The bleak light filled MistClan's hollow, many looked coldly and stiff shouldered to the approaching battle. Willowstar stood silent at the top of her cold perch, glaring down at her Clan. With her injured pride aching from SerpentClan's disrespect, she held back a hiss of disdain to them. It was barely dawn, and the fog obscured her view. Even the ground, that was mere foxlengths away, was blurred and misted over. She let out a surly snort, and scraped her claws against the tall tree stump.
Angry were her eyes, as moments passed when no more than a warrior peered out of their den into the cold morning. But as they looked at their leader, with the fog around her strong body, eyes like daggers, they quickly ducked back into their den.
Even when the sun came into few, she hardly noticed it, for the fog continued to writhe without cease. The cold sun could do little to it, and that made the camp a do