Protolude

Protolude

A large black tom with a graying muzzle lay on a moss bed, wheezing, on his death-bed, three cats stood next to him, their heads bowed in sorrow. The youngest, a brown tom with white spots, was close to tears, as he had to watch his father, the Leader, die. He murmured something inaudibly, words of sadness, of greif, and burrowed his muzzle into his dad's pelt, he raised his head as his dad started speaking, words so ominous, so strange, that it took the cat a minute to make out, "The Flame will kill its successor, the chaos will begin, and rivers shall fill with blood," The tom took a step back, gasping. "What's wrong, Puddle?" One of the other cats, a she-cst keeping vigil asked "N-nothing," Puddle mewed "It's nothing, Glacier,"