Switched POV

     He didn't even yowl, it made the she-cat rather sad to have seen a kit with so much potential fall with so little time and effort. Emotions must have gotten to him, fear, anger, guilt; surely it was true, for he didn't fight back after a perfect shot right at the wolf's underbelly. When one trained to become a warrior, you also learned to control your thoughts and any sort of extreme negative feeling in the pit of your stomach. That, she understood perfectly, and it was the way of her life, it would be the way of her death. That's something else an apprentice of her stature had learned in those days; death isn't to be feared, not embraced. It is given to those who cannot continue, do not look for it, do not play with it, do not make humor of it. Loosely strewn rules for some, a code of being for others.
That kit, he seemed to embrace it, he broke a code of combat by doing so, and for that, the one edging him onto that path must diminish, for they do not belong on this territory.
As of collecting these morbid thoughts, the she-cat in hiding under the wreckage of the former elder's den darted towards the unsuspecting wolf, mind buzzing with constant realization and details. These creatures didn't kill to eat, they seemed to kill for fun, or to win. Perhaps even conquer, alike how cats had taken over a forest once belonging to beavers. She shuddered at the thought of these pack monsters inhabiting their meadow camp, that pondering left her with more passion for her next actions.
Her claws extended to full point, hooks glimmering in the midway risen sunlight, and latched herself onto the creature's flea-bitten tail. In short response, it let out a howl of fury and began shaking his tail while chasing it, but could not reach the persistent attacker, who's stance made it painstakingly obvious that it might be a fair fight. Her thin, lithe, and unburdened frame assisted her as she snagged her way across his upper flank, daring the wolf to snap his jaws to her ready claws, or at least one, as her other three were being used as support in the wriggling, shaggy thing's fur.
     At this, the creature obliged, now able to reach with its threatening maw and curled lips, opened its toothy jaw and lunged sideways towards the maneuvering pest. She was about to dodge this predictable predicament when it began toppling over!
     'He is trying to crush me.' The agile she-cat realized quickly, unhinging her talon-like claws from its back and attempting to spring off of him, away, in any direction possible.
     This worked, the wolf fell with a thump and a grunt, as well as a growl of frustration upon seeing it missed its target of elimination. They couldn't keep at this forever though, even the strongest stories and legends couldn't wage war forever; and alas, there had to be an ending to this bloodshed as well. Taking advantage of this, the light weight feline arched her back and got as far as she could from the still positioning wolves, approximately ten altogether, ganging up on the clan nearest the entrance. But they were tall, if IvyClan was fast enough, they might even escape with their lives.
"IVYCLAN, CLIMB THE TREES, GET AWAY AND CLIMB THE TREES ON THE MEADOW OUTSKIRTS" Yowled the prestigious fighter, tail lashing in anticipation for the oncoming wolves, for by speaking, she had drawn attention to herself. These animals knew she was the leader now, if they hadn't already.
     The current combating creature lumbered towards her, tongue lolling with effort, three others abandoned their attacking of the others to assist in the death of Petalstar. They worked as a team, a pack, a clan, an alliance... No doubting it, these were civilized, ambitious beings with minds of their own, and muscles, teeth and claws much stronger than any cat ever could hope to have.
Even in this definite ending one to four match, the pale furred she-cat felt at peace when her gaze pinpointed the figures of escaping cats hurdling up the bark and trunks of the surrounding oak and maple's like there was no tomorrow. With a sigh, she glanced up at the variety before her, ready to lunge at any sign of movement; one was all black, there was a greyish brown one as well, and a cream and sandy brown wolf, even a dark grey male. These all were individuals, like cats. Her heart was more at peace knowing if things did turn to the favor of this pack, they would still benefit unlike mindless bee's or buzzards with no difference between any of their kind.
Despite this, she couldn't show her clan any sign of giving up, that would be embracing death, thus a bitter end. She would go down fighting for the pride of her kin and her cats. No living subject to this land deserved to have such death as that, and proceeded to follow the code with a passionate, mournful howl. Her fangs bared and lips curled, Petalstar barreled into oblivion, actions masked by the snarled and frenzied movements of the vicious hounds.