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Fighting World Chapter 4"Rosepetal, you go look for prey. I'll take Honeypaw and Featherpaw, and Poppyfrost and Cherryblossom, go to the lake to look for prey."
Squirrelflight was leading a patrol. Rosepetal was disappointed Cherryblossom didn't get to hunt with her. She enjoyed the ginger she-cat's company.
The dark cream cat padded off towards the ShadowClan border. Warm newleaf air blew over her fur, and she sighed. Leaf-bare had been hard. They were lucky not to have lost any cats.
Rosepetal heard a squirrel brush against a poppy stem. Instinctively, she dropped into a crouch and stalked forward. She was still as she pounced. The squirrel squealed and struggled in her claws. She leaned down and quickly gave it a killing bite.
A purr of satisfaction rumbled in Rosepetal's throat.
But suddenly a disgusting stench filled her nose and made her stop dead.
The warrior's blue eyes widened with alarm. She knew she had to get out, but where? Panic filled her as the huge, lumbering creature came towa
Fighting World Chapter 3Lightningpaw pounced on the mouse. She was hunting; the day was her warrior assessment. She felt a glimmer of excitement.
She buried the mouse with two other mice, then buried it. She needed to catch more, not for her ceremony, but for the kits and queens.
The yellow apprentice spotted a small blackbird pecking in the leaves. She padded softly over to it and pounced. The bird chirped as Lightningpaw's claws dug into it, then swiftly giving it the killing bite.
As she padded over to bury with the rest of her prey, Sandstorm stepped out of a clump of ferns. "You did excellent," she praised.
Lightningpaw felt a glimmer of pride. I'm going to be a warrior!
Sandstorm grabbed two of the mice. Lightningpaw shoved the mouse and the bird in her jaws, and they set off.
The cats dropped the fresh-kill on the pile. It was starting to look like an actual pile again, after leaf-bare.
"One more apprentice task," Sandstorm began. "Take some fresh-kill to the queens and kits."
The last one! Ligh
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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