"You wanted to talk to me, Foxblaze?" a black-and-white tom asked, approaching a russet furred tom, who was standing alone in the middle of a forest. The rain pelted down on them hard, thudding on the forest floor.
"Yes, I believe Mintpaw brought you the message?" the russet furred tom asked, rather quietly.
"He did," the black-and-white tom replied. They walked along the forest, listening to the angry pitter patter of the rain.
The two continued in silence, the russet furred tom, Foxblaze, leading the way. He walked up the path, leading the black-and-white tom farther and farther up.
"Where are we going?" asked the black-and-white tom.
"You'll see, Thistlestar," Foxblaze meowed softly, the tone of his voice making Thistlestar's fur spike with trepidation. The russet tom had always spoke in that tone, and it sent shivers down Thistlestar's spine, though he never admitted it.
Finally, they arrived at a desolate part of the forest. They were on a Twoleg built bridge, with the creek rushing loudly just a few tail-lengths below, the raindrops splashing into the water.
"You were going to say?" asked Thistlestar impatiently.
"I want to talk," Foxblaze said, still in that soft tone, "about our positions."
"Positions?"
"You see, I am a warrior, and you, a leader," Foxblaze meowed, his tail waving back and forth.
Thistlestar couldn't see where this was going, but he nodded slowly. "Go on."
"Well, you know my brother, Aspenheart. I remember, back in my days, I was better than him."
"That's a statement of opinion," Thistlestar meowed, getting a cold chill down his back that had nothing to do with the weather. "I happen to think Aspenheart is better."
"Well, I beg to differ," Foxblaze replied, tilting his head. "I tried my best to be the best, I know you knew I was, yet you chose Aspenheart as deputy, a rather risky choice, knowing my reaction to that?"
"I don't think so," growled Thistlestar, "Aspenheart is a better cat in all the fields of the warrior code, not just in fighting! The choice I made wasn't risky to me at all—"
The statement was cut off by a single quick swipe. Foxblaze was standing over Thistlestar's limp body, the black-and-white tom's throat slashed open in a bright red gash. Blood welled over Foxblaze's paws and over the bridge, spilling into the creek.
Foxblaze snarled, his fiery amber eyes gleaming with malice. He leaned close to the dead tom's body, and whispered:
"Take no chances."