The air was tense tonight. Hissing and yowls rang through the camp. Claws were sharpened, fur was bristled, the heat of battle was all around. Firestar glared at his opponent, his burning fur flowing in the calm winter breeze. Cloudtail glared back, his wispy tail waving back and forth. Both toms had determined looks frozen on their faces and were as low to the ground as they could get.
"Not today, Fluffball." Firestar growled, narrowing his eyes at the white tom.
"Not today, Hotshot." Cloudtail growled right back, an air of hostility in his voice.
Shots were fired. Now all the other onlookers had to do was wait...
"GRAH!" With a mighty battle cry, Cloudtail flung himself towards the object of his desire, a smirk spread across his face as it was captured in his eyesight. But that was when he realized, he overshot. He had inadvertently flung himself over not only it, but Firestar as well. He slid on the ground for a couple of feet, mud staining his brilliant white fur, before smashing his muzzle against a tall oak tree. He turned around just quickly enough to see Firestar snatch the prize that should have been his in his sturdy jaws and walk away triumphantly: the biggest damn robin in the pile...
All the other cats crowded around the pile of prey now; for being leaf-bare, the pile was unusually large. Sure, they still split the pieces of prey between partners, but there was more than enough to go around if they did. For the most part, everyone was happy with their meal. Except Cloudtail, who was so close to getting the robin...
Oh, and eensy-teensy thing that I forgot to mention. You want to know how Cloudtail overshot? It's not that he had the wrong stance, or his heart was too determined. His tail was too high; and I don't mean that it was angled too high. His tail was a cloud; why else do you think they called him that? He forgot to account for his tail flying him up and over the pile of prey, since it naturally wanted to go up.
That was how everyone lived around here. They all had some quirk. Firestar's fur was composed of wispy, glowing flames. His mate, Sandstorm was a cat made of sand who had a blowing veil of sand surrounding her physique and was packed together with water. Firestar's apprentice, Bramblepaw, had prickly bramble bushes that made up his paws. The list goes on and on and on...
Firestar sat in his den, quietly eating away at his meal. The robin tasted savory and gamey, but it was sweetened with victory. He tried not to dwell on this fact though; he wanted to keep at least some humility.
Sandstorm, his lovely mate, timidly stepped to the doorway of Firestar's den.
"May I come in?" she asked.
This was at the moment Firestar had stuffed his face full of food. He merely nodded and motioned her in, using one paw to keep his mouth closed. With a small smile, Sandstorm came in, a mouse in her jaws. She sat down with a plop next to him. Firestar swallowed the food in his mouth, and his emerald eyes turned to look into Sandstorm's.
"Hi, honey." he mewed.
"Hi, Firestar." she said back, with a soft smile. "How has life been?"
"Oh, it's been just great! It's less trouble being leader than I thought. I prepared so much and -"
"FIRESTAR!" Bramblepaw came bursting into the den, his amber eyes wide and breathing erratic. "PROBLEM! OUTSIDE! NOW! PLEASE!"
"Whoa, whoa, calm down! What is the problem?' Firestar asked.
"Just come outside!" Bramblepaw yowled. Firestar and Sandstorm rushed out of the cave as quickly as possible, skidding to a stop when they came upon the danger that Bramblepaw warned of.
Scourge's reign was slowly approaching. As he stood before the clan, Firestar knew that they were in for a fight.
