Dubiety ❧ A Warriors Mafia Minigame

round i ❧ scene ii

The traitor poked their head out of the den and glanced around cautiously. It was almost dawn, and the rest of the Clan was asleep. They hadn't committed another murder just yet... just yet. They figured that the Clan would be anticipating another body just lying there in the camp, like Quetzalgaze, like Oatwind.

But what if I show them my power in front of their eyes... What if they were forced to watch their Clanmate die in front of them?

The traitor's gaze settled on an abandoned pile of miniature bodies- the fresh-kill pile, left alone to grow stale after the Clan had lost their appetite due to the murders. But they'll be able to hope for normal life after now, and then...

Slipping back into the den, the traitor lifted their nest. Under one edge lay a wrapped up ivy leaf, held closed by a twig being pieced through the leaf, and incased in moss to give it some padding and camouflage. They nosed away the moss and nipped the leaf wrap, being careful not to pierce its contents, and went back outside.

At the fresh-kill pile, they pawed off the topmost piece of prey- a field mouse- and opened its jaws with their extended claws. That should be enough space for me to squeeze them down.

The traitor opened their leaf wrap to reveal two glistening, bright red berries. Their bottoms were concave and held round black seeds.

Deathberries.

Snagging one berry on their claw, the traitor pushed it down the dead mouse's throat and pushed down on the berry to hold it in the body as they pulled his claw back out. The berry was in the throat, not the body, but that was fine; they would use the twig from the leaf wrap for extra length to push the berries down.

They inserted the second berry in the same fashion as they had the first and grabbed the twig in their jaws. Using a blunt end, they pushed the berries further and further into the body, until they could barely see the black seed of the deathberry when they peered down the mouse's throat. Even if someone were to happen to look there, it'd be obscured by shadow anyway.

The traitor placed the prey back onto the pile. They didn't particularly care which cat died; they hadn't any real attachment to any of them.

The sun poked above the horizon line. Smiling to themselves, the traitor returned to their nest and lay in wait, their heart pounding with a nervous excitement. Which cat would die in the morning?

***

It was sunhigh, and everything was going according to plan.

Maybe the weather has had some effect on the cats' mood. The sun hung brightly in the cerulean sky, sending out rays of hope- or false hope, rather- onto the earth. Glossy-leaved trees stood tall and proud, their tight-knit leaves casting soft, dappled shadows on the ground. The camp's overhanging rock wall left half of the clearing in shadow, so cats could cool off if they wanted to.

The lack of a night murder had lulled the Clan into a false sense of security, just as the traitor had predicted. Honeystar had called for a feast to the warriors' survival. Survival? Not for long.

The warriors gathered in their usual groups- the three siblings would eat with Swanwhistle, and the rest of the toms would usually eat with Quetzalgaze, who never seemed to mind male company. Of course, she couldn't feast with them now...

The warriors lined up to get their fresh-kill, lining up in order of seniority. First went Snookstone, who took off a gray squirrel from the foot of the pile. Next, Cuminseed, who took a finch after a little deliberation... Soon, every warrior had taken a piece of prey.

Finally, Honeystar went to the pile and took a tree sparrow. That's lucky; I don't know how many lives Honeystar has yet to lose, and if she's got more than one left, my ploy might've failed...