The thin, crescent claw of a new moon hung high in the air, what little light it provided bathing the forest below in silver. Three dark shapes moved close to the ground, swerving through the ferns and roots with precision. Trees, tall and old, stretched like large clawed hands, etching themselves into the night sky, which was decorated with a thick band of stars. The green leaves of these trees swayed in the breeze, creating a serene rustling.
Two bulky shadows pursued a tiny, rapid heartbeat, their paws expertly dodging the fallen leaves or twigs that littered the forest floor. Soon after, a smaller, clumsier shape followed suit, following the pawprints left behind.
A fourth shape, lone and lithe snaked its way through the shadows, melding with the darkness as if they were one. Her silhouette was thin, but muscular, her face defined and sharp with thick fur and battle scars. The wind blew in her face, the scent of the three causing her to curl her lip, flashing a sharp tooth in her maw. Her wiry frame stalked the shadows, watching the patrol with slitted pupils. She narrowed her sharp green eyes at the three, and watched intently to see their faces.
A huge, pale ginger tabby with stripes lacerating across his fur swooped his tail from side to side, signalling to his patrol. Among these two stood an old white tom with sky blue eyes, and a younger tom; blue-grey this time. The golden tabby flicked a notched ear as a signal, and the blue-grey tom leapt forward, claws outstretched.
The mouse beneath him barely had time to register its death before he held it's corpse up triumphantly, tail high in the air.
The shadow-cat focused on the ginger tabby, pupils blown wide in intrigue. Then, her nose scrunched up, lip curling into a furious grin. Still focusing on the patrol's movements, she envisioned herself leaping down into the group, ripping out the ginger tom's throat and clawing him to shreds. But she knew now was not the time. She was outnumbered, so she held back for a short time, watching the patrol weave into the distance.
"Soon," she crooned to herself in a raspy tone, "you will know suffering like no other." Her claws flexed, kneading the soil beneath her. "They will know what you have done to ruin me." She stepped out of the shadows, a ragged, pale brown tabby with repulsive fur clumped in tight, foul-smelling mats. Once beautiful, now as ugly as the thoughts plaguing her mind. "You wronged me, Blazefoot. Now you will suffer, you fox-hearted waste of prey." The pale tabby bared her fangs in a furious snarl, her thin muzzle scrunched up in distaste, scarred ears pricking up in interest. "Yes, it will be so," she finished, entertaining her fantasies of slaughter, and bathing her thoughts in poison. Opening her slitted eyes, she fixed them coldly on the golden tom's shrinking form and felt every matted patch of fur stand on end. She would be sharpening her claws very diligently that night.
The patrol moved on, unaware of the she-cat stalking them from upwind. She rose to her paws, cold and calculated. Then, as one would bury dirt, she directed her flank to the patrol, kicked soil in their direction, and gave a distasteful look behind her, before fusing with the night as if she was never there to begin with…