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Blood Stained ShadowDeep within the forest of Sasuga, a lone cat sat in a small clearing. The creature appeared to be solid black except for its glowing red eyes. It was almost as if the miniature feline was a blood stained shadow circling the clearing.
The shadow paced around a pile of leaves and brush that appeared to be moving. A tiny black paw appeared from underneath. The shadow cat stopped pacing and focused its red orbs on the paw. With a glint of its eyes, the brush pile was engulfed in flames.
The shadow cat grinned, exposing its white pointy teeth then scampered off as horrible cries rang out through the forest from the tiny creature burning in the brush pile.
The Formation of Lonnuas 1Adin! Lead your pups out now. Called the voice of a very large and dark pelted wolf that sat in the clearing. From a hole that was the entrance to a den before him came a procession of small wolf pups.
The first bolted out and nearly crashed into the huge wolf who called for him. The young pups pelt was almost as dark as his elder and his eyes seemed to glow a bright blue. His build was thick, boasting that one day he could be covered with rippling muscles. He was the oldest and largest of the litter.
Name? The older wolf questioned.
Sandor! The pup squeaked, puffing out its chest. He then bounded over and sat beside the older wolf.
The next puppy to be coaxed out of the den was a female. Her pelt was a shade darker than her brothers and she looked significantly smaller than him. This pup
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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