Claws tore across his muzzle and the tom let out a yowl of pain and anger. He launched at his attacker and the two wrestled in the sand. Around them, other cats were fighting as well. Shrieks of agony and blood-thirst echoed in the night. The tom dug his claws into the other cat's shoulders, pinning her to the ground. The cat he held down was the deputy of Windclan.
"This is Riverclan territory!" the dark tom hissed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, "Keep your filthy paws off of it!"
The ginger tabby she cat looked up at him with hatred, "What use have you for it? You have rivers and your share of the lake!" With a sneer, she added, "You're too fat and slimy to catch a rabbit, anyway."
With that, another cat slammed into the tom, throwing him away from the Windclan deputy. Riverclan was slowly retreating from the moor, snarling at the Windclan patrol. The ginger tabby raised her muzzle and gave one last battle cry. The Windclan cats charged. The dark tom hissed at his own patrol and they sprang toward the river that divided the moor from the swampy, marsh territory.
The Windclan patrol skidded to a stop along the river and yowled insults and threats at the retreating enemy. They stayed by the river to make sure none of them would return.
"Russetclaw," called a voice.
The ginger tabby recognized the voice and turned to look at the tom that had knocked her attacker away.
"Whiteheart." She replied and dipped her head.
"You don't think they'll come back, do you?" he asked, looking back toward the river.
"If they do, we'll be ready." she growled, "Those fish-breathed furballs won't dare take any of Windclan's territory!"
Whiteheart nodded. Russetclaw swiped her tongue over a gash on her shoulder.
"Back to camp!" she ordered and the patrol of seven began their trek back.
They moved swiftly up the hill, back to the moor, eager to leave the sparse trees of Riverclan territory behind. Russetclaw looked at an apprentice next to her. He was a thin gray tom and almost taller than her. She opened her mouth to give him a word of praise for having fought so well, but her words were cut off.
She didn't even have time to shriek. Claws tore into her back and shoulders and fangs buried themselves in her neck. She couldn't breathe and she couldn't move. She tried to thrash around- tried to get away. She saw her patrol being overwhelmed by the attackers. The Riverclan patrol had returned and this time, they brought reinforcements.
A young gray tom lay on his side in the moor. He could feel the blood pooling around his shoulder and the gashes on his body stung. He opened one eye and realized he had only one eye left to open. His right eye was gone- clawed away by the merciless patrol of Riverclan warriors. He saw a shape moving toward him with a limp. He recognized one of the senior warriors from his clan- Whiteheart. The older tom helped the apprentice to stand.
"Ashpaw," his normally smooth, calming voice was husk and tinged with pain, "Are you alright?"
Ashpaw nodded and looked around. Blood stained the more and lead all the way back toward Riverclan territory. Whiteheart looked at him with shock.
"Your eye!" he said, half whispered.
The younger cat ducked his head slightly and stuttered, "I-I'm fine."
He looked around at the other cats helping each other up. Oakfeather, Spiderjump, Burntflower...Suddenly he was hit with a realization.
"Where is Rabbitpaw?" he yelped, "And Russetclaw!"
His brother and the Windclan deputy were not with the rest of the patrol and when he looked at Whiteheart his heart dropped like a stone. The older cat was looking away at something near the border, beneath the tree from which their enemy had struck. His face was dark and twisted with pain. Ashpaw followed his gaze then stumbled forward and his own face twisted with recognition. He threw back his head cried into the night sky.