I decided to think of a little random story thing on the top of my head. If you like it, a floof would be appreciated dearly.
It appeared to be a usually tranquil state in Spancil Hill. The brutes whom roamed the lush lands are busy hunting down large game, while the fae's are nurturing their young offspring. Life progressed well in Spancil, with all of the packs of canids allied with one another, and all of the game, water, and opened land to help the packs who lived their thrive. At the moment, the pack who seemed to be most successful was the Pack of Highland Isles. They succeed in members and power. They are friendly to allies, but serious with bounds and rules. The other packs look up to them as their protectors, for they have fierce warriors, guards and scouts that are trained to fight with perfection, until the death. Out of nowhere, a loud, piercingly deep roar rumbled throughout the settling horizon, catching the attention of every mere canid in Spancil. "Aye, what is that!?" Dante, the Alpha of the Pack of Highland Isles exclaimed. "F-F-Felidae!!" A tenderfoot from another pack shrieked before scurrying away in a heap. Finally catching sight of the felidae rogues, Dante went running to retrieve the guards, warriors, and scouts of all of the 8 packs whom lived in Spancil. "Attack without mercy!!" The Alpha barked, darting off with the huge raid of canids. Alarmed by the sudden raid, the rogues sent out more and more felidae to attack the canids. The rogue's slashed their sharp claws at the flesh of some canids, while the canids flung their own bodies at the other rogues, leaving gashes in their flesh. The canids penetrated their saliva-enriched ivories into the felidae's throat. The leader of the rogues, Reginald III, tackled Dante to the harsh, grassy terrain and suffocated him until he died. In aftermath, the canids did win, though the grassy terrain became blood-soaked. Crimson blood was splattered all over the foliage, turning the once lush Spancil, into a blood-slaughtered scene. ~**The End**~
