Pity {open}

[Wildheart]

A sleek white tabby cat slid her way down into the hollow. Her strong leg muscles were visible as she moved, along with the bottom of her paws, which were red with something that could have very well been blood. Her triangle head twisted around to observed the going-ons of the camp.

A few rogues were being taught fighting moves by a stronger cat, who moved through the battle moves with skill, but not as much grace as the she-cat. She decided to not waste her time, however, by showing him how a professional does it, and turned to see other cats by the pile of fresh-kill. There usually wasn't one, but she suspected that since leafbare was on its way the cats would help feed one another so they could have enough strength to battle the clans.

Frost carefully wiped her paws on the grass as the blood from the loner who had passed her began to dry on her own paws. The loner was still alive, yes, when she left him, for that was how she normally left cats, but she suspected that he would not be for much longer. She sat down and calmly licked her paws, one at a time, in careful rhythm.

Her oval eyes turned slowly towards the fighting cats again. They appeared to be useless; they were rogues, who had been living in Shadywoods their whole lives, barely ever fighting anyone. This would have to change. They needed to help destroy the clans.

Though Frost did not really care about their lives, it was a pity they would no longer be needed after that.