Lucy sniffed the ground where she saw them last. The sun was barely up, but the brown she-cat couldn't wait any longer. She had been up all night pacing and spitting threats to the ground. There wasn't a fear scent. The kits hadn't known what her mate was doing.
"They're stupid to trust him so much," she said to herself. "Especially Fire. I taught him better."
As the sun rose, Lucy could make out the small, clumsy pawprints of her kits and the scratchmarks on the ground where they had play-fought. Fire never seemed to take part. It was always Oak's and Fox's fur she found.
They led eastwards across the river where her land met the wilderness free for the taking. It was quite different on the other side considering that the river had changed in a way that sucked the life out of her elevated land and nourished the other half. As she waded across the river into the fresh, green grass, her pads tingled in memory.
It had been many moons since she had set foot out of her land; and it had been many moons since her paws had felt anything but hard, dead foliage. She saw a clump of white flowers welcoming the sunrise. It reminded her so much of when she was younger when she had the duty to chase intruders out of her territory. Now no one would even think to set paw in the dying half of West Woods.
Lucy smashed a paw on the flowers, smirking as she rubbed its juices into the ground.
