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Duskflight
Halite dug his claws into the ground. The tom was exhausted. No, he was
beyond that. He was physically and mentally drained.
How much longer can I last? he wondered, shifting his eyes towards the crowd.
It was unfortunate, really. In the beginning, there was a glimmer of hope in the tomcat's eyes. There was a chance for the Syndicate to win and teach those good-for-nothing clan cats a lesson.
But by now, the tide had shifted. Halite could see between the lines; SkyClan had more support and strength. If he kept fighting, it would be a losing battle. But he
had to keep fighting, didn't he? For his syndicate-mates. For glory, at least. Halite couldn't be a coward at this point of time, not after all he'd done.
The gray-pelted leader hunched over to a staggering pose. Not very dictator-like, as it easily revealed his insecurities and vulnerability, but it was what he had to do. His blue eyes twitched towards a rather familiar tabby pattern- one that he despised greatly.
"Ah, Grousestar." The words came out in scratchy, quiet rasps. Halite could've chosen to walk away from the SkyClan leader. He could have spared himself from future pain and misery. But he didn't.
Oh, the Dusk Syndicate, I hope I have not failed you too greatly...
All I wanted was to be a great Commander.