Three cats sat together, looking down at the chaos below them. The cats below were a blur of cats and claws, blood and sweat. Cats yowled in pain and in fury.
"Innocent as a dove's feather," the oldest tom recited, "but dangerous as a tiger's claw."
The other tom beside him hissed. "That useless prophecy," he spat angrily. "It does them no good; it will turn them against one another, surely!"
"Maybe," the she-cat beside him mewed softly. "But if we don't, everything will be lost. There won't be one cat left to save. We have to give it to them."
"Give it to Silverstripe," the old tom growled in a low tone. "She will listen. It is all we can do to hope, now."
The younger tom wrinkled his snout. "Hope is but a figment," he spat back, irritated. "Nothing an help them now."
