Dust in Your Pocket {OPEN - WC PLOT TOPIC #4}

It was dark, invisible notes of suspense pattering against their spines. But they stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder, stars burning through the night like eyes. Finchstar let a gasp escape his throat, breath evaporating in the sky, leaving behind an icy cloud of apprehension. War. Their namesake. WindClan stood together with claws unsheathed, tails lashing with chained fear. But none of it leaked through the cracks. It was the greatest bluff the forest had ever seen, and tonight they'd fight. Those cunning beasts would patrol the moor no longer. They had played their games, left rotting rabbits outside WindClan's camp. But the past few days had passed with grace. Finchstar stood as a shield from the terror of their lands. WindClan would not fear their home. WindClan would not fall to a cunning beyond their imagination. This was war, and they were warriors.

"WindClan." Finchstar mewed, stepping out of their line and pacing in front of his clanmates, ready to rally his friends. "We are facing an enemy unlike anything we have ever seen. I can see the fear in your hearts, as it rests in mine as well. However are we not great? The flood waters from beyond the forest could not drown us. The Sharptooth of the mountains did not bring our end. We have conquered the very ground beneath our feet. And now these beasts will fall as well. They are intelligent, yes. But we will be smarter. Let me ask you, what are those beasts fighting for? Prey? Land? These are superficial things, friends. However we fight for our family, for our stories and memories that were made on this very moor. Blood will be shed, bones will be broken, but our spirits last forever. Rise! And fight! WindClan, now is a time of glory and honor! Face your ancestors with the bravery of a lion! Now is the time!" Finchstar's voice raised into a victorious shout, and he no longer feared the echoes it would bring.

The noise settled into silence, and soon only the whisper of the ryegrass spoke in the night. The leader closed his eyes, speaking quietly to Brookclover as he prepared himself. The clan had spent the last few days training hard. Every apprentice learned how to outmaneuver a bigger predator. Each kit was taught to hide in the small hole now built near the nursery. Aspenheart had gathered his herbs, and the clan was unified once more as they faced a common enemy. Things such as Raventail's adventure or Grousefrost's anger vanished with the coming fight. The sky was clear, and war was coming.

"We follow the plan. These beasts prey on the weak like cowards, and so the weak we shall give them. We stalk quietly over the moor, all but myself in hiding. I will fake a wound, pretending to limp or moan. The beasts are lured out, and we attack. A team of warriors will stand by the narrow tunnels we have created to trap the beasts. Another group will watch the entrance to ensure no predators escape. The ground will be collapsed, and our beasts will suffocate. No mercy will be shown to these animals, as their minds are not capable of redemption. It will be quick, simple. And we will all return with our lives. Aspenheart and Mistystripe will remain close for those who are wounded."

Finchstar sighed and closed his eyes once more, summoning up all the confidence left in him. It was only right he should play bait. He carried seven lives with him, while his clanmates only had one. A nod was given to the leaders of both patrols, and they descended into the night as warriors.

He had repeated it to himself a thousand times over the last few sunups, soft and even as the shuffle of paws: This is war, we’re at war. He had kept it in mind while assigning mentors to apprentices, grouping cats for patrols, walking the moor (never alone, no matter how his paws itched; never giving them a chance to think he was running again). Yet when Finchstar finally beckoned them forward, part of Raventail refused to believe it was real. On either side of him, WindClan breathed. Dappleshine was somewhere in the line; Barleytuft and Grousefrost, as well. No matter how much or how little they all trusted him, he stood with them now. His claws dug into the dirt, the only thing he could feel as Finchstar stepped forward.

It was a terrible plan. Not objectively—a wounded cat made better bait than the dead rabbits Raventail had tried to gather; if things went wrong, Finchstar would come back, and no fox could even begin to expect that. Even so, it didn’t matter how many lives Finchstar had. Raventail didn’t want to watch his friend lose another. Then again, if not Finchstar, who else could it be? Though the battle ahead scared him (there was always, always a cost), he wanted to walk across the moor with Dappleshine, hunt rabbits without one ear angled back, send his Clanmates on patrol secure in the knowledge that they would return. Tomorrow, he would have that. They would. Aspenheart was a capable medicine cat; he wouldn’t have chosen Mistystripe if he didn’t see that potential within her. If the cats in line were anything like Raventail, they were tired of living in fear. No one would die tonight.

That was, at least, what Raventail hoped.

With a nod, Finchstar dismissed them. Raventail shook himself before drifting over to the group of moor-runners, a determined set to his mouth despite the hesitance in his eyes. Smaller and dark-furred, he was more than capable of stealth, and he’d never fled from a fight until he had no choice. The only problem was…well, that it was him. Fear of his own death wasn't the thing that had made him run, but who knew how many of his Clanmates believed that? And so he lingered at the back, silent as he kept pace with the others.

Grousefrost listened silently to Finchstar. His pelt pressed close to Goldengale and Crowpaw, blue eyes sought out Vinepaw and Sandpaw, wherever they were in the crowd. His claws dug into the dirt. Tail twitching as he stepped forward when his name was called. His wounds no longer hurt, they had healed well enough to let him fight.

Those mangy beasts were going to be sorry that they threatened his family. His Clan. He glanced briefly to Raventail, but looked away just as quick in dismissal. He didn’t have time to cat-sit and make sure that their deputy didn’t run away like the coward he was. He just better not let any of his family be injured as he sprung into a bounding run after Finchstar.

He looked back for a moment, making sure he could see the tunnelling group that would help to collapse the tunnels, forcing himself to slow down slightly.
“Remember, stay with a partner in the tunnels when you see the signal, there is no room for error.” He called out over the sound of their paws as they climbed out of the camp and into the great fields behind the orange and white leader.

Breaths evaporated into the cold air, leaving behind wispy remnants of the air the cats needed to breath. The silent knowledge seemed to vibrate in the air, shaking every cat to their core. Today was the day. Goldengale pressed close to Grousefrost, bowing her head to nuzzle Crowpaw's head gently. After today... He would be safe. He would be happy. Not many were experienced enough to face the tunnels, and the duty that the patrol had to carry out. She knew that. Bravery meant next to nothing under the tail lengths of dirt, you had to know where your paws were carrying you, and allow the ancient techniques fall into place as old habits. It was with this knowledge that Goldengale stepped forward, blue eyes meeting Grousefrost's, her beloved mate, with a silent solidarity. Together they would work to ensure a safe future. For their kits, for their families, for themselves.

She fell into step at her mate's side, wanting to be his partner.... But with the nature of the mission they were set to accomplish, they couldn't risk emotions getting the best of them. Still, though, she would remain by his side as long as she possibly could. Lightly, her tail wrapped around his for a heartbeat before she focused on the task at paw. They would sleep in peace this night.

---

Dappleshine lingered at the back, eyes searching for Raventail. When she finally located him, there were too many cats between them, and besides, she was a newcomer. She hadn't experienced the horror these cats had faced over the past moon or so. A shiver ran down her spine at Finchstar's words, and she longed to be of help in any way she can. She didn't know the moors well, the danger lying in them having suspended her ability to follow the curves of the land, but paired in a patrol... Well, she knew how to stalk. How to hide. And her claws had seen their fair share of battles. Yes, she would fight. She knew where Raventail was, so her eyes sought out Barleytuft next. A strong resolve was reflected in their blue depths as she padded forward to join Raventail near the back of the group.

Pressing her cheek briefly to his shoulder, she met his eyes. The same determination was set on his face, but his eyes flashed with hesitance. Leaning over to lick his cheek, she remained at his side as they set out into the moors, joining the patrol of what she had learned WindClan referred to as moor-runners.

Crowpaw raised his head into his mother’s embrace, fur buzzing with excitement. He had insisted on going on the patrol, despite Goldengale’s worries. He’d practiced plenty in camp, and was sure he was ready. This battle would be his first real one, the first time he’d get to experience his claws ripping through a mangy fox’s pelt, for his Clan. For glory. Maybe he’d gain a few scars, a few reminders of the great war that he and his Clanmates had fought in so bravely and won. He wouldn’t let them down.

He looked around for Ploverpuddle, hoping that his mentor would be with him on the attack patrol. Not seeing him immediately among the crowd, the dark apprentice shrugged, padding after the moor-runners. Claws twitching, fur bristling, tail flicking, he felt more alive than he had ever been, nose searching for scents, ears listening to every pawstep of his Clanmates, eyes scanning the moors. He was ready.

The dreaded night came too soon, and yet not soon enough. Barleytuft was exhausted when he knew he couldn't afford to be. WindClan had declared war on the creatures hunting them, and tonight was the night that they planned to strike. The senior warrior, despite explicit disapproval and protest from his mate, dove into the preparation that was commanded of him and had worked tirelessly to secure tunnels, prepare the trapped ones, and teach his apprentice and anyone who would listen whatever battle moves he could remember. He'd even had everyone brush up on their collapsed tunnel escape and search-and-rescue methods. There was much to do in a short amount of time, and all he could do was pray that it had been neither too little nor too much.

Finchstar's voice called to the Clans to attention and Clovertwist immediately stopped his pacing to go join with the rest of his family. The freshly named warrior stood beside his father, Barleytuft, touching his kinked tail softly to the tom's side. Barleytuft glanced aside at him, greeting him with a gentle touch of the muzzle on his forehead. They gazed back to Finchstar as he began to speak, rallying the Clan, though both of their gazes flitted from Clanmate to Clanmate in apprehension. Barleytuft's gaze found Goldengale, and he gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage. She wasn't his tunneling partner tonight, and that frightened him as much as it would've frightened him if she were. Clovertwist and Barleytuft let out yowls of bravery that didn't match their true feelings. Barleytuft suspected it was that way for everyone.

The group was silent for a moment before Finchstar began to explain the plan. Barleytuft nuzzled his son's ear one more time before he began to separate himself from the group, denoting where the other moor-runners should meet. As Raventail approached, the senior warrior's eyes narrowed ever so slightly in thought. He wondered for not the first time why he was named the patrol leader rather than the deputy. Did Finchstar still suspect that Raventail might run again and abandon his task and friends? Barleytuft wasn't sure what he believed, but he did feel an unwelcome uncertainty and mistrust with his leading while Raventail merely followed. He had no time to think about it, simply nodding along with his leader's plan.

The signal was given and Barleytuft flicked his long tail, looking to each of his patrol members to get a role call. Before they set off, Barleytuft instructed, "Ears open, eyes alert: we cannot let the mangy beasts leave the tunnels. The tunnelers will do their best to corrale them, but it's up to us to keep them trapped underground. We'll need to rely on feeling their movements underground. Remember, though, that we cannot run where the tunnels will collapse; if a predator escapes that direction, let them go. We marked it the best we could before. We can't risk a rescue when we might accidentally dig up what we're trying to kill." He looked meaningfully around before he struck off into the night.

Clovertwist listened thoughtfully to Finchstar's words, then to his fathers, his paws working the ground in trepidation. He veered off to stay near his father, though his eyes spotted Dappleshine tucked close to Raventail and he couldn't help but worry for the she-cat. She'd just been forced from her Clan and was now being expected to fight and risk her life for another, yet she was willing, her face dark with determination. Clovertwist couldn't keep back a glow of admiration for her as he looked to Barleytuft again. The senior warrior's instructions finished and Clovertwist made a soft rumble of acknowledgement, following the rest of the moor-runners' patrol into the foreboding darkness.

Ploverpuddle's mind was racing. The plan.. The different trapped tunnels under the rolling moor... His apprentice... It scared him the most that Clovertwist and Crowpaw were going to be joining the moor runners.. He wouldn't be able to keep an eye on his apprentice, or his friend. He trusted Finchstar's plan but there was so much that the gray warrior wanted to control, to watch over.. Too many moons of being on his own made him that way. He had to trust that the others would watch over each other while the tunnelers looked after each other.

Quickly the gray warrior caught up to Crowpaw, to give his apprentice a few words of encouragement and direction. "Crowpaw, make sure to stay close to Barleytuft or Clovertwist. I am going to be in the tunnels tonight. They will watch out for you, and you watch their back in return." The tom said, trying to hide his nerves as best as he could. His gaze turned towards Clovertwist as he went over to join the other tom for a moment. "Keep an eye on Crowpaw for me. Make sure you both return safe, please." That was all he needed to say. That is all he had time to say. He felt bad he couldn't get a reply from either of the cats but he had a patrol to join.

Dashing off quickly the gray and white tom joined Grousefrost. He nodded to the patrol leader and his former mentor. His ears perking up at Grousefrost's words. Partner.. Signal.. Ploverpuddle made a mental note in his head about the instruction. His yellow eyes remained on the cats in front of him as he went back to thinking. The plan, the training for the tunnels all going through his mind. He needed to be as efficient and safe as he could tonight.

Ryegrass brushed past Finchstar's pelt as his paws drummed lightly over the moor. Adrenaline roared in his ears, fur on end. The coolness of the run did little to calm the leader, but it was better than standing still. They were acting, finding peace in the dark world that had been cast upon them. Finchstar would not pace idly by while these mangy beasts tore apart his clan. The patrols split rhythmically, each cat knowing their positions. Even young Crowpaw had joined the warriors, but he knew the determination in his eyes would keep him safe. The tunnelers ducked their heads and climbed silently into the void-like holes below, Finchstar watching with apprehension. Only the breeze spoke as WindClan maneuvered silently to their places. Eyes flashed in the darkness, Finchstar knowing each pair to the core. Raventail, Dappleshine, Goldengale, and Barleytuft. Ploverpuddle, Crowpaw, Grousefrost, and all the others who he loved so dearly. A nod was given to each patrol, the leader speaking quietly in the silence. "Wait for my signal to collapse the tunnels..."

And then WindClan disappeared, slinking into the night as quickly as they came. The tunnelers dove below ground, and the moor runners became the gorse and grass. Finchstar let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, imagining Brookclover's face looking into his. "Another adventure, my dear..." He spoke quietly to himself, heart thumping like a fire. And then came the bluff. Finchstar buckled his leg, dragging it along the ground as he let out a pitiful moan. "Raventail! Barleytuft! Anyone!" But the wound was fictional, and no cat would answer his call. It had been rehearsed over and over again. A broken leg, a cry for assistance, and then a crucial lure to bring the beasts in place. Finchstar collapsed and dragged himself into the tunnel, fear scent very much real. He didn't need to pretend to be terrified. The leader had always hated the tunnels ever since they swallowed up Brookclover, but they needed to survive for WindClan's sake. The tom could imagine now the second patrol maneuvering the tunnels, tricking the beasts into place.

Darkness covered Finchstar's sight, and he remembered falling, impaling himself on those rocks deep below. His maw stretched into a growl as he hoped the beasts would receive the same fate. Salvation cut through the abyss as a pair of eyes hovered above. The predator. Smiling cynically, Finchstar launched himself to his paws and swiped hard across the beast's face, throwing himself back with the impact. "WindCla-" Terror lurched through his chest as the leader was pulled back by the haunches, his signal cut off as dirt filled his maw. Finchstar's heart threatened to burst from his chest as he caught a glimpse of what had a hold of him. "Die!" He spat out of sheer horror, claws flailing as he was thrown on his back. His effort to scramble to his paws was useless as the beast pinned him to the spot. The clan resided above, unaware that their contact would now face his doom. No signal would come. The tides of war were turned.

Aspenheart trailed behind the warriors with a strange, persisting feeling in his gut. A twinge of panic and terror strummed his weak body once every few pawsteps, reminding him of what happened last time they walked headfirst into a battle against beasts that much larger than themselves. He shuddered at the thought. His jaw was set tight, a beacon of resolve as they marched along the way. He was undersupplied, outnumbered, and outplanned, but WindClan could never know. They must never know. The worrying was for the warriors. He was to sit to the side and promise that StarClan would rescue them from the brink, even though he and Finchstar both knew the undeniable truth. There was no one to save them but themselves.

For a moment, it felt as though he wouldn't be able to bear it. Wouldn't it be funny, he thought, if he died on the spot, with not a single beast's mark on his body? The morbidity of the internal comment didn't cross his mind. Nothing crossed his mind. All he could see was crimson and white, the flashing of blood and bone. He imagined Clovertwist's broken body again, an apprentice the last time. How was he so brave to walk into the jaws of death?

Emboldened by the hum of eight warriors' hearts, he followed swiftly into the darkness. Aspenheart shuffled into the safety of a nest of tall grass and weeds and began quickly sorting the piles of herbs he had; they were everything he could carry. His heart throbbed and pulsed in his ears, blood coursing through his body as the snapping of teeth played in his memory again and again. Finchstar hobbled decietfully nearby. Aspenheart knew it was happening before he even heard Finchstar cry out from the earth below, swallowing a yelp of terror as the leader's beautiful song of war was swallowed by mangy nothingness. Gasps came in groups of three as he tore his eyes away, Frozenpaw and SkyClan and the cracking of thunder against a starry sky, mountains and tribe cats painted with mud, the snap that split his head in two, and he was drowning in it, drowning in it...

"You fight like you have a death wish, friend," he whispered mournfully, but what he truly meant to say was "If you die, I won't strong enough to bury you."

The moors were active. The energy from the wiry plains cats' encampment had been growing in magnitude over the course of the previous days. Something was coming, and the beasts that lurked the moors and hunted down their patrols had expected it for a long time. When the first wind of anticipation reached them in the tunnels, they flexed their claws each and every one. Foxes. Badgers. Dogs. Raccoons. Predators of the real world had become specters of the cats' nightmares, and if they thought they could outrun their own terror, they were pitifully, deliciously mistaken. This night would be the night, the creatures could tell, for the tension and fear in the cats' camp could be felt across the moor. They wouldn't be caught off guard. They would humor the strange prey they hunted.

A dark mottled dog skulked through the tunnels at gut-twisting speed, paws skidding around the bends and tail thudding into the walls as it ran. Everywhere it went it bumped and brushed against the walls of the tunnels - it was a tight fit, much tighter than the creature preferred - but it kept moving. It had a destination. A pitiful cry of a tom sounded ahead, muffled through layers of earth, and a lopsided sneer crinkled the edges of the canine's face as it adjusted its course, shifting down another veering tunnel. There were sounds ahead as a creature - presumably, the wounded cat - stumbled into the earth, descending deeper into the tunnels and approaching the dog head-on, whether it was aware or not.

The darkness that consumed the two creatures was nothing compared to the void in the canine's heart. The instant that the fear scent and sound of shuffling were close enough, the dog was ready, yet even in surprise the cat was quick. The dog felt a sudden weight of gnarled paws lashing at its face, and it ducked back with a grunt before reaching out lightning fast to hook the retreating cat by the haunches and slam it down onto its belly. The predator called the bluff: a brave surge forward only to give himself time to whip around and retreat? That was kit-play. The dog knew it had cut off a cry for help, and it wasn't about to waste that opportunity. WindClan. That was the name of the group, of course. Their speed was their reputation.

With a sinister snarl the dog dragged the cat closer, the tight space of the tunnel lending itself well to trapping the tom. The canine's lips twisted in amusement as it flipped the cat around like a spider batting a fly in its web; it exposed the poor feline's belly. Even as the cat snarled, "Die!" the canine just sneered over it and began to smother the tom under its weight. It knew what the cat had planned: it had the canine exactly where it wanted. It could sense the way these tunnels were different on the walls. They were set to collapse with the right movement. It wasn't the first time the dog had seen it, and it was usually an effective method.

Unfortunately, that plan wouldn't work. Not against these predators. Hot breath leaking into the WindClan leader's face, the canine let out a low growl and, then, it spoke a jeering compliment.

"Clever."

And then it plunged its fangs into Finchstar's throat, crushing life and sound and hope all in one.

There was no time to waste, not now that the canine understood exactly what the moor cats had intended for this spot. The mottled creature picked the tom's limp corpse up by the throat and began to lumber swiftly through the tunnels, seeking the nearest exit that was also the furthest from the sound of busy paws. Up ahead, the snarls of battle sounded. Through Finchstar's fur the canine grinned a wicked, twisted smile, amber eyes glinting. Its companions were providing ample distraction above the ground, as they were told. The creature slipped out into the moonlight at last half a moor away from the battle and disappeared into the dying heather, dragging a slowly reddening body along beneath it.

The dog used Aslyum's Mercy on Finchstar, using 10 stamina and instantly taking one of Finchstar's lives.
Finchstar can no longer fight. The dog has fled the battle with his body.

The cats were not alone on the surface, a sleek form stalking alongside them. Eyes glimmered as they watched, quietly listening to the cats speak among themselves. The form seemed to moved unnaturally, head craning to take in the sights. So many cats...So much bloodshed to follow. The form's jaw hung limply as it approached, black and white fur catching the moonlight. A familiar pelt to the cats - as much as they recognized them. A soft hiss escaped them - her as she approached on quiet paws. Movement - the cats moving into their places, more voices being shared - familiar to her...Head slowly turning to stare at the other shapes that moved alongside her. Then, it was time. she charged at one with a low growl, leaping at a gray tom - she recognized his form in the moonlight. Her claws sank into his side, a twisted smile as she titled her head to stare at him - yellow eyes glinting.

Puddlepaw used ????? on Ploverpuddle, costing 20 stamina and dealing 15 damage. Ploverpuddle is stunned for one turn.

Puddlepaw:
75/75 HP
180/200 SP (-20)

Ploverpuddle:
30/45 HP (-15)
160/160 SP

Spotpaw listened intently as Finchstar explained his plan. She stayed close to Foxspirit. She knew her mother has gone through much lost and Spotpaw wasn't going to add to that.

Spotpaw followed the patrol in the back. Spotpaw didn't know many battle moves. Just swiping, biting, and a hunting crouch so Spotpaw stayed at back. She continued to stay at the back as she settled into the grass. And waited for Finchstar's calls. A yowl nearly made Spotpaw jump onto her paws but it was cut off. Had something happened to Finchstar? Was there a battle happening?

The fox had had enough with the stupid prey. Trying to poisoning her? Ignoring her gift of a finch? She had enough. She followed her partners, yellow eyes blazing in fury. Her jaw, slightly unhinged at an awkward angle. Her pelt, ragged and oozing thick blood out of many wounds. Some chunks even fell, but she kept running as if she felt nothing. Her pace was more awkward than usual. Claws, three time the size of a cat's, adorned her paws. Her fangs, the size of the largest k9's. And as she charged the "moor runner" group, she knew how she was going to use them. Slimy, saliva blood dripped out of her mouth as she ran, catching speed on the prey group. With a growl, she was upon them. In seconds before the smallest cat (Crowpaw) could react, he was in her maw. Teeth clenched down on the small body as she thrust him about, shaking him just as she had the other. Tossing him to the side, the thud of body against the grass was music to her ears. Turning, eyes wild and crazy, she faced the other cats with a growl. Daring them to come closer.


Fox used ????? on Crowpaw, costing 20 stamina and dealing 15 damage. Crowpaw is stunned for one turn.

Fox:
75/75 HP
180/200 SP (-20)

Crowpaw:
5/20 HP (-15)
80/80 SP

No more WindClan cats can join the battle. Only those that have already posted in the topic may continue the fight.

Clovertwist wished he'd had time to say something to Ploverpuddle before they went their separate ways. He suspected that he and the older warrior shared similar feelings for Crowpaw: the apprentice was Clovertwist's nephew, Ploverpuddle's apprentice. All he'd been able to do was nod in silent promise to his friend. As the moor-runner patrol crossed through the grasses, Clovertwist did exactly what he had said he would do. The young silver tabby stayed close to Crowpaw, occasionally glancing aside to make sure that there wasn't too much fear on his face. Not that Clovertwist really knew what to say to comfort him now when they were supposed to be silent.

The stillness of the night was broken by a half-cry from the tunnels a short distance away, and Clovertwist's ears flicked nervously as he looked ahead for Barleytuft. Before anyone could say or do anything, however, there was a sudden snarling from the darkness. A russet form lunged at the apprentice beside Clovertwist, and the warrior cried out, "Crowpaw!!" in horror as they went rolling away. With a cry of fury, Clovertwist leaped forward. Oh, how different this felt from when he had thrown himself at the dog in defense of Aspenheart. Maybe this time it would go better. He lashed his claws furiously across the fox's ears and face, yowling, "Dad, help!"

Clovertwist used Rear-up to Slash on the fox, using 15 stamina and dealing 9 damage.
He also used Swift Strike, using 10 stamina and dealing 3 damage.

Fox:
63/75 HP (-12)
180/200 SP

Crowpaw: [stunned]
5/20 HP
80/80 SP

Clovertwist:
40/40 HP
95/120 SP (-25)

---

Barleytuft heard the thundering paws from nearby an instant before the fox burst from the darkness, throwing his grandkit mercilessly aside. As Clovertwist let out his cry of fear and alarm, the senior warrior let out a snarl of frustration and fear: how could the creatures not have gone for the sound of a wounded animal? What had happened to make these predators behave so strangely? Barleytuft cried, "Moor-runners - we've got company!" A short distance away the sound of another fight broke out, but the senior warrior was already racing to where his son and nephew were grappling the fox.

He raced up to the creature and began to lash out furiously. All he could do was hope that it would be enough of a distraction to let Crowpaw get his footing. StarClan, please help me keep my family safe!

Barleytuft used Front Paws Strike on the fox, using 25 stamina and dealing 15 damage.

Fox:
48/75 HP (-15)
180/200 SP

Crowpaw: [stunned]
5/20 HP
80/80 SP

Clovertwist:
40/40 HP
95/120 SP

Barleytuft:
100/100 HP
255/280 SP (-25)

The attack was swift, coming from the side. None of them had seen it coming, and it was only when it was too late that Goldengale realized what was going on. Turning with a furious hiss to face the opponent that had charged at her previous apprentice, her raised paw missed the oh-so-hauntingly familiar face. Puddlepaw. "Impossible!" Goldengale gasped, blue eyes wide as she took a step back, ears flat and hair on end. She had seen the body, or rather, what remained of the apprentice. There was no way this was her, she had surely been dead! Hadn't she?

Suddenly doubting herself, as well as the illusion before her, she hesitated just a moment longer before seeing Ploverpuddle just behind Puddlepaw, gasping for air where he lay. Another call reached her ears, carrying a name that brought terror and panic to her face. "Crowpaw.." She whispered, blue eyes locking onto her old clanmates - no, this was no clanmates of hers. Dead or alive, this cat had attacked, and her son was in danger. This... This thing stood between her and her son, and she would be sentenced to eternity in the Dark Forest before she let it stay that way.

Fury and anguish waltzed together in her eyes as she let out a splitting yowl, slashing out at the cat before her before rushing forward and clawing at the beast's belly. This would be a battle she would not lose.

Goldengale used Swift Strike, dealing 5 damage and costing 10 SP. She follows it with Belly Rake, dealing 12 damage and costing 10 SP, for a total of 17 damage and 20 SP.

Goldengale:
60/60 HP
180/200 SP (-20)

Puddlepaw:
58/75 HP (-17)
180/200 SP

Ploverpuddle:
30/45 HP
160/160 SP

---

Silence was everywhere. It was almost too quiet... The stiffness in the air was stifling, and concerning. More malice seemed to shimmer with every passing heartbeat, and Dappleshine couldn't help but feel that something was terribly wrong. Just as the anticipation reached a peak as she remained crouched, motionless next to Raventail, the night was shattered.

A figure lunged forward at the smallest of the cats, a dark gray tom. Clovertwist called out in dismay a name, and as Barleytuft too joined the fray Dappleshine leapt into action. The young tom reminded her so much of her own daughter, though their pelts and upbringing were so different, he was still barely an apprentice. As the beast that she determined quickly to be a fox was focused on the cats who had already joined the fight, Dappleshine raised herself on her forepaws before bring them around in a wide sweep, kicking the fox in it's hind flank.

Plucking up the young tom, she pulled him behind her, positioning herself to guard him from the fox that was snarling inches away. Her back arched as she faced the beast, hissing in response.

Dappleshine used Back Kick, dealing 15 damage and costing 15 SP.

Dappleshine:
80/80 HP
225/240 SP

Fox:
33/75 HP (-15)
180/200 SP

Crowpaw: [stunned]
5/20 HP
80/80 SP

Clovertwist:
40/40 HP
95/120 SP (-25)

Barleytuft:
100/100 HP
255/280 SP (-25)