Warriors

Warriors is a series of books about cats and they are one person (cat) books, The main characters in the first series of the books is Fireheart/Rusty. I'm going to type the first part of the book. It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near. The young tomcat's eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smells of the forest reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a small furry creature. Suddenly a flash of gray raced past him. Rusty stopped still, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. Rusty knew it was a mouse-he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep withing his ear fur. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied. Slowly he lowered his body into position, crouching for the attack. He was downwind of the mouse. He knew it was not aware of him. With one final check on his prey's position, Rusty pushed back hard on his haunches and sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose. The mouse dived for cover, heading toward a hole in the ground. But Rusty was already on top of it. He scooped it into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-covered ground. The mouse landed dazed, but alive. It tried to run, but Rusty snatched it up again. He tossed the mouse once more, this time a little farther away. The mouse managed to scramble a few paces before Rusty caught up with it. Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Rusty looked around, and as he did so, the mouse was able to pull away from his claws. When Rusty turned back he saw it dart into the darkness among the tangled roots of a tree. Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that had cost him his kill. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar. Rusty blinked open his eyes. The forest had dissapeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window casting shadows on the smooth hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been dreaming. Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream he had felt the fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usaully pinched. Rusty rolled onto his back, savoring the dream for a few moments. He could still smell mouse. It was the third time since full moonthat he'd had the dream, and every time the mouse had escaped his grasp. He licked his lips. From his bed he could smell the bland odor of his food. His owners always refilled his dish before they went to bed. The dusty smell chased away the warm scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his stomach, so Rusty sretched the sleep out of his limbs and padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. The food felt dry and tasteless on his toungue. Rusty reluctantly swallowed one more mouthfull. Then he turned away from the food dish and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the smell of the garden would bring back the feelings of his dream. Outside, the moon was bright. It was raining lightly. Rusty stalked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws. He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent cloyed the damp air around him, and he curled his lip to drive the smell out of his nostrils. Afterward, Rusty settled down on top of one of the post in the fence that marked the limits of his garden. It was a favorite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighboring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of the garden fence. The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fince the woods were full of shadows. Rusty stretched his head forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm and dry under his think coat, but he could feel the wieght of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur. He heard his owners giving hime one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with getle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee. But this time Rusry ignored his owners' voices and turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smell of the woods had grown fresher after the rain.