Apologies for late updating-I've been on holiday for the past two weeks. Back to regular updating now!

If there was a person in the world-human or beast-who had the power to look upon all of history's dark events, it would be interesting to observe their catalysts; that is, the precise moment when the conflict becomes unavoidable. You might be surprised to learn that many wars, murders and other black splotches on the scroll of time were caused by relatively harmless situations in themselves. The mouse that decides to travel towards the oak tree is the catalyst to its own death as the owl swoops down from the sky upon silent wings. World War One would have been avoided entirely had a young man not been eating a sandwich when Franz Ferdinand drove past.

But the catalyst for what would be later remembered as the War of Fangs was an innocent young she-deer, a hind, who ignored the warnings of her herd and trotted into the mountains-wolf territory. Two wolves, whose packs were hostile towards one another, stumbled across her trail and began to fight in a battle that would result in the death of one and the serious injury of the other. The hind escaped unharmed. Her name was Meladi, and she appears once more in the War of Fangs. This is not that moment. This moment dictates the second catalyst of the War.

That night was considered to be one of the darkest days in the history of cats. All nights are dark days; but this night was marked by the promise of violence and the smell of war on the wind.
No cat actually saw what occurred in the shadowy forests of RiverClan territory, though one she-cat would hear about it from the participants involved, and many cats would shiver in their dens as the voices of wild hunters floated through the night.

It began with a black wolf, a wolf whose feverish yellow eyes glinted with simmering rage and pain. A loop of shining wire was crushing his hind paw, and every time he tried to pull free the wire seemed to tighten further.
To distract himself from his agony, and to gain revenge on the she-cat who had tricked him using the only means he had at his disposal, he threw his muzzle through the cold stars and howled. There was nothing articulate or poetic about his song; just one word, repeated icily over and over again, to frighten the prey in the area and perhaps work upon the she-cat's mind.

Mistystar.
Mistystar.
He called her name, again and again, nose glands straining to pick up the scent of her fear, wanting to sense her unease. But the RiverClan leader was strong-willed, and he knew that she would not fall to his words. Other cats might, though. Their minds were so weak and easy to break. He would enjoy whispering the truth of their pathetic lives when he had them between his paws.

His hatred had sustained him through the long nights and days. Hunger did not bother him; it would take much more than just a week without food to weaken a wolf. His thirst was becoming acute, though he could keep it at bay by licking the dew off nearby leaves. He could not sleep, could not groom himself, could do nothing but wait for his chance to come. And that was when his bloodlust kept him company. Day and night, Chénmò howled until his throat closed and became another source of pain. Then he would wait for it to pass before howling again.
The moon had risen quite high in the sky while the black wolf waited. And then: a miracle.
A new song, floating through the dark air, music to his scarred ears.
Who are you? Where are you?

A female, then, and judging by the deep tone of the howl, a large one. Probably an alpha. The idea that a pack might be nearby lent fresh strength to his paws.
I am Chénmò dan Kynren, once beta wolf of the Omagh Pack, he replied. What name may I give you?
There was a slight pause before a response.
…I am Laryissa del Destino, alpha wolf of the Destino Pack. Come to me.
I cannot, for I am bound.
Bound? By what, or whom?
A spasm of rage worked its way through his body. By cats.
Then you and I are packmates in suffering, Chénmò dan Kynren, for I too have a score to settle with the Clans.

I care nothing for the other Clans. But I will exterminate the river vermin myself.
A silver glittering marked the edge of his vision as the she-wolf approached him. Her bearing was neither hostile nor submissive.
"A Kynren wolf," Matilda said quietly. "Then I think you know all too well why these cats must be destroyed."
"Free me, del Destino, and I will tell you a story that you will hear nowhere else."
The alpha nodded, and she turned to the fox-trap.
The trap was set up quite simply. Two poles sat opposite each other and a shining wire ran between them. Underneath the wire straddled the metal noose which had captured her fellow wolf's paw. Calmly, she padded over to the wooden pole which had the loop attached to it and snapped the strand cleanly in her jaws. With a shudder of rage, Chénmò forced his paw out of the noose. Matilda watched him with penetrating eyes. "You have a tale for me?"

Chénmò ran his tongue several times across his injury before sitting down and speaking.
"She-wolf, you must know the bones of the story as well as anyone who has an ear for the delta wolves. Many, many seasons ago, not long after the Great Divide where humans and wolves turned on one another, there were many wolf packs. Human territory was small and isolated; there was plenty of space for us to raise our young and hunt prey without fear of danger…"
"…and fights between rivals were few and far between because wolf territories were so large that you could wander for a moon and not find the border. I know this."
Chénmò snarled. "You may be an alpha, she-wolf, but this is my story to tell and I would regard it a great kindness if you would remain silent while I speak." Her eyes glittered, but she inclined her head.

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "The Kynren Pack of those days, my ancestors, lived in a particularly lush section of land surrounding a lake. This lake. All that you can see from here belonged to them. They were not a large pack, but they were devout followers of pack law. And they were happy. Even when the humans turned their backs on the ways of the wild and their greed for territory became an addiction, the Kynren Pack were not troubled; their lands remained untouched. Until the cats came.

"At first the Kynren wolves took no notice of them. They were small, stupid and insignificant. Cats were simply regarded as another kind of prey; one that was well worth the trouble of catching because the smell of their fear was so enticing. The wolves killed many of them, but however many were slaughtered, more came. They were like a plague of vermin, breeding no matter what. It still might not have been a problem because wolves and cats do not eat the same prey and rarely interact unless forced to by hunger or circumstance. But then…the cats found a weapon."
"A weapon? What was it?"

"No wolf alive could tell you that, Laryissa, because the survivors that fled this cursed soil never spoke of it. All they said was that the weapon was something that all feared, and none could stand against. The Kynren wolves fled. What happened then is another story."
For a while there was silence as both wolves digested this. Finally Matilda spoke. "Well, you may rest easy, Chénmò, for these cats will have no weapons against us. I do not think this group of cats are the same ones that drove your ancestors away."
"And how do you know that?"

"With me I have a she-cat who lived with them. She tells me that these Clans came from a forest over the mountains and came here only after humans destroyed their first home. I have seen them myself, and there is nothing to fear from them. They are harmless…to the cautious." Her eyes landed on the fox trap, and Chénmò gave a low growl. A cold silence descended between them once more, this time broken by Chénmò.

"Where to then, alpha Destino? I will join you in your hunt."
Matilda rose to her paws. "For now, come with me, and rest. I will need to get more information out of Hollyleaf before I make my plans."
"How do you know that the she-cat is not lying to you?"
"Her heart burns with the same vengeance as ours do. A warrior from here killed her mate. She will stand with us."
Chénmò considered this, then nodded. "Lead on, Laryissa."