Chapter Two
Shard licked at his sleek paw in, what he hoped, was a relaxed manner. I'm prepared for this. He thought to himself. His attempts at reassurance to himself were failing terribly.
The next day, the games would start. All the cats had been there for the entire quarter moon. Almost no cat would get sleep tonight, and those who did would have troubled and restless sleep dripping with the foul stench of nightmares.
Each cat was curled up in the glimmering moonlight. A particularly small and gray tom was lying curled up beneath a precariously tall haystack, trembling for all he was worth.
Shard cast a weary glance at him, then returning to his grooming. Hoping to appear cool and untroubled. Because, from what he heard, image, in these games, image was everything.
Shard lay down after what could have been hours. He was tired, but sleep was a rare thing on such a night.
He curled his long tail around the tip of his wet nose, falsely reassuring himself that everything would be alright, that everything would be fine. But he knew it was pointless.
When it came to the games, so he had heard, you were padding into a death trap. He had also heard, that if you do survive, and you return you are not the same.
If you return, you are broken beyond repair.