A huge, lean black tom crept through the undergrowth of the forest, his amber eyes gleaming in the night. Muscles rippled beneath his pelt, and fresh prey-blood stained his unsheathed claws. A mouse squeaked in front of the cat, not realizing the danger it was in.
The tom pounced, releasing a bone-chilling yowl as he sprang down into his prey. A high pitched squeal of terror was cut short as he leaped and snapped the mouse's neck.
He straightened sharply as he heard the crunch of paws. The cat's amber eyes pierced the shadows, but he did not see anyone. The crunching continued to get louder, and louder...
Nightingale's head snapped up as he awoke. The crunching of paws was still there, but there was no mouse. His belly was empty and rumbling.
The black-and-grey tabby's eyes narrowed as a black tipped tail flicked past. "Larkcry," he hissed. With a snarl, he leaped out of the makeshift den and around the corner, where he leaped upon a dark grey-and-black bengal tom.
Nightingale blinked his amber eyes in surprise. "You're not Larkcry," he meowed.
The other cat twisted around underneath Nightingale to face the attacker. "Who's that?" he cried. "I don't know anything, who are you, why are you attacking me, what did I do?"
Nightingale rolled his eyes. "I'm the one who's asking the questions," he snapped. "Who are you and why are you so close to my den?"
The tom beneath him whimpered, "My name is Streak, formerly Blackstreak of Riverclan, my kin is Larkcry, he's my uncle!"
"Well, that explains a lot," Nightingale snarled. "You look just like that deceiving feline. But you didn't answer my last question."
Streak whimpered again. "I'm traveling," he rasped. "Trying to get away from my Clan."
"Oh, are you?" Nightingale smirked. "I can help you, if you tell me where Larkcry is."
"Last I saw him, he was with Windclan," Streak choked out. "Can you let me up now?"
"Of course," Nightingale purred, his amber eyes gleaming. He stepped away from Streak, and watched as the former Riverclan tom got up.
"Guess I'll... see you around."
"Oh, I doubt that," the black rogue hissed. Satisfaction sparked in his chest as Streak stared at him, suddenly looking nervous again.
"W-what do you mean?" Streak mewed, taking a step back.
"I mean, next time anyone sees you, it'll be your body floating in the river!" Nightingale leaped, and, with a chilling snarl, sank his teeth into Streak's throat. Larkcry's kin's screech of terror was cut short, and the grey tabby twitched once, twice, then was still.
Nightingale dragged Streak's lifeless body over to a nearby stream and dumped it in, his lip curled in disgust. "Weak," he spat. He turned his head to the sky. "Just like you, Larkcry," he hissed. "You take pride in chasing cats out. Well, let me tell you something." He slashed the ground with his claws. "You will be dead by the end of this moon. This is the start of my revenge."