The end of an era. That's what it was, wasn't it?
Feather lay dead, and Kelra lay reeling. The Halcyon struck, proving to them that no cat was safe. One claw out of line, and you were worthless. A traitor, unworthy of the air you breathed. A waste of space, of fresh-kill.
So you would die.
Whitewillow climbed her favorite sunset-watching hill again, just before the sun hit the horizon. Although she rarely saw Snowfur these days, she still climbed the hill in hopes that he would join her one of these days. She stared off into the distance, admiring the oranges, blues, and pinks of the setting sun while her mind wandered.
Whitewillow knew that she was lucky. To be raised by loyalist parents put your mind in a certain track, making it difficult to deviate. And yes, she had been sung the praises of the Halcyon many a time in her youth. Their kindness, their grace in allowing a de