The Games

by snowygrin

He curled his long tail around the tip of his nose, falsely reasurring himself 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, you will not be the same. If you return, you are broken beyond repair.

9. Overheard

Chapter Eight

Basgermask's fur was being tossled softly by the now fading wind. The storm had scattered various debris across the forest floor, which was only partially visible as the moon shed its faint light on the forest floor. The stars were gradually fading as the morning sun neared.

She sat in a high branch of a large tree, hiding among the sparse greening leaves. She heard a rustle underneath and watched silently and wide-eyed as a small gray tom clambered desperately into an overgrown bush. She was about to call down to him when she heard paw steps. A great many paw steps.

A band of cats padded into the clearing that she sat above, her ears twitched nervously at the fresh scents, which were musty, mingled with the fresh scent of blood. She crouched down lower, straining her ears forward as their hushed voices drifted upwards to her.

"-and then he ran through here." A blond tom meowed. Badgermask's tail twitched fearfully, fiding that they must have been referring to the small Tom. A brown-gray tabby with blond streaks running down his pelt spoke up,

"I don't scent him. He must have moved on." A black she-cat moved forward, her green eyes glinting challengingly,

"He may have found some way to disguise his scent." Another black she-cat padded to stand with her, her blue eyes sparkling with anticipation,

"Let's search for him." Badgermask shuddered. Out of the corner of her eye there was the slightest trembling of the bush branch. She closed her eyes, praying to Starclan that the cats did not see that. The green-eyed she-cat stepped towards the bush,

"Never mind the search. I think I've found our little, lost treasure." Her voice ended in snarl. Her teeth bared. The blue-eyed she-cat sprang forward, grabbing hold of the poor gray tom and dragging him, kicking, into the clearing. She pinned him effortlessly to the ground and glanced over at the others, ignoring his desperate struggling.

Badgermask turned away as the she-cat opened her jaws, her many teeth glistening and glinting in the first rays of the early morning sun, ready to tear into her feeble pray. Badgermask wished she didn't have to listen to the painful, agonized screeches of the poor tom, they echoed from his half-lifeless body to the surrounding forest as he was ripped apart. Badgermask couldn't comprehend why any cats would want to do this. It tore her heart apart, ripping one little piece off at a time so that the process was long and painful, much like the fate of the small tom in the clearing. The tom who she would never know the name of.