The Cat

A cat stalked the night, prowling his domain. So much had changed in such a short time, but he knew this land was his.
His to protect. For only he had the strength to defeat the enemy. For the enemy was clever, and had the advantage of the higher ground.
But his fangs were stronger than the enemy's bones, his claws perfect for tearing the enemy's feathers.
So while others had fled from the mob of wings decending upon the land, he had stood tall.
He had fought, had bled beneath talons.
He had won.
And although the land of been ravage by their war, it was still beautiful. It was still his.
And so the cat would prowl, ever-watchful, for the enemy to return.
The birds would return, and he would be ready for them.