Longstorm Mourns

Tears.
There are no tears. None enough for the bodies of everyone, torn, ravaged, ruined.
Blood dripped, dripped, dripped down her slick pelt and into the dust.
Slowly sliding from eyes that weren't, ponderously pouring from a mouth that hung, hung, hung so loosely, sinew and muscle torn away.
Blood. There is never enough blood.
Breath hissing, wheezing, hoarse and broken - eerie whistling as oxygen that isn't escapes through punctured lungs.
We will steal their breath away.
We will eat it.
We will make them watch.
Voices.
Storm that never ends, the longest storm, longest storm, they giggle in discordant unison.
Her hollow personality was in control.
"Longstorm," terrible, hissing, hollow, ill formed word from a broken mouth. Her sunken, bloody eyes looked up to the dark 'sky' of the Dark Forest.
"She once... danced..." She cocked her head suddenly, almost reptile-like. Her flattened paws, bones and claws sticking through the soft, ruined skin, shuffled in place.
"There was..." Her voice was so soft, so childish, so... innocent. Her motherly personality. "I dreamed..."
What did you dream, the voices crooned.
Stumps for ears flicked.
"I dreamed... I dreamed I had a kit."
Silence.
"He was... so... beautiful. Smelled so..." She had no nose, only a gaping hole. "Perfect. The softest spotted gray pelt... like a storm... in the sunlight... just a shadow."
The innocence left her.
Her strongest personality took over.
"Starclan," voice of a demon, "Starclan promised us - Starclan promised us!" Blood and puss and saliva oozed from her mouth. "Starclan promised - and get a promise we will - we will be back, yes, we will be back."
She spun around on jagged boney sticks and vanished into the Forest, a thousand treacherous eyes watching her leave from within, and ten thousand innocent voices sighing in relief from the Gold Plains.
The 'click-click, click-click' of her bones echoed as far as it could, and all who heard it looked over their shoulders in fear.