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.

16. Threats in the Night

"This is taking too long." Complained the youngest of the band, Bloodfang. His words were ignored by most, but Swiftstrike added,
"We have been here nearly half a moon."

Wormpike, a tall, blond tom stretched, extending his intimidatingly long claws. He scraped them against the smooth, hard surface, not even flinching at the unpleasant screeching they emitted. He was the largest, and strongest in the group, besides Twistmud. But, because of his youth and cunning, he was elected the leader of their makeshift gathering.
"We'll move when it's time." He assured the band of cats that sat grimacing around him.
"What if all the others have already killed eachother?" Bloodfang brings up, his ears suddenly dropping down as he looks around. He seems afraid that some cat might kill him on the spot.

A brown tabby slips through a gap in the bushes, entering the small, moonlit space.
"There's a fresh scent of a cat by the river." He glances hesitantly with his one eye at Wormpike, "I think it's time to move." Wormpike sits back on his haunches leisurely.
"So soon?" He meows sarcastically. The brown tabby shifts his weight, causing Bloodfang to shift at the sight of his inflamed, oozing eye.
Wormpike grins a sickening smile, "It's time for a battle these fools will never regret."

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Author's Note

Thanks for taking the time to read this! Sorry it's so short. I might not be able to update for a little while because I'm working on several other stories at the moment. But, hopefully, I will write the next few chapters soon.