Author's Note: OH YEAH! THE CHAPTER I'VE BEEN WAITING TO WRITE FOR A LONG WHILE. INTERVIEWS! Okay, it looks like this chapter is going to take place from the point of view of Ashstrike. I have quite a lot of ideas for what is going to happen for each of my main tributes, but also a few ideas for my secondary characters such as Runnnigsong, Thorntooth and Moorslash (who we're going to find out more about in this chapter).

As usual, they'll be a bit of romance in these games- where would a Hunger Games fanfic be without it?- some of the possible pairings that I haven't fully decided on are BlazeXRunning, and also, surprisingly enough, TwilightXBlaze. That was a pairing that the author who gave me the OC of Twilightfur suggested.

Thanks for review from koryandrs, Keeralie Starflight and Berk'sWarrior.


Ashstrike's POV:

In the clearing, every cat was dreaming. All of the tributes had fallen asleep almost instantly after the shattering day of training; they would need the rest for their interviews the day after.

Well, most of the tributes were asleep. Ashstrike however, sat outside his den, staring up at the sky. The stars were shining enigmatically, and the moonlight cast eerie shadows amongst the trees: his eyes were closed, and he was thinking intensely. Just over the trees, the WindClan tom could see his home, up there on the hills. If he hadn't been intent on revenge against Shade and everything he stood for, Ashstrike would have been wishing that he was back there. At least on the moor, he had been able to sleep without being disturbed by death, murder and violence. His mentor, a small tom named Rabbit, had told him it was best not to think of home. The thought would only make him more homesick than he already was. Though this was the Falling of the Leaves, and it was foolish to show anything more on your face than absolute calmness, Ashstrike hadn't stopped himself from feeling feel sorry for his scarred mentor. Ever since they had started talking, the WindClan tom had noticed how his eyes were dull with sadness and regret. He had won his celebration far differently from any other previous victor. Instead of using his strength to overwhelm his opponents in battle, he had used his wits. Rabbit had started his training as a medicine cat, and therefore had a strong knowledge of herbs in the arena. He had stayed hidden in the undergrowth, placing dangerous herbs in obvious places so that other tributes would find them, and when they had killed themselves by eating the berries which they thought would be a good snack, he moved his traps to another part of the fighting area and picked them all off one by one. The advice Rabbit had given him had been useful in the training, and Ashstrike thought that he would at least be able to pull off an 8… he wasn't so sure about the other WindClan cats.

Sighing slightly, the tom turned around and padded back into the his clan's designated dens, and settled down into his nest of moss and feathers, anticipating the interviews that take place the next day...


A light slap on his ears awoke Ashstrike from his dreams: moaning a little, he gazed upwards to see the training instructor picking his way through the WindClan tributes, shouting loudly, "Wake up! Wake up! Training scores!"

Ashstrike got up almost immediately when he heard the tom's out-burst. Most of the other cats were just getting to their paws by the time that Ashstrike had dashed outside. ShadowClan, RiverClan and ThunderClan were all already wide awake, gazing up at the tree where Shade made all his announcements; the ashy grey tom growled. You killed my mother, and you don't even have the decency to get up early enough. "Hey, Ashstrike! Wait up!" He turned around to see his ally, Moorslash, stumbling out of the den.

He rolled his eyes. Though the tom was strong, he was also clumsy and quite slow. They had been friends when they were apprentices, but their bond had weakened ever since he had lost his mother. "You mustn't act so much like a kit, Moorslash," he hissed, rolling his eyes. "It's not good for our public image."

"I know, I know," Moorslash muttered as he sat down next to Ashstrike. "But in case you didn't notice, I'm going to die soon, so I might as well enjoy the time I've got left."

Th other male sent his ally a sharp look. "Who said you were going to die? You have a chance as good as anyone." Ashstrike then received a cold, hard and disbelieving stare.

"You don't think that," Moorslash said quietly, with an edge to his voice. "And if you do you're a fool, the best I can do in this arena is help you to win; don't say different!" The tom insisted angrily. "You've got by far the best shot at winning out of the two of us."

Ashstrike knew there was no way of trying to convince his adamant friend different so instead he changed the subject. "What do you suppose Shade will give you as a training score? I'll probably get a 7 or something."

"That's the average score, at least, that's what Rabbit told us the average was," he replied, stretching. "I might be lucky if I grab a 6. Obviously it's wishful thinking though."

Ashstrike tail lashed the ground in annoyance. "Why are you so pessimistic! Everyday it's like this: you just complaining about everything that doesn't happen in your favour." He hadn't meant to get angry, but Moorslash had driven him too it.

The tom's eyes narrowed. "I think I already gave you a reasonable explanation a few seconds earlier, Ashstrike-" he began.

"Yes, yes," Ashstrike snapped impatiently. "But that's not a good excuse for losing hope, Moorslash! If you tried, then at least you'd go down with dignity."

"Ah hah!" Moorslash growled, his voice raising to a shout. "So you do think, even if I try, that I won't win!"

The grey tom had already noticed the fault in what he was saying, but he couldn't back down from the argument now. It would make him look weak: many of the other tributes were beginning to stare and whisper at them. "You are simply impossible! I've tried to help you see sense, but you're just being difficult now."

Now, his ally was starting to bare his teeth with rage. "You're just clinging to hope! There's no way either of us are going to go back. That dodgy, trained she-cat from ShadowClan will probably just murder everyone in her path. You're not going to ever see the hills again, Ashstrike!"

His words set off a burning fire inside Ashstrike's stomach. How dare Moorslash say that! His claws dug into the ground and a low growl emanated from deep within his throat. The other tom dropped into a fighting posture and low cheers rang out behind them. "Fight! Fight! Fight Fight!"

But just as the two toms were about to pounce, a loud, cool voice echoed across the clearing. "Am I interrupting something?" They both turned their heads to the top of the tree to see Shade... at first, Ashstrike, flinched, expecting the dictator's cold, blue eyes to be filled with anger- but instead, he started to chuckle. "Ha!" he laughed, his eyes diluting. "What are your names again?"

No. Ashstrike thought. I can't tell you that. His body stiffened; he craned his head to stare at his ally, who had just opened his mouth. "Moorslash, sir." He said.

"Hmmmm," Shade said. There was a slight edge to his voice. "And you?"

"Ashstrike, sir," the WindClan tom spat, emphasis dripping from his mouth. There were a few collected gasps of shock. He dared speak in that tone to Shade?

Immediately, the black tom's eyes narrowed, like he was almost unnerved by the fact that a cat had had the nerve to speak to him that way. "Ashstrike..." he said, quietly. "You know, you remind me of someone who was entered into the Falling of the Leaves a few years back."

Instantly, Ashstrike realised he was purposely trying to make him lose his temper. He clearly already knew everything about the cats who had been entered. Their weakness', and how he could make them suffer in the arena. For the first time since he saw the tom, Shade seemed to have lost his composure. Ashstrike knew he couldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction, so instead, he just stared forward, unblinking, right back at him.

There were a few seconds of tense silence, before Shade coughed and managed to pull a fake smile onto his face. "Tributes, gather round the tree so that you may hear your training score!" Everyone immediately packed together, and the crowd that had emerged from their dens to watch sat down, anticipating the first clan who would be given their scores eagerly. "First, as usual, we will start with ThunderClan!" Shade yowled. "First of all, Aspenpaw. 3!"

As the tom began to make his way through the tributes from ThunderClan, Ashstrike listened intently for cats that would receive high scores. A muscular, ginger tom named Blazewing with shrewd leaf green eyes pulled of the highest in that clan with a 9; there were a few nods of approval amongst the crowd. He had shown his skill at fighting and hunting in the training. But he was closely followed by a sleek, olive coloured she-cat named Runningsong, who grabbed a respectable 8.

Then they were reading out the ShadowClan names. Again, only two cats pulled off good scores, and the highest so far was given to Nightstalk, the cocky jet-black she-cat who was rated 10 by Shade. Another tom called Thorntooth got a 7. Ashstrike's eyes zoomed in on him more than the she-cat, because he recognised Thorntooth as the cat who had fought against the ThunderClan senior at the end of the long day of training. An increasingly tight not in his belly had began to form: after his outbreak a few minutes earlier his score had probably been reduced.

RiverClan! Ashstrike immediately caught sight of the impossibly attractive she-cat, whose name he found was Twilightfur. Many cats were staring at her and whispering, especially the toms: their sexual instincts had been aroused by her appearance. And then she got a score equal to that of Blazewing, a 9. She received a long line of cheers before she sat down; she wasn't the only one to do well in in RiverClan though. Lots of cats were surprised when even the apprentice of that clan managed a 5.

And then... he was announcing the training scores for WindClan. His muscles became tense as he tried to relax, knowing every eye was on his group. Cats passed by like a blur, and his paws felt weak with fright. Come one, come one, you need to remain calm Ashstrike. You can do this. "Moorslash!" Shade's voice seemed tremulous. "You have been given a score of 7!" The average! He nodded weakly his congratulations at his ally, forgetting their previous quarrel. But he knew who was next, because Moorslash had been second last. "Ashstrike, our final scored tribute of the day!" His voice was bright but his eyes were desperately cold. "You have been given a score of- 9!"

What did he say? What was my score? For a moment, he had no idea what had just been said, but then the truth, finally began to dawn on him. 9! He allowed a small smile to flow over the top of his mouth, hardly noticing the shouts of appreciation from the crowd behind him. Moorslash flicked his tail over Ashstrike's ears and smiled. "Well done!"

It was the first time that he had seen Moorslash smile since the beginning of the reaping, but Ashstrike didn't react in front of the other tributes. His face stayed blank. "Thank you."

After that, most of the cats began disperse. He and his ally padded back to their dens where they sat down to rest. Though it was only reaching sun-high after the training scores, Ashstrike felt tired, and yet, he would still have to watch and have his own interview. In a couple of hours, he and the other WindClan cats would be sent in for individual training for the interviews with Rabbit. He knew that before you went on stage, you would actually have your own stylist team that would groom your fur in such a way that it depicted a style, intead of just keeping your fur flat and smooth. It unerved him slightly: he had never seen the interviews live from WindClan. Only the public cats who lived on the island saw what the tributes were transformed into.

Slowly, the sun began to fall in the sky, and other represantatives of Ashstrike's clan were called away. Moorslash was in fact summoned first, so he was left with his thoughts until a cat with a large, thick skull shouted gruffly from outside. "Ashstrike!"

He walked out of the den, glad to be moving his paws once more. The tom led him through the open plain and back towards a place he recognised. Rabbit's den. A strong aroma of cat reeked from rom the nest, and he could identify a few of his clan-mates scents amongst them. The muscular tom nudged him with his muzzle. "In there."

"I know, I know!" Ashstrike snapped.

The cat's eyes bulged stupidly, but before the fight could get serious, a voice echoed from inside. "Ashstrike? Are you coming in or not?" Ignoring the guard, he ducked under the branches supporting the den and stepped into the shadows. The only light illuminating the place was the sunset from outside, but the young brown tabby with blue eyes was clear enough. He was standing by the entrance. "So…" Rabbit said, interested. "I heard that you got a 9?"

"Yes," Ashstrike answered.

"Uh huh," he nodded, his eyes misty, like he was considering something. "You just received one of the best scores in the whole games, and that's something we can show off in the interviews."

"What do you mean? Show off?" Ashstrike muttered. "Do I have to go for some kinda of personality?"

"Yes," Rabbit replied, his eyes narrowing."We've already talked about that in preparation for the training!" He shook his head, impatiently. "I presume you have some kind of idea on how you could act in this thing?"

No. None at all. Getting a 9 in itself was a small miracle. Wracking his brains, he reluctantly obeyed his mentor and began to think about his personality in general. "To be honest, Rabbit," he said, slowly. "I'm not that friendly. Or witty. Or charming. Or merciless-"

"I asked for your personality, not your life story," Rabbit rolled his eyes.

Instantly, Ashstrike felt a glimmer of annoyance and rebellion spark in his body. "Hey!" he yelled, his fur spiking out. "You're the one who asked me the damn question! If I don't give you an honest answer then how are you going to decide what to do with me in this interview?"

"Easy," the previous victor answered, inspecting his pelt with a grim face. "Were going to try and figure it out. I'll go through the options, and you'll try to act that way." Got it?"

"Whatever," Ashstrike mumbled. He had to admit, Rabbit had done well in keeping his voice relatively cool. He didn't seem bothered by the fact the tom in front of him was almost seething with rage; that he would be able to kill him quite easily if he wanted to.

"Right," Rabbit began, cracking his neck. "I want you to act… let's see… humble." He proceeded to ask Ashstrike questions about his life in WindClan, about who his friends were and if he had a mate as such. The ashy grey tom tried to make his voice sound humble, but really, all he managed by the end of that idea was sounding stupid. "Okay," Rabbit said, tapping his claw on his nest of feathers. "How about we go for flirtatious?" That didn't work either. This system went on for almost a complete hour without any result. There was cold, handsome, distracted. Rabbit began to dig somewhere around clever and cold, but by the end, their efforts were almost completely fruitless. "Damn it, Ashstrike," he hissed, finally, he seemed to be losing control. "Just answer the StarClan forbid questions and try not to show how much you want to kill the crowd."

"Wow!" Ashstrike retorted. "Thanks for your brilliant advice."

He turned around to leave, but just before he left he heard Rabbit call back. "Go to the next den along: Mint and her fashion team will be in there ready to groom you."

Whoa! I forgot all about that! Ashstrike thought. Already dreading the moment he would meet his "fashion team", or whatever that meant, as much as he had dreaded his hour with Rabbit, he stepped out to see dusk was drawing in. A tail whipped across his face, and he turned to see the guard he had threatened earlier glaring at him. "That den." He signalled over to a den which was covered from top to tip in flowers. Ahstrike felt a jolt of surprise shoot through his body. It was certainly more- well let's say- upbeat, than the other nests. He padded forward, unsure; he gazed through the gaps of the den to see a group of she-cats whispering to themselves. Gritting his teeth a little, the WindClan tom stepped inside-

And was instantly bombarded by a mound of giggling females. "Oh! I wonder what we can do with this one-"

"-well, we can do magic with that fur-"

"-I wonder if his tail will curl nicely-"

"Girls, girls!" a silky voice echoed from the other side of the den. "That is no way to treat a new tribute!" Instantly, they all crawled off the tom and began to groom themselves, crying out their apologies.

"Thanks for getting them off me." Ashsrike addressed the she-cat who had ordered them off, who he guessed was Mint. His fur was hot with embarrassment at being caught by surprise like he had just been then.

"Nah," she waved his appreciation away. "It was nothing. They often act that way." It sounded like she was scolding her team, and they dipped their head's in shame. "So who are you?"

"Ashstrike," he answered, taking in thes she-cat's appearance. He couldn't help but liking her almost involuntarily. She seemed like someone you could trust. "And who might you be?" he asked casually.

"I am Mint," she purred, moving forward until she planted her haunches beside him, her tail curled neatly over her paws. "As I'm sure Rabbit, my partner, has already told you, I am here to groom your fur and make your pelt shine for the interviews." Ashstrike nodded, digesting her information. "The way we've done this so far is that we've mostly just been allowed to work, but something tells me you don't like being touched."

It was strange to hear it from another cat's mouth, but Mint was right. He had never… enjoyed making contact with other cats. Especially she-cats. That was why he had been so embarrassed when they had leapt on him a few seconds before. "No," he replied.

"Then tell me," she turned around to her companions, smiling. "My students! What method do you suggest that we use?"

"I think that we should-" one of the flustered she-cats began, excited. "I think we should help him relax before we do our work!" There was a crescendo of agreement from the other cats. Immediately, Ashstrike had his guard up. He already been attacked by them in one day, and he didn't intend for it to happen again. The idea of them helping him to relax didn't sound so pleasing.

"Very good," Mint praised them, smiling, before she turned back to Ashstrike. "Okay." She muttered. "Just try to close your eyes."

A wave of uneasiness fell over his body like he had just been hit by a gust of wind. Slowly, he closed his eye lids and allowed his tail to kink into a circle. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"It won't harm you, don't worry." That was the final whisper he heard from his stylist before a strange kind of forced- tiredness began to caress his back. Almost instinctviely, he snapped his head to attack the feline who was touching him, but then, when the feeling began to settle... Ashstrike found himself enjoying it. A long, low purr erupted from his throat and his claws began to knead their way into the ground.

Things seemed to happen in disorientated and unconnected ways as Ashstrike was massaged. He thought he could hear the familiar excited whispers from Mint's team, and occasionally a tongue grooming his neck fur and the space in-between his ears. He had entered a kind of trance, and when the massage stopped, the tom's legs felt weak. He wouldn't have been able to raise a paw in resistance if someone attacked him then. "Wha..." he panted, strangely tired out. "What in StarClan's name was that?"

"It's a technique I was taught by Shade." Mint said simply. Immediately, hostility began to burn in his mind. "It's a way he managed to extract information from cats against him in the war. It would relax their muscles and they would lose all kind of sense in the time they were exposed to it, allowing him to ask get any answers out of them without resistance."

"And now," he hissed, perturbed by the idea he had been used, "you use it calm all the cats who come in here so that you can prepare them for the interviews."

"Exactly," she said, proudly. Ashstrike's eyes narrowed. It was clear she had no idea of how what she had just done to him had affected his mind. He didn't want anything to do with Shade's powers and leadership. If he was going to die in the Falling of the Leaves, he wanted to die himself. "Well." The she-cat padded forward and sniffed him. "You look a lot better than you did earlier."

"Maybe." He snapped. Sure I look great! Mint and her team of rabbit brains have probably made me look like a complete freak.

It was almost as if Mint had read Ashstrike's mind. "You may not think you look very good, but I'm afraid, your opinion doesn't count here as much as it would have done in your clan. This new appearance will get you a lot more fans than your previous one could ever get you. This is doing you good." Ashstrike couldn't help but feel surprised. He started to wonder about the stylist's past, what might have happened to her to get her in this position? Suddeny, her voice awoke him from his thoughts. "It's dusk: time to go and have that interview of your's, Ashstrike."

He gulped, nodding. "Okay." He turned around to leave, but he halted for just a second and called back. "Rabbit didn't really give me any good advice on what I should act like. Do you have any ideas?"

Her face contorted for a moment, but then she smiled. "Act like you've just done for me." And then she disappeared out of his sight, followed by the screams of she-cats waving their tails in goodbye. Somehow, he got the feeling that he would never see the mysterious she-cat again.

Ashstrike padded towards the shadows behind the high tree that Shade often adressed his cats from. All the tributes were pacing around, talking to themselves. They seemed to be running over out-loud what they were going to act like; how they were going to present their personality's. He noticed Moorslash, who was one of the only representatives who seemed even remotely calm... apart from Nightstalk and the other tributes who had been scored highly. "Hi." That was the only word he managed to say.

"What did Rabbit tell you to act like?" Moorslash asked, his voice tipped with tension.

Ashstrike snorted, beginning to lick his claws so that they gleamed more threateningly. "He didn't give me anything useful. Mint gave me a hint of what I should act like though."

"Oh yes! Mint!" Moorslash exclaimed, looking from side to side. "She was very helpful. I think I look a lot- well, different from what I did before."

"Yeah," Ashstrike inspected his pelt, and how it seemed to shine a lot brighter in the gaze of the sun. "I suppose she did make you seem different. It is just me or did she disturb you a bit." His voice dropped considerably at this.

"No, not really." His ally shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Turning his head, the WindClan tom noticed that a few of the other cats had begun to stare expectantly at the tree, gazing up at the branches fearfully. His eyes followed them up wards, puzzled, and then he noticed what they were staring at.

It was Crimson, the cat who he had heard so much about in gossip. His blood red eyes and smooth, charismatic manner were unmistakable. He hosted the interviews for the Falling of the Leaves every single year, and it was clear he was now getting on in moons. But still his personality was as cheerful, and disturbing, as ever. "Toms and she-cats!" he shouted. A roar of appreciation echoed from the crowd. "Do you want to meet this years tributes?" The cats below screamed their assent. "Then let us wait no longer. May I present, the first cat who we will be meeting, Blazewing!"

It always worked this way: the cats who had got the highest score in their clan would always be interviewed first, no matter their gender. As the ginger tom made his way up to the branch in which Crimson sat, a hush fell over the clan. His fur had been curved in such a way that bit made him look both ferocious and also appealing. The two toms went through the usual drill (asking about their friends and family), and the only thing that caught Ashstrike's attention about him was when he talked about his fighting scores.

"So Blazewing," Crimson was saying, turning his head back towards him. "What defines you, in particular, as a tribute? Where do you think you will dazzle your adversaries?"

He thought about this for a moment, before a merciless look overcame his facial expression. "My intentness on survival," he growled. "I was the best hunter and fighter in my clan, and if I can survive in the woods, then I can survive in the arena." Ashstrike shuddered a little. Blazewing had summed up his determination to live in just one chilling sentence.

The interviews kept on moving swiftly, and the rest of ThunderClan was mostly uninteresting, except for the freezing demeanour of Runningsong. She only answered every question with an occasional nod or shake of her head, some times she didn't give a response. Then there was a change: instead of carrying on with ShadowClan, they instead went straight forward with RiverClan. It was very clear who stole the show there. Twilightfur seemingly fluttered up to the branch as if she was an angel sent down from StarClan; it was clear her mentor hadn't had a problem coming up with an angle for her. She was seductive all the way. Every moment that she said something, the audience were on edge. With flicks of her tail and the flattening of her ears, she communicated her strengths and weakness' with ease. No one could have matched her stunning grace and style. But behind all that beauty there was someone who would kill without problem if it came to it.

Then there was ShadowClan, and the monstrous black she-cat whose spiky fur made her seem like she was completely engulfed in thistles. Again, her merciless and evil personality hadn't been hard to picture for her mentor and stylist. She truly seemed like the a hunter stalking at night as she leapt up the tree. Every moment she spent in Crimson's company made her seem more mysterious and enigmatic than before. She played up the whole "I'm definitely going to win" angle for all it was worth. And even Ashstrike had to admit, it was extremely persuasive. Her claws were sharp and her fangs were unusually pointed: Ashstrike had guessed that she had been trained by perhaps her father beforehand, but now the picture became even clearer. And then, there came the tom, Thorntooth, who had got a 7. He once recognised the tom as the cat who had lost his temper at the end of the training day.

Crimson was asking him about she-cats and females he might have liked back home. Thorntooth seemed to think about it a lot- even perhaps to long, and he blushed a little when he discovered that Crimson was waiting expectantly for an answer. "Um- uh no. Not really."

Crimson didn't believe it for a second, and neither did the cats in the crowd. They all screamed, begging for a truthful answer. The tom with blood red eyes laughed. "Well, I think you know what my next question is Thorntooth! Can you tell us the truth?"

The cat immediately began to shift, uncomfortable. "Well… I suppose you can keep a secret?" He addressed the crowd with this question, and Ashstrike immediately realised he was chatting them up. He knew that he would be remembered for this approach. Sly little tom!

"Yes!" Crimson replied, leaning forward. His ears angled so that they would receive his words loudly and clearly. "Is there someone you like Thorntooth?"

"Yes then," he answered. Shrieks of triumph echoed. "I've liked her for quite awhile, but she never really payed any attention to me. At least, I don't think she did." He had them right where he wanted them now. You could have heard a pin drop.

"Oh please, Thorntooth!" Crimson's voice sounded tense. "Please, tell us who this mysterious cat is! We all want to know!"

The tom opened his mouth to speak, but then he hesitated, his pelt fur beginning to settle down once more. "I'm sorry- but I think it would be a bit, um, embarrassing. Especially since she's-" he stopped immediately.

"She's what? Is something wrong?" Crimson pressed.

There were a few small moments of silence. Before he opened up his mouth and spoke loudly and clearly, the space around his whiskers deeply red. "She's here… she's another tribute…"

Ashstrike suddenly discovered that his mouth dropped open, as had everyone else in the crowd. If he's telling the truth the WindClan tom considered it for a couple of seconds. That means it's one of them. He turned around and narrowed his eyes. The three she-cats there were all looking just as embarrassed as Thorntooth was, well, with the exception of Nightstalk. And now, the crowd had risen to yells and screams of shock. Ashstrike gritted his teeth. WindClan were up next, and he would have to work hard to regain their attention. He would be up first since he had got the highest score from his clan. "Cats! Cats!" Crimson yelled, angrily, calming them down considerably. "I would like to thank Thorntooth for his time." He was once again interrupted as the cats echoed their thoughts once more. "And now, we move on to WindClan! Our first tribute is Ashstrike!"

Slowly, he got to his paws and began to make his way up the tree. It was like he had cad a spell over the cats; they fell silent, noticing a new tribute was coming up for the final batch of interviews. They were eyeing him interestedly. He was the tom who had had the nerve to inset Shade earlier: he was the cat who got a 9. When he finally reached the top branch, he stared into those enchanting pools of blood planted upon Crimson's face, awaiting his first question. "So Ashstrike," he began, finally. "Would you like to tell us what you were feeling when you were reaped?"

Be honest. Trying to remain calm, he answered the first intruding query as well as he could. "I was surprised, and shocked at first, of course," he said, his voice cold. "But then all I felt was determination." He had tried to make his words as confident as possible, and he knew it had worked.

"I bet you did," Crimson nodded. "What gave you the motivation? Are you in love with someone back home?"

The question was inevitable, and he allowed a smirk to creep over his face. "Only with the hills, and the open air." He didn't know if his answer seemed foolish or not, and to any normal cat, it probably would sound stupid and cliched. But they ate up those kind of lines here, on the island.

"So," Crimson continued casually. "Would you like to give us an idea of how you plan on winning the Falling of the Leaves?"

Yeah, Ashstrike, in fact, how the heck do you plan on winning this? His amber eyes sparkled with a twinge of frustration and his claws unsheathed a bit. "I refuse to go straight out into battle; I prefer to use my intelligence and speed instead of just brute force. I might form an alliance… but usually, I am a solitary cat."

For once, Crimson seemed almost at loss for words. All his answers had been quite refined and un-detailed so far. His personal life was so far kept a secret. "Tell me Ashstrike," he said, smiling. "Have you lost anyone close to you in your life so far?"

Shade must have told him about my mother. The familiar hate and burning desire to kill nearly overwhelmed. How dare you ask me that question Crimson! He roared in his head; his retort was stiff. "Yes. My mother. She was killed in the Falling of the Leaves as a tribute a few celebrations back."

There were a few short wails of pity, but Ashstrike didn't acknowledge them. "For your mother, for your home and for your life, will you win this year, Ashstrike of WindClan?" Crimson said.

He locked eyes with him. The look was more potent than any venom. "Yes… Shade," the second word was quieter than his first. "I am going to win, and no one is going to stand in my way…"


Ohhhhhh, quite a tense ending if you ask me! What did you think of that? I understand it was probably a little dull at times, but I thought a lot of it was necessary, and that was my longest chapter so far! Remember to vote for your victor! I really want to know who you guys want to win. Maybe your opinion has been changed after all the connection with Ashstrike in this part!

So what did you think of Thorntooth's declaration of love for one of the ShadowClan she-cats? PLZ PLZ PLZ tell me your thoughts of that chapter in a review, I really appreciate your feedback. Oh, and one last thing… the games begin next chapter...