Large, glistening green eyes, like droplets of melted emerald, smeared over with tears of fury. The young warrior in his wake, a scrawny, but somehow strong, swift-looking warrior, took a huge lunge forward, attempting to hook lethal claws into the ginger tom's tail. Agony spread through every tip of Lightpaw's body; he whirled around, his powerful claws extended, managing to score a fearsomely powerpacked hit into Grayspots's muzzle. The scrawny tortoiseshell shadow fell backwards, slumping onto the ground like a struck crow, wings pierced by something fearsome, and the young cat's eyes brimmed with rage. The voice that escaped him chilled Grayspots to the bone. "You filthy murderer, I'm going to skin you alive... for the death of my beloved sister. For the death of Palepaw."

And apprentice, ordinarily, is not strong enough to kill a cat, and, in this case, Lightpaw was not an exception; however, Grayspots was not a well-fed warrior, and the heavy build of Littlestar's eldest kit was somewhat overwhelming. The scampering tortoiseshell form, diving for cover from the welting blows of Dappledleaf's only son, headed, cowering, for ShadowClan territory. Watching the warrior with raging, flickering jaded eyes, he sat, statue-like. Hatred formed within him that day; like a burning flame of never-ending rage.

After all, there's only one Palepaw and one Grayspots.

*Okay, I'm sorry, I'm pretty sure this made no sense. I was typing with my brain jumbled, and I ask thee to forgiveth me...