To answer you questions, this is indeed more then one chapter. Also, the first part of this chapter is in third person, then goes to Snowkit's perspective. Thanx to Hawkpath, Immapickle, Pantherstar101, Darquesse11, and Smurflover for reviewing.
Chapter 2: The Scream
Cool moonlight shimmers, casting eerie shadows upon murky swamps. Frogs leap from rock to rock, yet all is silent, seize the creaks and groans of long-dead trees. A lone owl glides smoothly through the air like a knife through butter, momentarily blocking out the menacing full moon, before returning the beams to again haunt the desolate land.
A rustle.
Pale from the light of Silver Pelt, a cat, speckled with blood and memories of battle, emerges from the snake grass. Whimpering miserably, the rouge falters, then sighs, collapsing to the sodden earth. His haunches heave, breaths growing weaker with each passing second. With a tortured shutter, the tom's chest rattles, life seeping from his heart, body, spilling upon the ground.
Suddenly, his eyes flare open, scanning the desolate territory. Quivering lichen proves the rogue is not alone. Scrambling to his paws, he wails in protest, then falls back, panting to the ground. His attempts to escape fate are in vain as the attacker approaches, death following pursuit.
A small sound. Nothing much. Nothing compared to the shrieks of agony that rattled from the tom's chest as blood gushes from fresh wounds. That attacker rears, turing again, striking the rogue with inhuman force! Claws flash, screams erupt, then nothing as silence rules the forest once more.
I never knew I was sleeping. Not till the moon's ghostly rays sear through my eyelids and into my pupils. Not till the owls silently hoot their lonely words of loss and sorrow. Not till the vampiric forms of bats cloud the sky, swooping and screeching. Not till the swampy water coats my pelt, washing away the blood of battle and the tears of hate and misery. Not till the horrid realization that Scourge was dead, and BloodClan was lost, did I ever realize the heart wrenching reality, and the scars the forest cats had now imbedded in my mind.
Easing myself to my paws, I wince, trying not to howl at the burning pain in my ribs, and and the sliver of blood that slithers across my belly. The landscape is unfamiliar, different. Swamps and moss coat the territory, barley masking the relching smell of carrion. Scents of forest cats engulf the shrubs and bushes, sending my fur on end.
Suddenly, a bloody wail screams from the trees! Heart pounding, blood pumping, I tumble through the grass, streaking for the source of the call.
A body. His pelt is damp, dyed crimson with his own blood. His eyes are closed, swollen, as is the rest of his body. Several ragged menacing wounds glare up at me, sending bile to my throat. With a flicker, the tom's eye flutter open. I gasp as his familiar emerald gaze sweeps to my eyes. Claws, my brother, looks at me, body heaving as the battle for life begins