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Silverwing slowly walked towards her sons body. His fur was matted with blood, and as she looked down at it, she had to keep from seeing her mates body. They looked the same: covered in blood, and broken. Sitting down, she slowly eased into laying, eyes glazing over as she looked at Swiftstorm's body more and more. And so she pressed her nose against her sons fur, scenting his scent she had known since his birth for the last time. This time, it was almost overpowered by the bitter scent of blood.
The old tom looked around the camp. At all the beaten and battered cats, the pools of blood, his clan. And Coalsnare was filled with pity. So many young cats, and young lives, gone. Luckily he had survived, and was able to help rebuild them.
Cloverpaw had been one of those lucky to escape with out many dire wounds. A couple scratches, but nothing worse. Maybe a cut or two. And as she sat down on her haunches, and started to lick her small wounds, she noticed the young warriors body. Poor Swiftstream... she'd miss him a bit. He had helped her when she first joined the clan.
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