There are many strays,
That gather in the fog filled forest.
The humans go oblivious,
To the cats called warriors.

They fight for survival,
Along with dominance.
Throughout the forest they live,
Split into four separate clans.

The groups through medium,
Have grown together.
Creating the heart of the clan,
This has more love than imaginable.

They are sly creatures,
So low almost slithering like snakes.
Creeping in on their prey,
Their breath is slow and calm.

The scent of the last meal,
Is hidden in the air.
The withered leaves scent,
Hangs the smell of blood.

The target is acquired,
They lift themselves on their haunches.
They stalk closer,
The time seems to slowly pass.

Once they catch the creature,
They begin to taunt it.
Their breath turns heavy,
Aimed into the nose of the prisoner.

They look at it with pity,
Till hunger dominates over the pity.
They stride back to camp,
Full and satisfied, they fall into slumber.

The leader watches over the clan,
Her head held high.
The deputy close by,
Making sure there is no alarming site.

She holds her head held high,
In justification of her clans safety.
She has truly become,
The heart of the campsite.

They curl into a ball,
As the night patrol leaves.
They know they are protected,
Till morning when the process repeats.