Gilafang's Resentment (Book 4)

Chapter 8

Gilapaw's fur rose in fear as Fishfang turned her head to Fangscar. "Sound the signal!" She hissed, and Fangscar dipped his head, running off. Then she turned to him. She had a hunger in her eyes, the kind of hunger a hunting cat has when they see a juicy squirrel. She licked her lips and played a claw against Gilapaw's eyelids, teasing him as she reviewed the best way to kill him.

"What a disappointment you turned out to be..." She whispered in his ear with a hinted snarl. "More of a disappointment then Sunsetpaw."

This infuriated Gilapw and he kicked Fishfang hard in the stomach. "You fox hearted dung-breath!" He growled, staring her straight in the eyes. She bared her teeth and lashed her tail, holding up an unsheathed claw.

Suddenly a yowl sounded from the camp entrance, and the clearing was a sea of cats. Yowls of outrage came from the sleeping clan as the rouges broke into the carefully woven dens to claw the warriors awake. Gilapaw saw Badgerfang fighting bravely against two toms advancing to the nursery.

Fishfang had disappeared in the flood of rouges, and Gilapaw was free without a scratch. But not for long. An unfamiliar she cat blocked his path to the nursery, greeting him with a strong aimed blow to the chest. Gilapaw was sent to the dirt once more, and a stinging fire rushed just barely above his eye. He felt the blood ooze out of his new battle wound, but he pushed the pain away and got to his paws.

Gilapaw'a opponent spat with anticipation, and then clawed at his shoulders. Gilapaw howled, and pushed off the ground with his paws to land on her back. Opening his jaw, he bit the base of her tail so hard he heard bone shatter beneath his teeth with a crack! With a screech of pain and anger, the she cat pelted for the hills, her tail dragging limp behind her.

No more tail for her, Gilapaw though angrily before racing ahead to the nursery.

Gilapaw was tail lengths from the nursery when a whirling blur of ginger fur collided with his flank, sending him reeling to the ground. An orange tom with a scary scar across his moon-faded eye leaped at him without hesitating a heartbeat, claws out and ready to rip flesh.

Gilapaw rolled out of reach swiftly, taking a bite to his tail-tip as he slithered under his attacker. Battering his belly with thorn-sharp claws, his opponent growled, lifting up s paw to kick Gilapaw against the ground. The wind knocked out of him, he fell limp, defenseless to the fight while pain shot through Gilapaw's entire chest.

The tom pinned him, sinking his claws slowly into his chest. His moon-blind eye stared at Gilapaw, and it ran a chill down his spine. If I die now, let it be fighting, Gilapaw thought, lifting a paw to strike his attacker's cheek. He was released with a howl, and Gilapaw scrambled out of the way, crouching and ready for his next attack.

The scarred tom mirrored him, snarling and spitting. They moved in a slow circle, each cat waiting for the other to make a move. Gilapaw was running battle tactics in his head, trying to think of one to attack with. He scanned the ground with his green eyes, taking in his surroundings. He finally selected an attack, and poised himself for the move.

This was the hardest move his mentor had taught him, and Gilapaw had never gotten it right. But it was the only one worth trying, it was the only move ridiculous enough to surprise his opponent. He rehearsed it in his mind and then took a deep breath.

Here goes nothing!

Gilapaw shot forwards, making to dove underneath his attacker's belly, and the tom smiled, readying himself. When he was almost there, Gilapaw suddenly reared up, landing perfectly rehearsed blows on the toms exposed head, and then dropping down to dive under his once more exposed belly to dart to safety. Once out, he turned to see his confused opponent shaking his head, and Gilapaw took the chance to leap up on top of him, raking his back relentlessly, dodging the blind slaps from his paws.

The tom finally managed to buck him off, and sent Gilapaw flying into the dirt, dazed, before pelting out of the battle. Holding a paw to his jarred jaw, Gilapaw watched with satisfaction. He was all looks, no bravery.

Gilapaw got up, scanning for the nursery. He had lost it in the battle, and he was extremely disoriented with all the unfamiliar cats. As he scanned the clearing, he saw bodies littering the ground, and he felt sick to his stomach. They were outnumbered greatly, and losing fast.

Suddenly a screech of pain rose above the rest, coming from behind Gilapaw. He whipped around and shoved his way past the crowd. He knew that call all too well.

It was Sunsetpaw.