A bramble bush rustled, the culprit clearly not the northern breeze. Shadows fell upon the figure, concealing, shrouding, hiding the creature from full view. A flash of white here, another there, and a low rustle, a crunch, were the only symptoms that denoted a presence.
Suddenly, all was silence. Not even the birds sang, mute with curiosity and caution.
Slowly, two large eyes, yellow, focused, appeared out of the gloom. They shifted, the pupils shrinking as they focused on an object in the clearing. The victim. The one who was about to die.
A slight rustle was the only warning as the warrior charged from the brambles, running, sprinting on raptor-like legs towards the prey. Wings flapped, beak flashed, feathers flipped, as the chicken wheeled into the air. With practiced finesse, the hen angled her wings, turning her body into a partially vertical position as she dropped. Claws outstretched in front of her, the warrior connected with the victim. The sharpened talons clamped shut with a loud crack. A pair of titmice fled. Their chirps were the only sounds in a silent world.
Breathing heavily, Silver unclenched her talons, delighted to see that the hollow sapling log she had attacked was snapped. It lay, crippled and broken, upon the forest floor. The delight, however, turned to grimness as she realized that it may be a chicken under her claws next time. She shuddered, hoping that the opportunity would never present itself.
She journeyed back into the middle of the camp, her pearlescent feathers glowing snow-white in the sunlight's rays. The sun picked up her feathers, tossing them playfully as she took a few berries hungrily from the food pile. With a satisfied smile, she sat down neatly, content with the fact that, with Bloodwing's constant advice and training, she would be a warrior soon. Soon, she would no longer be Silverpaw.
An extremely long one that added up to be quite a mess. 
