that ravaged many longforgotten clans, leaving few survivors in their wake. The stories have been passed down through the clans for generations, but the Badlands had not known danger of this kind for many, many moons. The clans had become complacent; all too confident in the permanence of their existence and all too comfortable with the way things had become. They had been living in happy, quiet peace until a few moonrises ago.
The silence of the night was broken by a mad, guttural noise, heard and felt by all
denizens of the Badlands. No living cat was old enough to recognize it (the imitations attempted by storytellers were nothing like the real thing), but they all knew what it meant when they heard it. The word itself sent chills through even the bravest of cats, and mortified every kit that heard it uttered... Wolves.