BANG!

BANG!

THUDD!

Clairon the Fox woke roughly, after having a few hours sleep. She ran to the cave where Selin her smaller sister was banging a kettle drum. Her family lived on top of a Cave in the mountains of the North. A bigger male fox ran up to Selin,

"What is it Selin?" he asked urgently.

It was their father.

"Vermin Horde Approaching. Looks like a sea of vermin almost" replied Selin

Their father ran out clutching a pike.

Each member of their family was a silver fox with a gold streak somewhere on their body. Her father a silver fox, with a golden Right paw, called Nuallan Firepaw was an excellent Pike fighter. He grabbed his Trusty Pike from the cave; He ran down to meet the vermin horde with Omega Goldtail the younger of Clairon's siblings he carried a Dagger which he used rubbishly.

"Who is your leader?" boomed Nuallan Firepaw

A large Black Wildcat stepped forward.

"I, Sverrir Blackpelt am, Lord of this Horde and the eastern Seas and Northern Mountains." He Shouted.

"That title belongs to Cadwalader the Fearsome, Not to Lowlife scum like you, Sverrir Blackpelt" Nuallan barked.

"THAT BEAST? A pure Milksop! I killed him with one word!" bragged Sverrir Blackpelt.

"And was that word Fire? I see you have many archers in your horde I'm no fool" teased Nuallan Firepaw leaning on his Pike.

Sverrir Blackpelt unsheathed his Sword and ran at Nuallan Firepaw,

Nuallan dodged using his pike to rip fur off of Sverrir's shoulder.

Nuallan dodged carelessly into a spearferret who pricked him in his back, He turned to jab him but Sverrir ran at Nuallan with sword high and thrust it through his middle. Nuallan Firepaw the champion fell dead to the ground. Sverrir's breathing was laboured but it recovered quickly; He lifted his bloodied sword high and shouted

"Death to traitor Foxes!" The Horde ran towards the caves, swords and cutlasses clashing. Clairon grabbed Selin's paw and they ran, ran on heedless of the Horde behind them. They ran on and were pulled into a cave. The horde ran on chasing invisible foes.

When the Horde stopped, Sverrir looked at his Shoulder, Fur was torn and bloodied. He looked closer.

It was fur that would never be replaced