan.
There would be no survivors, except for him.
Tears running down his cheeks carved a path through the blood caked on his soft fur. He ran out of the camp and into the forest, breathing in the scents of trees. He had to leave.
So he ran. As fast as his legs could carry him.
He never looked back.