The night was dark, but their intentions were darker.

Ice laced mud oozed between Yellowfang's toes as she ducked beneath a swaying fern dripping with half frozen droplets of water. The moon was nearing full, the Gathering only a few days away, but the light promised by it was stolen from them as darkened clouds began rolling in. A thick breeze ruffled sections of Yellowfang's fur and slid over the slick parts that were slathered with mud to hide her scent. A storm was coming, though it would not just be rain. This was becoming apparent with every pawstep.

Only two days had passed before the perfect night for the ambush had arrived. Precipitation was scented on the horizon and the evening would be covered with dark, stormy clouds. That is what they needed, the darkness. Most cats shy away from the night. ShadowClan welcomed it with open paws. They were the cats of the night, bred from shadows and secrecy and the ancient wind that rolled down from the north. The cats of the Clan knew this, and that's why they feared. But what would rogues know about that? Well, they would find out, tonight.

Stonetooth was the strategist behind the scheme, all the way down to the littlest details. He was the one who chose the night, selected the cats who would do the confronting, as well as plotted the trap they would implement. It was all very precise, for there could be no room for blurred lines. Stonetooth was a brilliant planner; he was not just chosen for deputy many moons ago solely for his sibling relation with Brindlestar. Yellowfang has heard the stories of their many victories due to Stonetooth's careful preparations prior to the battles.

Only, Stonetooth was not accompanying the patrol. Neither was Brindlestar. Both of them were staying behind the swishing ferns and vines of the ShadowClan camp. An observer might have called it cowardice. Yellowfang knew better. This was all part of the plot, though it was at the expense of the two littermates. The cats chosen for the patrol were all selected based on their size and experience. There was still a chance that no claws would be unsheathed that night. But this would be the first true look at the rogues who were tormenting ShadowClan, and they needed to make an impression. Warriors like Smallfeather and Toadskip were impressive fighters, there's no mistake there. But this first conflict would be a battle of intimidation. But this plan also called for the realization of the physical state of Brindlestar and Stonetooth. Both had been powerful in their youth, but time passes, and time is cruel.

Deerleap, Marshclaw, and Raggedpelt walked side by side, their fur buffeted by the rushing gusts. Yellowfang found it hard to ignore the silent twinge of doubt that had settled into her chest. Deerleap was a trusted, experienced warrior who knew when to keep her claws sheathed, but Marshclaw had an unchecked violent streak from time to time. And of course, everyone knew of Raggedpelt's nature. Age has enabled the young warrior to learn when to keep his ego in check, but this was a different scenario. Why was he chosen to be one of the three leaders in this patrol? It wasn't his age that Yellowfang was unsure of. They were about to meet the same cats who slaughtered Raggedpelt's father. There was no doubt in her mind that Flameclaw would be brought up; what would they do if Raggedpelt acted on impulse at the wrong time?

Behind the patrol, Yellowfang followed with the others. They were the back ups, the ones who would stay hidden while the three leaders addressed the rogues first. Yellowfang padded alongside Moonfur, Wildstorm, Amberleaf, Lizardstripe, Brackenfoot, and Hollyflower. Even then, it didn't feel like enough warriors. But even with the harsh season approaching, every cat among them was able-bodied and in good health, and oh so full of rage. Flameclaw and Frogtail were not the only cats who have been murdered in the dark around the rough-edged side of this certain Twolegplace. Mistface and Brindlestar have been mentioning names, names that did not register to Yellowfang; names of cats who must have died before her birth. The desire for revenge has been ignored long enough. It was time.

Yellowfang's mind continuously drifted back to the night when she and their other kits had journeyed to the Carrionplace. Despite the preparation taken before their mission today, Yellowfang still felt on edge. Where could she find that bravery she possessed when she was a kit? That was a pointless question; age will always find a way to bleed out all the confidence once held. This was not her first battle; there were two when she was an apprentice, and a sneak attack by a fox the night of her warrior vigil. But this time, they were truly walking into the unknown. No cat knew what they might find.

There was a smell in the air that suggested they were nearing their destination. It did not have the same type of foulness that dwelled at the Carrionplace; instead, it was more of an unnatural odor, something created artifically. Somehow, it was almost more repulsive. Yellowfang scrunched up her nose and pressed on until the damp earth beneath her paws turned to grit. They stopped in their tracks.

"We've passed the place where Flameclaw's body was found." Yellowfang heard Amberleaf mutter into Wildstorm's ear. "Now we're in their territory."

Hollyflower turned to Raggedpelt. "Do we keep going?"

Raggedpelt shook his head and angled his head toward the sparse bushes that seemed to unnaturally flourish from the strange rocks. Behind them, the ShadowClan swamp loomed in the distance. Yellowfang and the others slipped behind the brushes until their bodies were concealed. She shivered through the mud that helped to hide the smell of ShadowClan from her fur. Her paw pads ached from the small, rough-shaped rocks beneath them. What strange ground. And not a place for any cat. Raggedpelt, Marshclaw, and Deerleap waited in the open, undefiant but firm in their place.

Beside her, Moonfur struggled against the ground, trying to find a comfortable place to put her paws. "It smells filthy here. Was the Twolegplace you went to when you found Nightkit like this?"

Yellowfang flattened her ears. "No. No, it wasn't. It was a lot cleaner and not as sketchy as this place." It was true. This place seemed to scream of danger and unknown fates. What kind of cats lived here? They could be dealing with something out of their-

Something cracked. Yellowfang was not entirely sure of what it was. It was louder than the crunching of a leaf but contained the same type of subtle innocence. She felt the bodies of her Clanmates stiffening beside her as the sound of a faraway voice called out, "Marmalade, you oughta see this."

A glimpse of the moon shined when a layer of clouds broke through. Yellowfang peered through the bush and saw several shadows calmly approaching from the strange square walls of Twolegplace. She caught the outline of Raggedpelt's shoulders against the sky, and even from the distance Yellowfang could tell that he was trying his best to keep his patchy fur as flat as possible.

"What's this?" One of the shadows spoke.

"A visit." Yellowfang's chest lurched when she recognized Raggedpelt's voice first. Why in StarClan's name is he doing the talking? "We would have walked further, but we view trespassing as a serious charge."

"There are no borders here." The mew from one of the rogues was laced with feigned good nature. "Please, next time, feel free to come as far as you like. These walls block these cold winds, after all."

"I bet they block other things from view as well." Marshclaw's tone was the beginnings of a growl.

Deerleap cut in, the apparent voice of reason, "We've come here today under the realization that we have neighbors on the other side of these walls. We have some evidence that your presence has been...well, confirmed."

Yellowfang inched closer, trying to make out how many rogues were there. It was too impossible to tell from sight alone, and their scents were too mingled to decifer one from another.

"Strange that we're just receiving your company now, after so many months. I trust that you've arrived here as a sign of friendship, correct?"

"Your sarcasm is only insulting yourself." Raggedpelt said in a cool, collected tone. "Let us not dabble with mind games and actually address the current matters here, if you wouldn't mind."

The rogue responded with, "Apologizes on our part then, we just assumed that you showing up here with such a pitiful group meant that you were in the mood for laughs. We sure are."

"Yes, laughter. We don't hear much of that coming from this place." Marshclaw spoke.

"You forest cats don't seem to hold the same admiration of our home as we do. I don't blame you. Creatures that live in mud and feast upon frogs are likely to be a bitter lot."

"If you dislike the forest," Deerleap said carefully, "then why do we find so many of you within our borders?"

"Your border markings are meant for those other squirrel cats you find yourselves fighting with. We don't see your borders, just as you don't seem to see ours."

"And for what reason?" Raggedpelt inquired. "You seem to have no interest in our prey."

"We're not as patient as you seem to be portraying yourselves as, we're afraid. Get to the point."

"These are questionable times." Yellowfang watched Raggedpelt speak from her position. "And the forest is quite a dangerous place, with enough perils as it is. We have come to ask you if you would like to eliminate one of the dangers from our territory by staying out of it."

The rogue ignored the last part, "Dangerous, you say. How so?"

"Well, it would appear that our friends are being butchered in the dark, coincidentally close to this place." The patience in Raggedpelt's voice was more than certainly forced. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"Butchered." The rogue repeated the word slowly, as if savoring the sound of it. "That does sound like quite the issue. Unfortunately, we have the same problem here from time to time."

"It would certainly be great if you kept that problem within your walls and away from the forest."

"And suddenly we're responsible for it?" The rogue sounded mockingly hurt.

"It is apparent to both of us that we come from very different backgrounds." Raggedpelt spoke. "But where I come from, we hold a cat's life higher than the barbarous impulses of claws. All we ask is that you leave us out of your affairs. What goes on beyond your walls is yours to do with as you please. We do not need to mingle our lives, as diverse as they are."

There was a pause. "You're very young to be a leader."

If Raggedpelt felt any pride from the false assumption, he did not show it in his demeanor or his tone of voice. "I'm not a leader, but I advise that you take my advice all the same. We come in peace, and we'd like to leave in peace as well."

"If you are no leader," The rogue ignored the end of Raggedpelt's statement again. "then where is your leader? Why isn't he or she standing here with you?"

"That is a-" Raggedpelt began to say.

"A cowardly move by a cowardly cat, I'm sure."

Yellowfang watched Marshclaw's haunches begin to rise. "If you mean to insult us so blatantly then-"

"I must say, this has been a great way to end my evening." The rogue interrupted. "Two old flea-bitten rats and their kit leader. You know how to talk, I'll give you that much, kit. But we don't do peace here."

The shadows dispersed. Yellowfang was able to count four or five cats facing the three leaders of her patrol. Raggedpelt spoke again, "If numbers are meant to intimidate, then we will play that game as well. We are very adaptable, did I mention that?" A single beckon of his tail was enough of the signal. Yellowfang moved out from her cover and began to approach the rogues on silent paws, her tail lashing but her movements soundless. Her Clanmates were among her, moving in behind the three, their menacing glares fixed on the rogue cats.

There, Yellowfang was able to get a view of the rogue who did all the talking. He was an older cat, with a rugged black and white pelt and torn ears, typical of what she'd expected. The cats among him were not particularly attractive or even interesting to look at, except for the Twoleg collars around their necks. Kittypets? That's who they were dealing with? Some of the collars were half torn and one was practically hanging from one's neck. Suddenly, Yellowfang sees a very young she-cat, probably no older than Foxpaw, standing beside one of the rogues. She was one of the most beautiful cats Yellowfang had ever seen, with a dappled tortoiseshell pelt and haunting blue eyes. She flitted her gaze back on the rogues' leader.

"Now," Raggedpelt said carefully. "Do we have an agreement here?"

The black and white tom looked somewhat cornered after the back-up had arrived. That was the goal, Yellowfang reminded herself. Intimidation. "If you come back here, we won't hesitate to kill you. We don't play games here."

"Neither do we." Raggedpelt dipped his head. "I'm glad we reached that agreement. And , next time you have the desire to so callously murder another one of your kind, please do so in your own home. We are also not so fond of games."

The rogue held back a hiss and whipped around, stalking off into the shadows. The others casted glares upon the Clan cats before following, and the beautiful tortoiseshell held Yellowfang's stare for a moment longer before she retreated as well. Yellowfang found it hard to expel the tenseness that had built up in her muscles. "And now what?"

"We go home." Raggedpelt said simply. "And we wait for them to come to us."

Hollyflower's eyes were wide. "You think they will?"

"Of course they will. Not tonight. Probably not tomorrow. But they'll come. And we'll finish what we started here then."