Trials of the Hunted
Series: The Hunted Series
Allegiances: None yet
Succeeding: Flames and Fire
|Mockingpaw leads and ordinary, but tough life, living in TwelfthClan. She hunts in the woods outside the clan border, in the woods, which is against the CapitalClan's laws.
And this year, she must fight to the death. Let the Trials of the Hunted begin...
Snowstar paced his den. The twelve Clans were planning another uprising - he could feel it. Oh, he had known it was coming for a while. What he didn't know, however, was how to stop it. Fortunately, he thought, It is nearly time for The Hunted Trials again. This will show them who is boss. He knew exactly what the arena would look like, the image was forming in his head.
Mockingpaw leaped over the boundary stream. She had been an apprentice for a while, and her best friend, Breezepaw was nearly warrior. They had been hunting in the woods, the place where no cat was supposed to go. The streams were supposed to be guarded by CapitalClan's genetically engineered guards who were stronger and faster than normal cats. But TwelfthClan was often overlooked, meaning that the guards often were not there.
Breezepaw leaped over the thinnest, shallowest part of the stream after Mockingpaw. "Mockingpaw?" She tilted her head in confusion.
"What? What's wrong?"
"The Hunted trials are nearly here again"
"Mockingpaw? Mockingpaw I'm hungry!" Mockingpaw sighed. How could she explain to her sister that CapitalClan somehow controlled the amount of prey that wandered the territory, and that she broke the law everyday to catch enough prey to add to the fresh kill pile to be able to take prey for her family? Fortuantely she had a mouse, scrawny but still food that she had collected for her sister.
"Primrosekit, your mouse is in the den. Check that mother's ok, I have to do... sometihing." Primrosekit bounded away, oblivious to the fact that the working cats who had spent all day shifting rocks around the territory for CapitalClan, for their mundane and petty purposes. Mockingpaw thought of her father. He had taught her to hunt before he had died in a rockfall, a tragic accident.
Mockingpaw dashed around the back of the den to where she had hidden some precious prey for herself so that she could feed her family and not go hungry. As she devoured a small rabbit, she heard the CapitalClan's guard's announce, with some contraption that amplified their voices, that the signing up for extra food had begun. You could win extra food by signing up your name to be put in the selection pool more than once. This year, Mockingpaw went to put her name in, just like every year.
But this year was different. This year, Primrosekit had her name in the pool. Just once. Only once. She could never get chosen. The odds are too low.