Flintstorm heard a sound from behind her. Turning, she laid eyes on her former apprentice, her dark ginger fur fluffed up. The two she-cats stared at each other for a heartbeat before Foxcloud spoke.
"Well, Flintstorm," she meowed, the wind drowning out her words. "Ready to die?"
The gray deputy looked behind her; the fall of that cliff would be deadly. Flintstorm's fur blew in the cool breeze, and she filled her lungs with it. "You don't have to kill me Foxcloud," she insisted, "I am not your enemy." The WindClan warrior just flicked her tail. She crouched down, ready to spring.
Flintstorm felt sadness spread through her body. She closed her green eyes.