"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,"

LION

Eyes wide, teeth bared.

Hearts beating to the cadence of the war drums.

Blood of fire, spirit of sorrow.

Moral divergence.

He crouched low, hugging the earth. His muscles trembled with exertion. Perspiration soaked his hot, pulsating pelt, yet his blood ran cold beneath his skin.

One minute.

That was all the time he was allotting himself to rest. One minute on a battlefield where every second determined the fate of another. Whether another blow was scored too deep. Whether one's heartbeat was their last.

One minute.

A shrill cry pierced the air.

He winced. It was time.

With a strained grunt, he forced himself to his paws and emerged from behind the boulder he had taken refuge. Following the sounds of echoing caterwauling in the ravine below him, he lumbered clumsily amongst the rocks. His claws scrabbled painfully against the stone, disturbing his balance, plunging him into thick marsh.

This was not the land he was accustomed to. Not the land his paws had tread since he was a young kit, the land that had shaped his youth. These lands were scored by rivers and glades, the grounds soft and kissed by clusters of stone.

With startling force, he was thrust sideways, a body slamming into his flank. A deep-throated snarl sounded by his ear as claws sunk deep into his ribs. Letting out a yowl of pain, he rolled over to protect his belly; his attacker responded and quickly secured a position on top of his back, digging their teeth into his scruff. He let out a hiss of frustration. He judged the enemy warrior to be lesser in size than he, yet his strength was failing him. He writhed, scrabbling to get stable footing to shake off the warrior when the weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He heard the warrior cry out in surprise, then their pawsteps retreating.

"Are you hurt?"

He quickly pushed himself to standing before his Clanmate could scrutinize him. "Fine," he growled, facing the dark warrior. "How's the front line?"

"We're falling back. Our defense has crumbled." she muttered in dismay.

He cursed under his breath. "They're pushing us back to the shore. Any farther and we'll be completely at their mercy."

He surveyed the battlegrounds before him. Countless figures were locked in fierce tussles. Screeches of agony and fury filled the space. It was clear who had the upper hand in this battle, as helpless warriors were driven toward the water. Faces were caked in mud and blood, fashioning masks of war. The disadvantaged warriors slithered and stumbled in the slick mud. The scent of fear was overpowering.

"You're hurt."

"They've siphoned us deeper into their territory. We're cut off from the east," he growled, yet he could feel his own blood seeping hot and sticky down his hind leg.

He flinched. A rush of blood seeped from his wound as she withdrew her paw.

"You need help."

He watched below as two warriors below him were closed in on by four others. His tail lashed with frustration. "We need to retreat, but they've restricted our access back to camp," he said, turning to his companion. "I need you to lead the charge and get everyone home. Go beyond the Horseplace and don't stop until you pass the Twolegplace."

She listened intently, claws flexing in anticipation. "What about you?"

"I'll take the rear. I'll try to divert them back to the west and open a course of retreat," he explained. "They're deliberately trying to confine us to their territory, so it'll be a narrow window if any."

She eyed his wounds warily. "I'll double-back for you."

"Only when everyone is already across. I'll do a final sweep on my way out, but try to get everyone out if you can."

She nodded and he turned back toward the battle, fur bristling as he braced himself. With a mighty leap, he thundered down the ravine. Utilizing momentum to his advantage, he tore through the group like a bullet, abruptly dividing the combat.

"Go!" he roared to his comrades. "Now! Go!"

With wild eyes and frustrated hisses, his Clanmates turned tail and fled, filing after the dark she-cat in a steady stream. The stockier enemy warriors sneered and snarled in response, but he was much more agile and capable of evading most attacks. He darted between scuffles, breaking them up and sending his warriors fleeing toward the moorlands, until he no longer recognized friendly faces. It was time to retreat.

A yowl of agony erupted from his throat as two warriors simultaneously ambushed him from below. The warrior was so accustomed to his eyes on the sky that he hadn't anticipated the river warriors' capabilities from below. They emerged from the marshy glades like muck monsters, hooking their claws into his legs and dragging him under. Contact to his open wound struck like a bolt of lightning – the edges of his vision streaked with shadows. His body suddenly weighed three times as heavy and his knees buckled into the sludge. Teeth and claws fastened into him from all sides. The two enemy warriors were reinforced. Thick mire water rushed his throat and he emerged, spluttering, lungs convulsing.

In a moment of terror, he realized his limbs had stopped responding to his thoughts. He crumpled, weighed down by warriors, into the mud. The sounds of chaos tapered out as darkness consumed him.