Life Itself (OPEN)

It was dark. Very dark. The moon was almost invisible that night, hidden behind thick clouds. The lack of light was accompanied by a thick fog, chilly to the core. The poor WindClan cats, sleeping in the open, probably huddled close that night. It was true, Leaf Bare was creeping ever so slowly upon the clans of the forest. The scraggly clan would be the first and hardest hit with their short pelts and exposed lifestyle. Thankfully, no wind whipped through the moors this night. But sadly, Leaf Bare wasn't the only thing creeping up on the sleeping cats.

The first fox's red pelt couldn't even be seen in the night, only a silhouette of the creature. Only a silent, quiet shadow slipping among the crests. A partner trailed behind it a few feet, and something dangled from its mouth. Theoretically, if one could see, it would be a chilling sight to those in the camp.

Finally, the fox reached its destination, paws silent on the soft grass starting to crisp. Fog swirled around the fox as it laid down it's prizes. The WindClan cats slept only feet away, oblivious to the presence outside their camp. One rabbit, still and hard from death. It reeked of day's old death baking in the sun for a few days. It didn't bother the fox. Beside it, the she fox gingerly laid down a small bird. A finch. One of the last of the season and very fresh. The fox-like shadow took the time to carefully arrange the two forms delicately, unphased by the other foxes approaching.

It flicked its tail in greeting, perhaps. Or perhaps it was motioning for an action? It doesn't matter. There would be more.

A secondary shadow followed the first, body low to the ground with quiet, careful steps but it head was still held up proudly, dragging two dangling shapes with it. Another fox reached the cusp of the hill, halting at where the prey was being left...And dropped two rabbits next to others, watching as a small dried red berry fell loose from one's open, screaming maw - caught in a terrified cry of final breath - and rolled across the ground before coming to a gentle stop near the gathering pile of prey. The fox's eyes flickered to the side, staring at the carefully arranged rabbit and finch left by the first fox, shaking its head as it gently bent down to move their rabbits to form a small line with the others.

It was a flawless night; silent, still, a deep pool of darkness to become lost in. Even the sounds of the pawsteps being taken just a few breaths ahead fell dead in the night, as if the world was holding its breath and the breaths of everything in it. One long shadow followed another, and another followed them, the palest of them yet still scarcely even a ghost in the darkness. As like the others, this shadow carried two small, dangling shapes delicately in its teeth. The taste of cold flesh and dried blood on the fox's tongue would have made its mouth water any other time, but not this time. These carcasses had a destiny greater being eaten.

They entered the encampment of the strange cats silently as a breeze and wasted no time finding a clear place to leave their gift. One by one the foxes laid their catches down. The pale one stood beside the others, resting its haul of a baby rabbit and a larger one on the earth in the neat line that was forming; it appeared almost planned, deliberate. The fox let out a soft huff, barely audible against the sounds of a gentle wind rustling the gorse walls. It flicked its ears back towards the way they had come. The creature's glinting eyes flitted over a few peacefully sleeping bodies.

Let them rest. They would need their strength for their reckoning yet to come.

--timeskip--

Morning, before the sun crested the moor. Finchstar awakened from his nest early, tasting the cold leaffall air, shivering. The camp was silent as wind gently rustled the ryegrass. The leader would normally smile at a day like this one, knowing that Raventail now remained safe, knowing the foxes on the moor had been killed in their very tunnels. But there was a sense of foreboding in the air. Finchstar found his paws slowly, carefully edging his way out of the nest as a breeze gusted through the air. To the naked eye, he may seem silly sneaking before an invisible beast, like a shy kit on their first day out of the nursery, but something was wrong.

No cat stirred as he padded to the entrance, a horrible smell wafting from beneath the gorse wall. Finchstar's eyes watered with the stench, and he gasped down a coming wretch. It reminded him of Puddlepaw, finding her battered body in that bloody tunnel. Oh, the nightmares that ensued afterward were endless, however it seemed his fears came to haunt him in his very camp.

It was the flies that he heard first, small little things that buzzed beyond his line of sight. They were present in his head, wracking his dreams as he raked through the bushes into the dawn. And then Finchstar was still. More still then the very moonstone that remained steadfast over thousands of moons. His paws did not twitch. His tail stuck straight out. And his eyes were frozen in horror at the sight before him. The only movement was his mind, that screamed at him to run, to flee far from the terror that was bestowed upon him now.

In a perfect line lay rotting rabbits, meat once fresh on the day WindClan had so carefully laid them outside the fox's tunnels. Their plan was simple, plant deathberries in the carcasses of the prey and poison the beasts that roamed the moor. But why now did these same poisoned messages rest outside WindClan's camp? A sputter came from Finchstar's mouth as his brain switched to overdrive. Slowly, his paws began to move in a strange, jerky motion. Like a spider, awkward in his movements. "No-" The leader choked, trying to wrap his mind on how this could have possibly happened. There was no explanation. No reason to it. A travesty such as this one could not even transcend the boundaries of fiction. Stories made Finchstar's world, but this one was false.

"Wind- WINDCLAN!" He shouted, fur standing on end as several chills ran down Finchstar's spine. This wasn't real. This wasn't possible. And yet to further seal the horror that plagued his mind, another piece of prey rested with the rabbits. This one was freshly caught, perhaps last night. Any other creature would have been shrugged off and categorized into the slot of terror. But this prey, this sent Finchstar into panic. Resting in the grass, next to the deathberry-filled, rotting carcasses of the rabbits was a bird, a finch.

Aspenheart's legs twitched in his sleep. With very little injuries of late to maintain, he allowed himself the great luxury of sleeping among his clanmates out in the open sky. With Cloverpaw finally free, there was no one to cry out for him in the den for an emergency dose of poppy seeds. At peace with the current happenings of his clan, he dreamed of only happy things. The smell of lavender and mint always prevailed. He chased a rabbit on working legs, dashing through the moors as if he had never been injured before. An odd dream. Of course, all dreams ended. The rabbit spun on its heel, taking Aspenheart by surprise as it screamed out:

WINDCLAN!

Sputtering, Aspenheart scrabbled to his paws, recognizing Finchstar's hunched form and a horrible smell wafting through the camp. Don't panic, his head yelled to his legs, but they didn't obey. At Finchstar's side, the medicine cat saw for the first time what broke his dearest friend's spirit so horribly. Rabbits, in a perfect line. A finch.

His rabbits.

His deathberries.

His idea.

Wait. "Stars," he gasped, "They've known where our camp is this entire time, Finchstar."

Aspenheart stumbled backward, retching and suddenly very ill. "How?" he rasped. "How did they know? They're too stupid to know what deathberries are. Did we even kill one of them?" He counted the crowfood with growing urgency. "They didn't eat a single one. Foxdung, not a single mangy fox died." The last few words caught on a breathy whisper, horror inaudible. He raced to find a solution, something to fix the problem he caused. They walked right into WindClan's camp, stood among their warriors, and did nothing. A terrible realization hit him.

"They're toying with us."

His brain began to falter and his eyes stared blankly at the single songbird among the kills. He could do nothing but collapse to his stomach, his omen repeating in his ears. StarClan could do nothing but sit on their tails and watch. His sickness often struck at inopportune moments. This time was no different. You did this, Aspenheart's head repeated, you did this to them. His ear flicked. Flick. Flick. Flick.

At Finchstar's call for his clan Ploverpuddle woke with a start. His yellow eyes flying open as he scrambled to his feet. His wide eyes scanning the clearing that was their camp looking for the source of whatever caused his leader to be so panicked. He had expected someone or something to be attacking the camp. After all it was rare for Ploverpuddle to sleep so easily. Once he finally caught sight of the leader and the medicine cat, the warrior relaxed a bit. There was no direct threat for now. His eyes scanned the clearing double checking for any other threat. Once he was satisfied that there was nothing else he weaved around the waking forms of the other cats and made his way over to the leader and medicine cat.

The only sign that Ploverpuddle was bothered by the smell of the rotting prey was a slight twitch in his maw as he approached. His yellow eyes taking in the crowfood and then the freshly caught bird. Whatever this was, it certainly wasn't good.

His ears flicked as the medicine cat spoke up. They know where our camp is? He wanted to ask if the medicine cat was sure. He wanted this to be a dream. He didn't want there to be a threat just outside of their camp. It was bad enough these past few moons as is, but this? This was a whole new issue. A whole new stress.

"They're toying with us."

Ploverpuddle couldn't help but speak up now. His thoughts leaving him. A switch flipped inside of him, and he was on survival mode once again. Say whatever comes to mind to protect yourself. "What?" The warrior stated sharply. "What do you mean they are toying with us?" The tom asked, a low growl edging his words. Sharp yellow eyes staring down the medicine cat not realizing something was wrong with the tom.

He let out a harsh huff after not getting an immediate answer from Aspenheart. He turned to face his leader. "Finchstar. What does he mean? I need answers." Despite his rationality telling him he was safe, that he wasn't alone. He couldn't help his slight fear, his slight panic. He had to protect himself, and if that meant being harsh, then so be it.

Fields of golden wheat blew softly in the wind. A blue sky shone above as Grousefrost raced through the field. Beside him the orange and white pelt of his daughter Vinepaw on one side, and his other… the light of his life. The blending in pelt of his mate Goldengale. Their nearly full-grown son just behind as they raced across the moorlands. Exhaustion never settled into their limbs as they leapt high over the gorse woven fence he had been carefully constructing for moons. They raced alongside the rabbits within the carefully maintained perimeter he had yet to fully finish. The little pelts flashing as they darted this way and that, while they enjoyed the simple thrill of running.

A powerful stench hit his nose. Claws digging into the ground as he stopped abruptly from running. Blue eyes stared at the carefully maintained rabbit tunnels… then beyond to a gap in the gorse. Strange, it was darker there. His head tilted, then he padded towards it. The hole was big enough for him to walk through, but the change was jarring. Where the wheat had been golden was now dead and shriveled. The ground wet and muddy. He growled deep in his chest as he padded forward towards the scent of the stench uneasily. Blood, lots of it. More than a single rabbit could have… he sniffed it carefully. His body jerked back in revulsion as he realised what he smelled. Gaze lifted to see a rotted corpse…

His eyes snapped open suddenly. Grousefrost’s body lifted from the nest and padded towards the entrance of the camp as his stomach clenched violently from the remnants of his dream… no, nightmare. He could have sworn he still smelled the stench as he blinked blearily into realisation. Cats were gathering. Finchstar… Aspenheart’s words sank into his ears slowly.

No. That couldn’t be. He padded to the group, made his way to the front only to see the evidence before him. Clear as the day of his dream. Only this was so much worse. His chest clenched tight, his family was in danger. His deep breath was clogged by the stench of death as it made him cough abruptly.

His head turned towards his family. They needed to be protected.. But leaving wouldn’t protect them. It would make them as worse as Raventail. He thought carefully over the options.
“First they take our tunnels, now they are trying to drive us out of camp.” He grated out. A deep seated anger uncoiling in his belly as he flattened his ears. Blue eyes livid in justified rage as he padded past the rabbits with a snarl to see if any mangy pelts were in the distance. His wounds ached, but it didn’t matter. His blazing gaze looked to Finchstar.

“We can’t wait. We have to attack them, together. We need to show those mangy beasts that WindClan cannot be intimidated by… this.” He swatted one of the dead rabbits with his paw. Standing proud despite his fear. “We have to defend our home.”

Goldengale's night had been dreamless, peaceful and silent. Every morning she woke with her kit curled at her belly, and all was right in WindClan. The terror outside of the camp hadn't touched them within their walls yet, and it was a haven, lending safety from the unknown out under the moor. The smell that filled her nostrils as she woke up, and quite potentially what pulled her from her slumber, was one that did not match that peace. It was dark, rotted, disgusting.

Crowfood. Had some apprentice brought it in? What if Crowkit got a hold of it? A quick glance confirmed he was still there, peacefully sleeping, and she relaxed slightly. The concern in the muffled voices kept her fur on end however, and she uncurled herself to carefully step away from her son and into the morning light. The smell was stronger here, thick and clogging.

She headed straight to Grousefrost's side, coming up next to him with a light bump to his shoulder before stopping, her paws frozen in place. The prey sat arranged, carefully, knowingly. She had helped hide death berries in those very carcasses just days before, hadn't she? Eyes wide in fear and distress, her mouth suddenly felt very dry. Too dry. Uncomfortably dry.

Her mate spoke, and she nodded absently. The tunnels... The tunnels... Blue eyes turned to Grousefrost, then to Finchstar, a spark of an idea forming in them. "The tunnels. They must still be using them. They're bigger than us, all of us. Were built for tunneling, and running. Tall and slim. They aren't, they have shoulders more like ThunderClan cats, wide. What if... What if we make the tunnel entrances we can more narrow? They won't be able to get through them anymore, or at least not as easily. The tunnels can widen back out further underground, but if we narrow the entrances it might help some, and give them limited routes to take."

She stared at Finchstar, trying to pointedly ignore the finch in the corner of her vision sitting mockingly. "We don't know how many there are. They seen to prefer picking us off at their leisure, so unless we make them desperate, take away something they've taken for granted, then maybe, just maybe, we can gain the upper paw. This also forces the battle to be above ground, where it should be. Where we excel. Crowkit will be an apprentice soon, and I will be sure that these moors are safe for him to traverse."

The voices around Finchstar remained a haze as he stared at the finch below his paws, terrified. His world crashed down around him in a heartbeat, and suddenly his everlasting confidence was stripped by the wayside. His wide yellow eyes searched the faces around him, unable to register the words they spoke. Aspenheart stood there, shaking. Ploverpuddle asked a sort of question. Grousefrost and Goldengale demanded action, and yet Finchstar could only stare at the hope as it surfaced where he could not reach. "The clan..." He breathed, speaking to no one in particular. His jaded eyes flashed past the gorse tunnel and into the warrior's den, where Raventail lay asleep with Dappleshine. "Get Barleytuft." He shouted over his shoulder to the witnesses of the travesty. Slowly, a paw was placed on Raventail's side to arouse the tom. Finchstar meant his face with a solid one of his own, a cold resolve frozen there.

WindClan gathered in the clearing, apprentices now awake and roaming, noses wrinkled at the horror they hadn't yet seen. Queens held their kits close, warriors remained stunned. Barleytuft padded from somewhere in camp, and Finchstar meant his eyes. "You have not seen what I have seen, friend. But I would wish that sight on no one. We are now in a state of war, gather around WindClan!" His voice raised as the windy cats of the moor found wary seats in the sand. A tired Raventail sat next to his horrified clanmates, kits squeaking pleas of confusion. "Be my deputy once more, friend? It is your paws and guidance I seek. Your past misgivings are washed away in the face of battle. Show me now your spirit, Raventail, and WindClan's eyes will be made clean." Finchstar added a pointed look to Grousefrost, making sure the silver tom understood.

Barleytuft remained on the side and the leader turned his gaze toward the cream tabby. "You have always been by my side, and everyday I am humbled by the care you hold for me, Barleytuft. But now I must ask of you to prepare our clan for war. Apprentices must learn to defend themselves, kits will learn to burrow. We have hours, perhaps. Days if we're lucky. These beasts of the moor are toying with us. And they will die, under our claws, as we flay the blood from their wretched bodies. No longer will these tunnels haunt WindClan's days. We will stand confident and strong! This is war!!" A cheer, fictional in Finchstar's mind as he stood victorious, a champion against his fear. In one paw, he wielded illogical optimism, and in the other, a kit-like hope. As dangerous as it was, he'd fight fire with a fire of his own. And mend all the rifts in between.

It wasn’t that Raventail had expected to return to a Clan in turmoil. To be fair, part of him hadn’t expected to return to a Clan at all, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that life here was nearly as calm as it had been at the barn, a calm Raventail hadn’t known since his apprenticeship, and that was every bit as shocking as finding an empty, bloodstained moor would have been. He’d left so soon after they’d dragged Puddlepaw’s mangled body out of the earth, and now, though everyone was still on edge, there was no apparent danger at all. It was downright eerie.

Even so, life marched on much the way it had in his absence. He fell back into the only routine he had ever known. Raventail spent his nights sleeping next to Dappleshine with one ear open, his days cornering any cat willing to talk to him for the sake of learning what he’d missed. One of the first things he’d been informed of—before he’d gone out on one of his solo patrols, thank the stars—was Aspenheart’s brilliant plan to solve the fox problem for good. The calm made sense. Eventually, Raventail began to trust it.

The terrible yowls had roused him slightly, so slightly he was sure he’d dreamed them. Then a firm paw settled on his shoulder. He startled awake, rigid to the tips of his ears. Then his eyes found Finchstar. The look on his friend’s face reminded him of the search patrol, except there was something different in it now. Solid, cold resolve under Finchstar’s ever-present hope. Though that expression and the distant cries spoke of dire circumstances, there was comfort to be found in it yet. Raventail stared back as his heartbeat slowed, letting the world filter in piece by piece. The sounds of panic became distinct words; the scent of crowfood made his stomach curl in on itself.

Finchstar was gone; the start of his meeting-call rang in Raventail’s ears. With a quick lick to Dappleshine’s shoulder, the dark tom followed his leader. He seated himself among his Clanmates, sure to leave a spot for Dappleshine when she arrived and even surer to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes (especially Goldengale’s and Grousefrost’s) for too long. To his surprise, Finchstar addressed him first. The last remnants of sleep drained away from Raventail’s face. WindClan stared into the foxes’ jaws. They were at war. And despite that, Finchstar still wanted him at his side. Had it been anyone else, it would have seemed impossible. A not wholly lucid smile flashed across Raventail’s muzzle; it was gone by the time he formed his response, soft and sharp, claws pushing into the dirt. ”Gladly. No more running.” Never again. He would prove himself a thousand times over. If that meant throwing himself at a thousand foxes, so be it.

Then the subject shifted. Raventail had never been to war, against cats or otherwise; the closest thing he had to that was the trek home from the lake, and there had only been one fight. Still, if anyone could turn this around, it was the cats gathered here. It was a kittishly hopeful thought, but there were worse things to be than hopeful. His ears straightened at the mention of preparations, training their youngest to defend themselves or hide, all of it in a voice bold and bright: Finchstar at his best. The moor would be safe again.

Goldengale’s presence next to him stopped him from making an impulsive decision to charge towards the very tunnels in immediate perusal of her plan. It was a brilliant strategy, and he pressed his pelt to hers in support for her idea. He waited for Finchstar to praise her, for the tom to declare an action. Instead, he turned towards the still laying down form of the black tom that had simpered his way back into the clan.

The one that had abandoned them. Who had returned with a stranger… and the moment those words were uttered, his claws unsheathed on the ground. He lifted his paw, dirt falling to the ground as he glared in the pairs direction and stood. His silver tail twitching as his eyes bore into Raventail’s pelt. Daring the tom to accept.

Of course he did. Grousefrost felt disgust well in his throat as his livid gaze turned to Finchstar.
“You can’t be serious.” He growled lowly. “He left! It’s clear deputyship was too much for him to handle, he abandoned us to chase some ridiculous fantasy and now you want him back as deputy!?” His voice ended in a furious yowl. Silver pelt brushed up in clear disdain at the pair before him.

This was wasting time. Precious seconds, and Crowkit wasn’t safe for any of them. He snarled lowly, then stalked away from the meeting cats. His gaze softening at Goldengale.
“I’ll go secure the loop...” he turned towards Raventail, gaze hardened once more. “Try not to run away this time, or you’ll be Raventail for a completely different reason.” He bared his teeth, then padded towards the nearest tunnel entrance. The one place he knew Raventail wouldn’t go.

Barleytuft's dreams were littered with vague, ominous shuffling and shifting shapes and dull colors. Not the tunnel nightmares he was used to... and that would be a breath of fresh air if not for the scent of rotting and yowl of alarm that suddenly jolted the tom from the abstract and into the dull pre-dawn light. Laying beside his mate in the grassy clearing in the space of camp, the pale cream tabby warrior's head lifted his dark hazel eyes zeroed in on Finchstar where the tom stood bristling and gazing at clumps on the floor.

Cloverpaw's head shot up as well where he lay near the nursery (simply where he'd happened to lay down the night before), a drowsy "a-wha?" slurring from his tired mouth as he yawned and then stared at the growing commotion.

The camp swarmed to life in a matter of only seconds, Aspenheart stumbling through the clearing to their leader's side only to stop and stare in awe the same way. The chaos that erupted was hard to comprehend, but the senior warrior began to lift himself to his paws as the cloud of chaos and confusion and terror began to grow among them. Cloverpaw, too, stood upon seeing Aspenheart stop with such a start, and began to make his way towards the medicine cat.

"They're toying with us," Aspenheart's fearful voice stated, and then the medicine cat was sinking to the earth with an oh-so familiar look of vacancy growing on his face. Oh, uncle, I'm sorry, Cloverpaw thought, realizing that his friend was drawing to the begining of one of his episodes. Ploverpuddle, who had been standing near Aspenheart, demanded and explanation, staring down at the silver tom with a hard, panicked stare. The medicine cat didn't answer, but before Cloverpaw could explain anything, Ploverpuddle had whirled to their leader to make the same demand: "What do you mean they are toying with us?"

Cloverpaw spun away, racing back towards the medicine den that he had become so accustomed to. "Misty? Mistystripe! Something bad's happened, come on; Finchstar's declared war on the foxes," he called as he made his way into the back of the den to begin fetching herbs for Aspenheart.

Grousefrost and Goldengale both joined in, demanding a fight. Barleytuft stood to move closer to the scene then. When he stopped nearby, he understood more clearly now what everyone had observed: the foxes had returned the poisoned bait. "Oh, StarClan," he whispered with a shudder of terror. They were in the camp, and we were all just sleeping right there. The fact that the foxes didn't touch them was no comfort. They were toying with the Clan cats. Goldengale cited the tunnels: the cats were making them too big, for their own comfort. If they were smaller, the predators couldn't use them.

Close by, Barleytuft heard his leader call his name. The senior warrior swiftly - but anxiously - made his way to Finchstar's side. He met his leader's eyes evenly as Finchstar explained that there was something unseen. Curiously, he listened as his leader gathered them around.

Finchstar's call immediately made Cloverpaw wince with his small leaf full of herbs - a couple poppyseeds, some thyme, and a little chamomile - and he picked up his pace to rejoin the gathered Clan. The silver apprentice worked his way through the crowd to Aspenheart's side, where the medicine cat still lay with an absent expression. Cloverpaw dropped the herbs in front of his mentor; that was all he could do for now. Aspenheart couldn't eat if he wasn't really there. He had to just wait and listen with a chasm of worry spreading through his stomach.

The leader's next words were a surprise to many. Spoken to Raventail, he requested, "Be my deputy once more, friend?" There was a beat of silence that, for once, Raventail was the first to break. ”Gladly. No more running.”

Barleytuft was stunned from his place near Finchstar. The senior warrior was... no longer deputy. He had never truly been deputy - never been named it, never desired it - and the realization struck an unknown chord of sadness in him as the position was taken as unceremoniously as it was given. Grousefrost's growl of disapproval turned into a yowl of anger and frustration; Barleytuft looked at him with a blank expression that glittered with uncomprehension. Maybe that was it. Maybe it wasn't that he wanted to remain deputy; maybe he simply didn't want Raventail to return to it. Yet it was done, and Finchstar's attention was suddenly on him again, drawing his gaze from Grousefrost back to his leader.

"You have always been by my side, and everyday I am humbled by the care you hold for me, Barleytuft," Finchstar declared, "but now I must ask of you to prepare our clan for war." The senior warrior nodded once, dutifully, but his confidence was shaken at the instant. While the leader continued to speak proudly, yowling strong words of wisdom and power and triumph, Barleytuft turned his head away to gaze with a helpless expression at Graybriar where she sat. "I hate when you get hurt, but you don't care as long as you can go fight foxes again!" her cold, desperate voice from some nights ago had cried. The tom's heart broke as he silently begged her to understand this wasn't his choice.

Barleytuft realized that Grousefrost had left his place beside Goldengale and was padding towards a tunnel entrance, growling about preparing the loop. The senior warrior's ear flicked, and he murmured to Finchstar, "I'm on Grousefrost's team." Though he had only meant it in reference to this tunneling patrol just now, part of him wondered if he shared Grousefrost's misgivings about Raventail. The cream tabby quickly made his way to the other warrior's side to descend into the tunnel with him.

Sandpaw had been jolted awake by a sharp paw from Silentgust, her prison keeper. Mentor. Grumbling, assuming it was for yet another safety brief, she rolled up and shook her groggy eyes awake... Only to find a group of cats crowded around. Yowling, chaos. Silentgust had already taken off and knowing she would be expected to follow him, the scrawny cat followed. Her skinny legs trembled as she got closer, the tension thick and clear. Sandpaw had always been skinny, but the depression of having to turn down her name and almost killing the tunnelers had forced her into not eating. Even when she arrived to the group, she clung to the back.

She didn't really hear the words. Her brother angry as he always seemed to be nowadays, Finchstar, scared. But Goldengale's idea of narrowing the tunnels echoed around in her head. If the tunnels were narrowed- sure, they wouldn't go into it until they had knocked down the entrances. Ideas swirled in her head- scaffolding. She had witnessed the time when scaffolding had been knocked away at the dig site, back when she was Sandy Bones. It had collapsed a whole wall... Collapsing...

"Wait!" she blurted out suddenly, her voice raspy from unused. Silentgust glared at her, but she ignored it. A familiar spark lit up in her chest again as her icy blue eyes met with Finchstar's as she wormed her way through the crowd. Hopefully Grousefrost would stop and listen... All she wanted to do was make it up to him. "What if, next to tunnels we narrow, we put up unstable scaffolding. Uh, shoring." Her eyes flicked over to Barleytuft. Sometimes her knowledge didn't translate. "When they can't fit into the narrow tunnels, they'll try the regular tunnels, but they'll be a stick, and when they knock it over, it'll collapse the tunnel on them." Extracting one of large claws, Sandpaw drew a sketch of two tunnels side by side, and of a stick forming a triangle, with the wall and ceiling being two sides of it. "It'd look like a root- a fox probably wouldn't think anything of it." Finally, she looked up. Forcing herself to look at her clanmates. Would they hate her for this? "I... I know it would be dangerous to set these up... But I'm willing to do it. It's only fair. And... And warriors shouldn't be out of camp anyway, so we can mark these tunnels." Her tail flicking, she looked back down at the ground. They would hate this idea.

Goldengale stiffened slightly as Finchstar called for her father, feeling her pride and adoration for the tom increase. Finchstar called for him first, despite Raventail returning. But then the unexpected happened. Finchstar himself fetched Raventail, sleeping peacefully with the RiverClan she-cat she had determined was his mate. Then, their leader double-downed, asking Raventail to return to deputyship in front of the entire clan, despite her father's efforts and everything he had done. That all those who had stayed had done. Mouth open in furious indignation, she wasn't able to do or say anything to try to ease Grousefrost's anger. She had tried to be understanding, to relate, but this... This was too much. Raventail had his chance, and he left to chase something else. Finally closing her mouth as Grousefrost turned, stalking towards the tunnel entrances, her father close behind, Goldengale turned as well.

Tail high, she turned to one of the other queens. With a nod and firm expression, she knew Crowkit would be safe. Quickly catching up, she walked between her father and her mate. "I'm coming with you. Don't even try to argue with me this time, Grousefrost, it won't be efficient because I'm not budging on this matter." As they walked away, the voice of Sandpaw sounded, and her ears swiveled to the sound, pausing with a paw in the air. The she-cat explained her idea, and Goldengale found herself nodding. Placing her paw down, she turned, eyes cold and calculating. "I think that is a wonderful idea, Sandpaw. Smart thinking, between the two options they would have little choices left. We'd have to ensure that the tunnels we set up for collapse will actually collapse, but not on us as we prepare them, and also that they aren't essential. That would require experienced tunnelers, while the less-experienced can focus on narrowing the entrances, since they won't have to go far."

She looked back to Barleytuft and Grousefrost, eyes begging them to agree before she moved to stand next to her sister-in-law. She brushed her pelt to the she-cat's gently, offering reassurance. She had won back Goldengale's respect by refusing her name, and the work she had done in the time since.

---

Dappleshine woke up swiftly as Raventail left her side, moving to accompany him. Settling in the spot he had saved her, she listened to the going-ons carefully. A she-cat she recalled meeting at a Gathering long ago mentioned narrowing tunnel entrances, and another mentioned trapping the tunnels so they collapsed on top of the foxes. Both were good ideas, to her, but how could they accomplish both? Wishing that she had more experience, more time to learn, she made her choice as the pretty golden warrior spoke again in support of the other idea as well. Lifting her gaze to Raventail, then Barleytuft, and finally to Finchstar, she made her offer. "I don't know anything about tunneling, but I know how to narrow entrances. I can help take care of that so others can focus on the other part of the plan, if you'll have my help."

Barleytuft was surprised to feel his daughter Goldengale's fur suddenly brush up against his, moving him aside ever so slightly with her strong presence. He looked aside at her, gritted his teeth as she spoke, and nodded once. I won't argue with you, he snapped in his head, do I really look like I want to argue with anyone right now? He didn't say anything, instead continuing on the path towards the tunnel entrance with the tunnel patrol of three. The next interruption caused him to freeze completely, turning around to face the source of the cry: Sandpaw.

"What if, next to tunnels we narrow, we put up unstable scaffolding. Uh, shoring." When the apprentice met his gaze uncertainly, Barleytuft nodded ever so slightly once again, affirming her equivalence. Sandpaw continued, describing an elaborate plan that made the senior warrior's freshly scarred face scrunch with thought. While it was not what they were used to, it wasn't often that foxes came rolling into camp with poisoned prey, either. Things clearly needed to change. As Goldengale voiced approval, Barleytuft mulled the thought over in his head, memories of tunnel lessons in earlier moons flickering in his head. His daughter padded away to join Sandpaw, affirming her position in support of the warrior-aged apprentice.

"You're suggesting that we have to set traps to collapse tunnels in a way that's lethal for the foxes but safe for us," Barleytuft commented after a moment, his voice somewhat flat and dry. It was an immense ask, but, "That should be possible. With all of our knowledge it could be done." The senior warrior's tail lashed slightly, and he looked aside at Grousefrost, raising one brow. I may be the senior warrior, but it's his sister. A collapsing tunnel team collapses tunnels.

Even mild-mannered Dappleshine spoke up, offering her services. Barleytuft spared her a moment to nod approvingly in her direction, making a note to show her a few tricks if they found the spare time. Then his gaze returned to his fellow warrior, awaiting his friend's judgement.