Korrow had somehow managed to stay with Hunter, his legs weary. He tripped on a rock, his legs crisscrossing as he struggled to move on. He spat on the ground as he looked up, coming to a clumsy stop as he came near the weeping Hunter. He saw the village aflame, and realized immediately why Hunter was crying. Having nothing to say or do, he placed his hands on his knees, sucking in air greedily.

The black blob of Desraa's forces still enclosed the village, their bestial sounds reaching the two cheetah's ears. The sun continued to fall below the horizon, peeling away the blue sky and revealing the moon underneath. The annihilated village was a blemish on the beautiful scene that surrounded them. Hunter lifted his face, the flames dancing in his eyes. He whipped his head around, seeing Korrow there, looking with horror at the cheetah village.

"This…this was my home." His sleeves soaked up his tears. "I should have been here, to warn them! But instead, I was out picking berries!" He dug his claws into his fur, grating his teeth together with self hatred.

Korrow stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything to upset Hunter even more. Uneasy, he watched the black blob of grublins begin to move away from the collapsed fence of the village, flowing over the grass like slime. It was plain to see that they were getting closer, but he didn't have the heart to move Hunter.

The cloaked cheetah wrapped his fingers around the longbow, his jaw clenched together with contained fury. Everything he was had perished in the flames that continued to ascend higher and higher in the late evening sky, almost indistinguishable, blending in with the golden hue of the horizon.

He was the last Avalarian.

This realization pierced him like a dagger. It was almost too much for him to take in. In an instant, everything he knew had been ruthlessly destroyed. His brothers, his friends, and his chief were dead, and their homes…his homes… were up in smoke.

The sounds of the terrible grublin army were made obvious to Hunter's sharp ears. He looked ahead, to see the black mass approaching the crest of the hill.

What little strength he had left spurred him on to action. He arose, shouldering his bow. Korrow was startled by this sudden movement, and followed Hunter once more as he rushed away, still trying to catch his breath. He resisted the temptation to shout out for fear of being heard by the Desraa's forces, resting his hand on the strap of the quiver of the arrows that threatened to slip from his shoulder. After a short time, it became evident that Hunter was heading for a huge boulder that jutted out of the landscape, in the opposite direction of the enemy. It hung like an awning over the grass, the waning rays of sunlight beating down on the inside, it shadow reaching out to touch them as they neared it. Hunter ran pell-mell to the other side, swinging around with his left arm and landing nimbly on his paws. Korrow did the same, landing beside Hunter, scooting in until he was bent double under the outstretched rock.

Hunter's eyes were wet, the tears mixing with the sweat on his face and cloak. They sat there in eerie silence, hearing the clattering thud of footsteps in the distance. Korrow rolled over, peeking around the edge of the big rock.

He could make out each individual grublin on the crest of the hill they had just been at. They moved without any order, scurrying over the Valley of Avalar, too unsophisticated and unintelligent to march in a line. The young cheetah was close enough to see the distinctive stains of blood on some of their weapons, even with the little light provided. This confirmed that the villagers had not escaped. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

He rolled back over, wide eyed, looking to Hunter.

"They're practically right behind us. We made it here just in time."

There was no reply, just the back of Hunter's head, hung low on his chest with despair. Korrow decided it would be better if he didn't bother to try and start a conversation with Hunter, and rested his head on his upraised knee, resting to the drumming of footsteps.

Hunter wanted more than anything in the world to tear apart each and every grublin with his bare hands, one by one. Helpless feelings nearly led to panic, but he kept himself sane through intense concentration on the situation at hand. It was only momentary relief as imaginations of his fallen comrades penetrating his train of thought in vivid detail. He fought them with every ounce of strength, trying to be strong, tightening the muscles in his jaw with the effort.

Clouds rolled in and covered the moon, blocking any light that wished to kiss the earth, allowing darkness to prevail. The sounds of the receding army faded into the night, their torches flickering softly in the distance. On the hilltop, firelight formed a line of gold on the hilltop where the cheetah village once stood, the huts no more than crumpled piles of glowing wood, the flames still ravaging the remains. Hunter could almost feel the flames eat away at his own heart.

The sun set just as the sound of footsteps died away. Nonetheless, Korrow didn't speak or make a move. He wanted Hunter to have a moment.

A little piece of the stone began to stab Hunter's back, forcing him to move. He knew what he had to do, but he felt as though nothing even mattered anymore. Everything had gone to hell, and he felt like it was his fault. If he could have warned them like last time, they could have escaped to Warfang. But he had failed them.

Korrow, unable to wait any longer, finally murmured to Hunter, "What are we going to do?"

"How should I know?" Hunter snapped back. "I don't have all the answers, damn it!"

Korrow regretted asking anything at all, diverting his attention to the moon which faintly shone through the clouds. Hunter turned away before Korrow could notice that he was crying. "We can't do anything!"

The young cheetah wanted to say something in retort, but bit his tongue. Hunter was right. There was nothing they could do for a village that had already been razed to the ground. Hunter's next words only made certain his mental anguish to Korrow.

"I could've done something, though. I could've warned the village that they were coming, and I could've saved every single one of them!" He punctuated his last word with the pounding of his fist on the rocky soil. Korrow flinched. "But I didn't! And because of that, they're all dead!"

Every muscle in Hunter's body tightened, his facial expression scaring the cornered Korrow and causing him to wince.

"You couldn't have done anything to stop this, Hunter. You would've been killed right along with them…"

"You don't know that!" Hunter bellowed. "I never stay inside of the village for very long! I could have seen them as they entered the valley!"

At hearing this, Korrow knew that he shouldn't say anything else, but he couldn't stop himself.

"You can't just blame yourself for this. It was not your fault that they were killed!" He looked Hunter straight in the eye. "You were not the one that killed them and burned down your village, they did!" He gestured behind them with his thumb at the no longer visible grublin army.

Hunter was stunned to silence, but only for a moment. He looked away, in thought. Korrow prepared for some sort of reply, patiently waiting.

"If only I hadn't left the village, then I could have…"

Without warning, he paused, his eyes fixed on a spot in the dirt, as if he had mistakenly uttered a curse.

"The only reason I left was to look for you…if I hadn't done that, I would have been there, to warn them, to help them escape…"

All of his anger he had been harboring at himself shifted almost instantly to the young cheetah beside him. Korrow felt butterflies in his stomach as Hunter glowered at him. His fist clenched and his eyes colder than ice, he spewed forth three words with devastating effect.

"I hate you."

At first, these words confused Korrow, but confusion soon turned to fear. He asked nervously, "What?"

"You stole my bow and arrows and forced me to retrieve them. You wasted my time and made me take care of your worthless hide after I knocked you out. You were the one that prevented me from getting back to my village in time. It was your fault."

Korrow was simply too shocked to reply, looking at Hunter with disbelief. The older cheetah continued, paying no mind to the feelings of the cringing form next to him.

"If it hadn't have been for you holding me up, my people would still be safe. I should have killed you when I had the chance, scum. I hate you."

These words lingered in the still air around them. In a moment, their friendship had been shattered. He scooted away, too surprised for tears as his voice rang out through a sob.

"I'm sorry, Hunter… I…I didn't mean to do…"

"Get out of here. Now." His voice dripped menacingly, his hand moving to his boot dagger, fingering the pommel gingerly.

Korrow did a double take on the black void before him, breathing fast. The moonlight could no longer penetrate through the grayish black clouds, making it nearly impossible to see anything more than a few meters away. He didn't move, rooted to the spot. Hunter noticed his hesitation, and callously whipped out his dagger, getting to his feet as he roared, "Now!"

Moving backward, Korrow fell onto his back. He scrambled to his feet as Hunter came toward him, brandishing his dagger. He had no choice but to run. Taking one last look at his former friend, he ran off into the night, his bow held loosely. He fled in the darkness, tripping and stumbling blindly as he disappeared from sight.

Minutes went by, dragging on and on. Hunter remained still, in disbelief of what he had done. The hand which held the dagger trembled, and the weapon slipped from the palm of his hand, falling onto the dirt. An overwhelming onslaught of grief washed away his anger, and his legs gave out from under his body.

"Korrow… why did…no…"

He became racked with sobs, filled with regret. He cried out as loud as he could, but he went unheard.

"Korrow! Korrow, I'm sorry! Please, come back! No!"

The chirruping of crickets answered his desperate calls, mocking him with their jubilant song. He lay down on the earth, the fire still blazing where his village had stood only hours ago. Korrow, his only friend, had vanished in the night, never to be seen again.

Now, he was truly alone.

…

Desraa swaggered confidently beside his victorious army, feeling as though he could dance with happiness. He toyed with the pommel of his sword, forgetting his tiredness and keeping himself awake with the euphoria of sated revenge. The flames of the torches illuminated the ground and, at the same time, shrouded the stars in a transparent fog.

Guttural sounds of many evil creatures seemed distant as Desraa reflected upon the day's events. Memories of Prowlus lying headless on the grass filled him with maniacal glee. The one who had banished him from the village, his greatest enemy, had been dealt with. Now, he could go back to Malafron, sharing the good news of Avalar's destruction. He was also glad that he had not have to face Malafron with a report of his failure, for the young dragon was never merciful if his orders were not carried out.

Yet, through all of his elation, a twanging doubt remained, subconscious and subtle, like the feeling of hot breath upon someone's neck. There was no explanation he could give for it, and the further he drew away from the scene of the massacre, the more it began to bother him. He felt as though something had been incomplete about the whole thing, that he had forgotten something important. The cheetah commander ruminated on it for awhile, trying to find an explanation for his doubt, and the more he thought, the more foolish it seemed. Nobody had survived, he knew. He had severed Prowlus' head, and he had witnessed his army make short work of the rest.

So what was wrong?

Perhaps he was just tired, and his mind was just playing tricks on him, he reasoned. Nonetheless, he didn't want to take any chances in case he was wrong. He began to list the names of cheetahs he knew had perished.

He listed Prowlus off right away, knowing for sure that he was dead. He had seen Meadow plunge into his army, along with the rest of his small force. As if that weren't enough, the entire village had been razed to the ground.

But who was missing?

Within moments, Desraa's thoughtful expression changed to a look of fury. There was still one cheetah that lived, one that had not been present. He had probably been skulking away in the trees, hiding like a filthy coward beneath his damned cloak. And, if this was the case, he could be well on his way to Warfang at this moment, to tell them what happened to the Cheetah Village.

Desraa could not let Hunter escape. His life depended on it.

Holding up his hand, he yelled out an order for his army to stop. "Halt the line!"

They obeyed reluctantly, not being beasts that enjoyed following orders. Suddenly, he gave a loud, angry roar, startling his army. Turning around, he looked through the sea of faces, searching for one in particular. When he located the creature he was looking for, he stepped through the crowd, jostling them aside if they did not get out of the way. He waded through the mass until he came face to face with a goblin, the same one he had spoken with earlier that day. He had to crane his neck downward in order to make eye contact with the goblin.

"Tell me your name." He commanded the much shorter goblin. The simple creature processed the sentence, and then replied respectfully.

"Golinod, commander Desraa." He stared attentively at his much taller leader with black, beady eyes, awaiting orders. Desraa nodded his head in apprehension, and lowered the volume of his voice to a near whisper.

"It appears as though our work at the village has not been finished. There is one last cheetah left alive."

The forehead of the goblin wrinkled with the surprising news. Desraa leaned in closer, so that no words would be heard by the others around him.

"Take one hundred troops with you, and move back to the village. Scour the land. Search for the last cheetah. When you find him…" he paused, gritting his teeth together in contained rage, "tear him limb from limb."

Golinod nodded, sharp rows of yellow teeth visible from between his thin lips as he grinned maliciously, his hunger for blood reborn.

"Go now. Make haste, and return to the Catacombs after you deal with the escaped cheetah. He should be wearing a cloak on his back. He will be moving very quickly. Kill him before he can reach Warfang. Do you understand?" The words came out in a steady stream, completely without pauses. Fortunately, the goblin did not notice his leader's panicked speech, and responded by placing his hand over his chest, confirming that he had understood.

"Yes, Commander."

…

Hunter stood in the dew covered grass, the tips of the tiny green blades tickling his ankles. His eyes roved from left to right, breathing in the smoke that drifted down the hill, guided by the morning breeze. Another smell was present, its metallic scent blending with the smoke.

Blood.

Hunter stooped down to pick up the sword of his fallen chieftain, whose headless carcass had been trampled underfoot. The last Avalarian could not shed tears any longer, almost numbed to the death of his companions in such a short while. He could not look at Prowlus's carcass, feeling sick to his stomach. Turning his back, he moved up the hill, carrying the sword by the flat of its blade with one hand and the center of the handle with his other, as if he was about to present it to somebody. Fallen grublins, transfixed with arrows, lay scattered over the soft grass, showing that the brave cheetah warriors had at least put up a struggle. Eyes that showed no life behind them, two pale green orbs that were shrouded with mist, had replaced the grieving cheetah's formerly vibrant eyes.

Grass gave way to dust as he walked into the scene of a massacre. The arid soil absorbed the blood which had poured from the bodies of the cheetahs that lay scattered over the ground. Bloodied corpses of grublins and other hideous beasts lay onto top of and beneath them, outnumbering the dead Avalarian villagers nearly two to one. An area of dead grublins, larger than the rest, caught Hunter's eye. From underneath one of the beasts, a paw that still contained the broken remains of a staff was visible. He cautiously stepped over each of the bodies, about a dozen, and made his way toward it. Many Avalarian faces greeted him with blank expressions, seized with death. The forlorn cheetah looked away from them. Reaching the place where the outstretched paw lay, he grasped the skinny arm of a goblin, the matted blood from one of its wounds sticking to the pads of his paws. As he tossed it aside, the almost unrecognizable face of Meadow peered back at Hunter with glazed, unmoving eyes. What was left of his morning star staff had been driven through the goblin's abdomen, causing blood to spill over the terribly mutilated Meadow.

The last Avalarian cheetah breathed heavily, setting the sword of Prowlus beside the body of Meadow. Reverently, Hunter kissed his two middle claws, his eyes filled with tears as he placed them upon his dead friend's forehead.

"Sleep in peace, brave warrior of Avalar."

Hunter departed the Cheetah Village silently, leaving behind the sword of Prowlus, stuck point first in the very center of the village.

…

Hunter's usual energetic gait had deserted him as he headed in the direction of the forbidden passage. He felt so powerless, so feeble. So guilty.

Twice since the night before he had contemplated suicide, but he had decided against it. The only thing powering him on was his sense of duty to his people. If he were to die, the Avalarians would truly cease to exist.

But then, there was Korrow…

Hunter had never felt so evil before. He had been ready to kill the young cheetah, to strike him stone dead, and all out of blind rage. It hadn't been Korrow's fault that his brothers had been killed, he knew. He wanted so badly to find Korrow again, to apologize for the terrible thing he had done. But it was too late. Korrow would probably rather kill him than forgive him after what happened.

He readjusted the bow around his shoulder as is slid down his shoulder and onto his arm. Meadow grass all around him began to sway back and forth, whispering ominously. The clouds above Hunter looked like small cotton balls, glued to the blue dome of sky behind them. The horizon on all sides appeared hazy and white, growing less and less translucent with every minute that passed. Hunter knew from years of experience in the wilderness that there was only one thing that could mean; a bad storm was coming.

Hunter shook his head, half caring, half apathetic. He was taking the passage underneath the mountain anyhow. It didn't matter whether there was rain or shine.

Small boulders and rocks began to dot the terrain as the going got steeper. He felt the unpleasant sensation of rock pieces collecting in his pawpads, but he didn't care. The whoosh of the little waterfall on the side of the mountain became evident, drowning out the sound of the breeze rustling the fields. Hunter remembered that next to the waterfall was the entrance to the home of the old hermit, who had passed away only a season ago. Every moment that he thought of the life he was forced to leave behind caused him to feel utterly alone. His focus drifted away for a moment, and he stepped on a sharp stone. He grimaced, hopping a single time on one foot before placing his other foot back down. For a short while, he stared down at the ground, his teeth bared in frustration as he made a clear effort to avoid stepping on anything else.

He looked up and surveyed the area around him with a quick glance from left to right. Even through the miniscule jolt of pain in his right paw, he was able to recognize a slight alteration in the meadow far off to his right. His fur prickled as a chill ran through his spine. He did not have to look for long to realize what it was.

"Oh…"

He took off, one hand clutched onto his bow, tensing up his chest muscles so the strap of his quiver would have no chance of falling off of his back. Expertly, the fleeing cheetah donned the hood of the heavy cloak with a sudden dip of his back in an attempt to remain unseen by the large crowd that was advancing in his direction.

He reached the narrow line of trees that lay at the base of the mountain line, his paws adjusting to the slope of the incline. Leg muscles on fire, he stooped low, the base of his cloak partially hiding his footpaws. With a clean, fluid movement, he wrapped one arm around the middle of boulder and swung around it using his momentum, landing on two feet and facing in the direction of the valley.

Sure enough, another platoon of grublins was traveling over the meadow, heading back in the direction of the ruined Cheetah Village. Hunter was taken in a grip of puzzlement and fear, hoping that he hadn't been seen. What in the gates of hell was going on?

They were only a stone's throw away from where Hunter was concealed, and had it been a miracle that he had not been seen running up the slope of the hill. He waited with baited breath for them to pass, loosening his bow in case he would have to fight back. It was suicidal, but there was no way to escape. At least he might be able to take a few of the monsters with him.

The pitter patter of feet slapping onto the still damp ground grew louder than before, the unintelligible garble of the grublins faintly audible. He was sure that he would be discovered, but he held fast, not daring to peek out from behind the rock. He held his breath

Thankfully, after bracing himself for almost five minutes, the noise emitted by the small army of grublins as they marched away lessened considerably, leaving the cheetah undetected. Expelling all the air out of his lungs, he released the tension he had held inside. Still, the question remained; why were more grublins returning to the village?

Perhaps they were trying to make sure everything had perished. However, as soon as he had thought that, he shook his head at the ridiculousness of the notion. They had already made sure everyone was dead the first time around.

So why…?

Hunter couldn't put his finger on it, but at the moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered right now was making it to the Dragon City. Yet, at the same time, he had a grim curiosity…

Just then, the group of grublins began to visibly scatter into smaller groups, each of them heading in a different direction. Hunter's claws scratched into the rock with anxiety. Where were they going?

All of a sudden, it occurred to him; they were heading straight for Korrow.

"No!" He grunted through gritted teeth. Claws digging into the rock like knives, he contemplated what he should do. On one hand, there was a duty he felt to report what had happened to the village, and that it was the most important thing he could do.

On the other hand, there was Korrow, the friend he had forsaken and rejected. Guilt would follow him all his life for the hurt he had caused his former friend, and to leave him to be captured or killed would be too much for him to bear. Korrow had saved his life, and now it was time to return the favor.

Thunder boomed in the distance as Hunter donned his hood, keeping the grublin army in sight as he set off in cautious pursuit.

…

Author's Note: So, if anyone is still following this story, you might be wondering why it's been months since I've made an update. Well, to tell you the truth, it was miraculous that I could update at all, because I'm actually not even allowed on fanfiction anymore. My parents banned me because it was a "waste of my talents" or something like that. Anyhow, it took me a month to rewrite this chapter(because my parents made me delete the old one) and keep it a secret, so I hope it's decent.

And I know this chapter is filler, but once the real action starts, you're in for a wild ride, meesa promise. :D

Also, updates are going to be kind of slow because I'm not supposed to be on anymore, and it takes me awhile to sneak chapters in. Sorry.