Froststar looked up from one end of camp before she rushed forward. "No..." She murmured in shock, shaking her head. "How can we ever defeat them?" She whispered to herself, slowly losing all hope. If ShadowClan, strong and healthy, couldn't defeat the rogues, then who could? She prayed RiverClan would be able- wait, who was that? That limp body, right there? Yeah, the one covered in blood. Froststar's breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, she was under siege with powerful emotions, tearing at her heart. She had felt this feeling before, only once. The feeling of every emotion at once taking over, driving you insane and breaking you down till all that was left was a broken heart and memories, millions of memories. Why did he pull such reactions from her? She dragged in a shaky breath and moved forward without thinking, burying her muzzle into his fur. She honestly didn't care if anybody stared- she was lost in a river of emotion. For the longest time she didn't move. She knew she should be acting like a leader- strong and in charge, not showing weakness nor emotion. Calm and collected. Like her father showed her. But now she was too broken up to breathe. This was her childhood friend- this was Sagestar. He had lost- ShadowClan had lost. She was without whatever hope she had mustered up, and as the snow feel she tried to feel warmth radiation off of the body in front of her, but there was none there. She knew he would be back- at least, she prayed to StarClan for that to be so. They couldn't take him away from her-- right?

"Don't leave me..." She murmured under her breath, not expecting anyone to hear. She doubted he himself would. "No, you know what? You can't go. I forbid it." She breathed, her voice strong but quiet, as if there was no arguing. Yes. She wouldn't allow him to die. She hated to admit it, but she cared for him. StarClan wouldn't take him- she would fight them if they tried. But she knew he would come back; whether from pure stubbornness or the simple knowledge that he probably had a few more lives up his sleeves. (because cats have sleeves now) So she gathered up her strength and did her best to hide away any weakness.

Clearing her throat, she stepped back and looked around, catching Nightwing's eyes. She quickly got her act together, her facade once again gaining strength. "I'm sorry to hear that, Nightwing. You're welcome to stay in RiverClan for as long as you need. I believe ShadowClan would do the same if we were ever in trouble." She replied, grief hidden from her voice. Though it was easy to see that she was at least a bit affected by Sagestar's death. She dipped her head respectively towards the deputy, casting glances at the body. Shouldn't he be awake by now? ... No. No doubt. He'd make it, she believed that wholeheartedly.

Sagestar stood in a rigid fashion next to his deputy, his emerald eyes glued to the entrance. They had watched the SkyClan border like hawks for days on end, deciding when it was the right day to attack. That day was now. He shut his eyes tightly for a few moments, to try and calm himself. He himself wasn't afraid - not for himself, anyways. He wasn't scared of dying. Not only because of the nine lives gifted from StarClan, but because he knew he'd be peaceful in giving up every single one of those, if it meant to save his clan. They were the ones his heart lurched for. What if he couldn't protect them? What if he mad the wrong choice in keeping them here? What if...?

The tom shook his head, clearing his thoughts. No. He had to keep it together. He was the leader of the clan. Not only that, he was the leader of the fiercest clan in the forest. They all knew what was at stake here, and they chose to stay, for the same reasons that he did. In spite of the chilly, silent atmosphere, Sagestar couldn't help but let out a warm chuckle taking a few steps forward to break the silence and address his clan. "ShadowClan!" He yowled, "I will not lie. We face a great danger, one that the forest has never seen before." He gritted his teeth at the truth, "I share your anxiousness, but we must not forget - No matter what happens, we stand together in the greatest of honor! ShadowClan - this is what we're trained for, bred for, what we were born to do!" As he went on, his voice risen, a sharp growl in the back of his throat. "Show no fear! Show no mercy! Let our yowls of war strike fear into their hearts and our claws spill their blood across the mud - Show them that when they threaten our clan, they will not get away easily!"

With an entirely new look of fierce determination on his face, and a devilish gleam in his green gaze, he gazed at his line of warriors; his order lower, but firm. "At the ready."

Now the camp was empty it seemed, besides the dead leader.

Flamestar...

The leader shifted, feeling soft grass beneath him.

"Flamestar."

The voice was clearer. Opening his eyes, Flamestar realized he wasn't in Kansas Skyclan camp anymore. He was in a brightly lit forest, and he quickly knew he had died.

He had failed his clanmates. The battle was lost. Worst of all, in his own camp.

"Flamestar!" The leader whipped around as the voice sounded very close and loud. A pretty firey-orange she-cat stood in front of him, beside her a russet tabby tom. "You've lost a life, Flamestar. You only have 8 more. You're clan has fled the battlefield, and the rogues are gone." The she-cat explained gently with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

Flamestar blinked in shock. He instantly recognized his parents: Firepelt and Tigerfang. "We...Lost? In our own camp?" He breathed. "But that's impossible! Skyclan was doing so well before..."

His mother hushed him with a flick of her tail. "It's true. Those rogues aren't ordinary, Flamestar. Be careful." With that, she began to fade away. His father narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

Flamestar's eyes flung open, darting around the blood-stained clearing. The area was silent, and there was blood splatters around his body where a deep neck wound had been cut open by that fox-hearted rogue. Before he died, Flamestar recalled this "Lionheart"'s name to actually be Amalric, according to the larger cat who had killed him. This cat was clever, giving himself a clan name so he'd be more accepted.

The leader struggled to his paws, wincing as the slow dripping noise of blood from his wound echoed over the ground of the empty camp. His mother was right: The once lively camp was left barren as the rest of the cats had fled. He hoped they were okay, and that they had headed to Thunderclan, considering Lionstar was absolutely more trustworthy than Sagestar. Not that he trusted him: They were rivals. But it was the last place for them to go at the moment, though he hated to admit it.

Limping towards the camp entrance, Flamestar made sure the rogues were truly gone before leaving, still alert for any enemies.

Fallencloud tossed restlessly in the flimsy, poorly (in her opinion) constructed den, her usually bright green orbs dull and weary as she gazed at the ceiling, light filtering through tiny holes. She could not get herself to rest at this hour, and despite her being active throughout the day, the weariness only caused her to retire to the nest; not actually recovering from a day of activity and worry. This was not the hour she usually slumbered; on the contrary, if this were any other day she would be out in Shadowclan's marshes, training with Nightwing...Then she paused in her thoughts; no, she would not be out with her mentor at this time - she was a warrior, she reminded herself a little regretfully. Somehow thinking of her elevated rank did not fill her with the excitement and pride she had thought it would. Fallencloud sighed, shifting once for in the damp moss. There seemed to be no place that was actually dry in RiverClan, she thought bitterly. Or maybe RiverClan had lower standards for what was really 'dry'.

She longed to be out in the marshes of ShadowClan territory, running through the soft, muddy earth as it clung to her paws. Initially the light gray warrior had found the sticky substance that was so common on their land to be annoying and burdensome, but now she wished feel it again. Something to remind her of home; that ShadowClan had won the battle and had claimed their land once more. Deciding to persevere, she closed her eyes, breathing evenly to help her fall into sleep. Though slightly faint, she could easily hear the sound of rushing water, the current sweeping against the rocks on the river surrounding the camp. The noise was disturbing – they didn't have such loud rivers in ShadowClan, at least not so close to where the slept.

Fallencloud abruptly rose from her nest, shaking her head to the side as she surveyed her surroundings under the aide of the moon shining through the den. Carefully picking her way through the wet earth, she stumbled outside of the den, immediately looking up to the moon, the same one all of ShadowClan had hunted, fought, and trained under. Thankful for something familiar, she padded into the clearing in a slow pace. The wound on her chest felt irritated if she jostled it too much, so she was wary of its condition as she moved. She wasn't surprised to see familiar pelts sitting in the corner of the camp, sharing words at ShadowClan's active hours. She felt relief to see that Sagestar looked rather healthy - if limping was healthy - though she knew she needn't worry. Her leader - ShadowClan's leader - was the strongest, he would have definitely come back to beat up the rogues that stole their home. StarClan forbid he didn't.

Fallencloud saw her mentor talking with him, so the light gray warrior decided to keep her distance. She had not spoken much with her mentor since the battle, and however much she wanted to, she knew that maybe she had important things to talk about with Sagstar; her being the deputy and all. Curling her tail around her paws, she remained in the center of the clearing, bathing in the moonlight with a slightly more relaxed expression.

After Sagestar didn't answer the first time, Gingerheart began to panic. He couldn't be dead, could he? Of course, leaders had nine lives.. but she didn't know how many he had. What if it was his last life? "Sagestar?" She repeated, the tone of her voice turning more worried and slightly shrill. She slowly edged closer to his body before pushing her nose into his still warm fur since she wasn't able to prod at him with her wounded paw. She had failed him. What would he say when he returned... If he returned?

When his body continued to stay as still as stone, all Gingerheart could think about was his terrible she had some in that fight. What if she had done something different? She messed up. She caught stuck in that mouse-brained dog's matted fur. If she would have been able to get free, she could have prevented his loss of life. It was all her fault. She should have kept Sagestar from fighting. He needs to lead the clan; she is just another warrior. She was quite expendable, her leader wasn't.

"Sagestar, you cant be dead! You have to come back!" she meowed desperately. If cats could cry, she would be bawling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." she muttered, as she waited with a shred of hope that her leader would return. Of course, she was pretty sure that it wasn't his last life, but there was that small feeling of doubt. It could be his last life. What would she tell the clan if it was? Ugh, too many thoughts buzzed in her head at once while all she could do was just wait patiently and hope for the best.

It was late, as if the moon shining high above the sky wasn't obvious enough. Why Falconfang was still up wasn't the correct question: the question truly was why wasn't he in the warrior's den? He had never thought of sleeping anywhere but the den, but now it felt as if something was calling to him, telling him to step outside. The tired tom had had quite the eventful off-screen day; due to the punishment handed down by Stormstar, he had spent almost all day hunting for the clan and caring for the elders who truly exist and aren't a figment of Stormstar's imagination. Still, he couldn't complain... it could've been much, much worse. And now, at a time that he should have been sleeping, he was standing just outside the den, looking up at the moon. It was quite beautiful, to be sure.

After a moment of just staring up at the moon and the stars littered around the glowing sphere, Falconfang finally laid down on the cool grass, his fluffy fur allowing him to buffet the majority of the dense, cold air that hung around the camp this leafbare. Something just felt right about lying outside the dens, with seemingly nothing separating him from his starry ancestors. That was one thing on his mind: the cats of Starclan, who he wondered if they were watching him right then. It had been a bit of time since he had been caught at Fourtrees by Raccoonheart, yet every day he felt as if every stare was an accusatory one, as if he would never outlive what he had done. But now, as he gave another glance to the dark sky, another thought entered his mind, one that he had been trying to suppress ever since he had become a warrior. Will I be remembered? He remembered being a kit and staring up at the intimidating presence of Stormstar as he spoke of the meetings that took place on the Highrock, and even then he had wanted to be mentioned there by the leader, to be known... to be remembered. What if no one remembers me? That was a thought that had gnawed at him throughout all of his kithood, the thought that when he died, he would just be... forgotten. Another warrior that lived in the clans, nothing more. A shiver went down his spine, but it wasn't from the cold: the thought wasn't a very pretty one.

Of course, he had done something memorable. By the next Gathering, every clan would know of him as the mousebrained Windclan tom who had shacked up with a Riverclan she-cat. Some remembrance. He didn't want to be remembered solely for breaking the rules, but what else had he done? He'd be lucky to be remembered at all... Falconfang shook his head to try and chase these terrible thoughts away, but they stuck to his mind like cobwebs. He was a rule-breaking tom in a weak, dwindling clan who would die and be forgotten as soon as his cold body was in the ground. He sighed and pushed his nose into his paws. Sleep would not come easy this night.

Shadows appeared in the fog, the pounding of paws echoed through the eerie night. The ShadowClan cats, wounded, and tired, made their way to the camp, carrying the body of Sagestar, who was still carried, by Nightwing and Gingerheart, Fresh cobwebs, hastily slapped onto the wounds at the Fourtrees, to stop the bleeding until the worn ragged group made it to safety. Nightwing and Gingerheart were the first to break though the dense fog followed by the other warriors, apprentice, and medicine cats. Looking up, Nightwing spotted Froststar and a warrior sitting at the entrance as if expecting them to come. The weight of Sagestar was almost unbearable, her wounds stung, and her mind was fuzzy. Taking the last few steps to Froststar, so she was a fox's length away from her. Letting her mentor slip gently to the ground, Nightwing sat, her eyes bright with responsibility, and with pain, that was clear for any cat to see. Only the best at telling feelings could tell that Nightwing's fear was about to overwhelm her. Will RiverClan take care of the warriors as well? “We lost... Gravely." She looked down at Sagestar, then back up.

Amalric froze, and the battle seemed to cease around him. No. It couldn't be. Had his new friend truly died? If Emicho hadn't pinned him, he would have ran to the tom's corpse. Snowflakes speckled his amber brown pelt white, and his eyes held cold hatred. "I'll kill you, Barabossa!" he shouted with absolute rage coursing through his veins, tensing his muscles. This cat had killed another of the cats he cared about, and it didn't effect him at all.

His pelt ached and he struggled under the weigh of his opponent fruitlessly. The snow just kept falling. Cedarfur was pretending to be dead still, though he saw through his empty eyes what had happened. Another life down. This was bad, for they had lost his home. What were the clans going to do? How many lives did his leader have left?

Though it was leaf-bare, this particular day was slightly warmer than most during the season, with few specks of white fluff blocking the sun. It was about the time of sharing tongues, though the air was still cold and brittle.

Overall it seemed as if Thunderclan seemed to be getting used to Skyclan being around; It wasn't a big clan, as well did they hunt and fight alongside Thunderclan. Of course there was still a couple of cats not exactly, how you say, "buddy-buddy" with them yet. After all...Skyclan was a rival clan until they showed up bleeding, begging for help right in front of the confused Thunderclan warriors' eyes. It had been explained later that rogues had driven Skyclan out, and although this was none of Thunderclan's business, Lionstar the Thunderclan leader had decided to let them stay for a while, at least until it was safe for them to return home. The way the golden tom had simply allowed them into his camp was a little strange, acting as if he had little yet at the same time much interest in what was going on. The truth was, he found strength rather than weakness in letting the injured clan stay with his own. They gave him information, as well as making the clan look bigger, stronger than others. For this both clans were well off so far, with patrols out daily and warriors prepared for anything these rogues may suddenly throw at them out of nowhere.

But enough of that. Today was a simply, calm day in camp for both clans. Some cats may be asleep still, while others may be chatting about patrols for the day, others murmuring about themselves in small groups about the rogues along with ideas they may have to use against a sudden ambush, if it were to happen.

Lionstar himself was simply sitting by his den, watching the two clans move about with almost-normal clan routines, though still alert and cautious, as if expecting a fierce, blood-thirsty killer to drop don on them any moment they took their eyes away from a patch of grass or certain wobbly tree branch. Some times, the Thunderclan leader thought the tension was so thick, he could feel it in the air when he was hunting or patrolling with his clanmates.

Either way, they were prepared, even on this easy-going, normal day in camp.