Wrath

 WRATH  The Tale of a Survivor

Mercy lacking Terror awake Tremble, roar, and watch them shake! Induce fear Welcome blood Watch it slinking through the mud! Kill the righteous! Do not cease To murder, die, and shatter peace! The clans will fall, In blood and scar! ''Brokenstar! Brokenstar! Brokenstar!'' Death. Devastation. Eternity. The bloody trinity of which Brokenstar kindled and festered in the troubled heart of ShadowClan ignited a hungry fire where venomous warriors were born. Trained- no, forced- to fight even before their eyes could see and still nursed upon their mother’s rich milk, kit’s fur was ripped away until blood fell scarlet upon the marshland. I can still hear their piteous screams as claws sunk into their soft skin… and I should remember the most, for I was one of them. I was one of the kits whom some other clans mocked as “Brokenstar’s Little Slaves”, which was so terribly true. But Brokenstar was not the only hardship I faced in my tortured life. Oh, no; there were foxes, badgers, less courteous rogues, and that blasted tortoiseshell tom that controlled my friends with fear just as Brokenstar tormented me. I am lost to the other horrific events in our lengthy history, as is my name, Volepaw. No one knows that I survived the reign of Brokenstar. No one knows I was once part of a clan. They thought I was dead. They were wrong. So, make yourselves comfortable, my curious listeners. Prepare to hear my magnificent tale of danger and flight! But don’t say I didn’t warn you if ghostly shadows haunt your dreams tonight.

 Chapter One: The Miniature Army
“Slash! Slash! Twist! Roll! Flip! Bite! Slash! Again!” I flattened my ears, trying to block out the grating sound of Brokenstar’s maniacal mew. Even if I managed to keep the sound from my ears, it perpetually rang in my head, therefore offering not the slightest relief. Brokenstar spouted one command after another, which I and the other undersized apprentices scrambled to obey. “Puny fools!” Brokenstar snarled irritably. “Have you never fought in your life? Start again, you stupid kits! And with more passion, or you’ll have nothing but rotting scraps for a moon!” The skittering of tiny claws was heard as we raced anxiously back into our starting battle formation, for we knew Brokenstar would keep his word about the scraps. When my sister, Dawnpaw, failed to return to her place in the time Brokenstar thought fashionable, he forced her to eat crow-food that was dirtied black from the foul Thunderpath. It took an inexcusably long time for Yellowfang to nurse her back to health, and until then, the winds of looming death seemed to chill her very marrow. I always wondered how such a cruel cat became leader. Knowing Brokenstar, I suspected the answer wasn’t pretty. “Volepaw!” Brokenstar chided with a growl. “Great StarClan, one would think I have a mouse for an apprentice! Claws out, right now.” Gritting my teeth, I slashed at the face of my attacker, a shy and mousey she-cat named Tansypaw. I felt so terrible as I saw her blood dripping thickly from my claws, and her face of horror. I’m so sorry, I apologized silently.