The Roaring Winds

Chapter Seventeen: Truth Always Prevails

Chapter Seventeen: Truth Always Prevails

"We're going to need all the help we can get." Sageleaf's words rang ominously in Stormpaw's ears. He swallowed his fear and anxiety, then exhaled heavily. His paws shook slightly, and he dug his claws into the earth in order to ground himself. Yet, his toes still twitched irregularly. Stormpaw glanced at the other members of the patrols.

Gorseclaw held a firm, strong stance that was only re-established from his tall figure. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched in preparation for battle. "We must be prepared for whatever awaits us," he spoke gravely.

Sageleaf nodded beside him, his dark pelt only visible due to his numerous white flecks scattered across his fur. His dark amber eyes glinted with shards of flint. The sturdy, well-muscled tom nodded in agreement. "Indeed, all of us will need to remember all of our training to combat this threat."

Scareye's lean, scraggly tail twitched behind him. The sliver of moonlight rested on his face, and it only served to highlight his ugly scar. His facial expression displayed a disgusted grimace that showed his sharp fangs. The pale green eyes carried a bitter light to them. Yet, he held a flat composure of disinterest. "And, maybe this time we'll actually take down the threat and drive it out once and for all."

Rabbitpaw's already-spiky fur bristled up as though he had gotten struck by lightning. His yellow eyes glowed like two, identical full-moons. He seemed to quiver, and at first, Stormpaw thought the younger apprentice was frightened. But, under closer inspection, he realized that the tom trembled with fury. Rabbitpaw's claws dug deep into the brittle soil, which was now damp with the speckles of raindrops from the sky above.

Stormpaw wished he could still himself as the other experienced warriors had done, but there was still a small quiver in his tail and his limbs. The acrid taste of bile was present in his mouth, and its taste remained sour on his tongue. His expression curled up into one of disgust as it swallowed it down. He shook his head to clear his odd sense of fatigue that resonated in his mind.

He tried to distract himself from the bitter taste and think of the battle that awaited him. There was no way to predict how well it would go down. He didn't have any control over which foxes would be there, and how large the threat would be. He couldn't even scent the foxes––the rain tampered out all scents that could be entangled in the wind. Stormpaw could only rely on his limited, dulled sight and hearing to predict where the foxes could possibly be.

And, Stormpaw had never faced off against a fox before. He had a vague idea of how they looked from the nursery tales that Swiftfoot had told him. She had described them to be "fierce, violent savages with long, sharp muzzles, black noses, sharp teeth and fangs, short, sturdy, long frames, and reddish-brown pelts that depicted the colors of blood, fire, and death."

Stormpaw shivered, and he tried to blame it on the cold chill. The weather out here wasn't exactly pretty. Each rain droplet felt like a droplet of ice as it froze itself on his thick, gray tabby pelt. He fluffed up his pelt to keep the water out of reach from his thin skin. The others didn't fare much better, especially Rabbitpaw and Scareye, who both had thin, prickly pelts.

He tried to recall all the battle moves he had learned in his two moons of training. But, sadly, he could only remember three, which included the one that Gorseclaw had taught him earlier in the evening. Stormpaw couldn't help but shoot Scareye a cold glare––he was supposed to be the cat to teach him all the proper skills needed to become a well-rounded warrior. Scareye merely turned his muzzle away from Stormpaw, so that the apprentice could only glare at the back of the warrior's head.