Chapter 33

It wasn't long before another opponent found Tinystar – claws raked down his side and he whirled to face his new foe, charged with determination despite the screaming of his muscles. He reared onto his hind paws and slapped the tall tom in the face before falling onto him and raking his shoulders.

The tom wiggled beneath Tinystar's belly and dug his teeth into one of Tinystar's hind legs. Grimacing, Tinystar had to let go before too much damage was done. Blood roared in his ears as the tom tried to grapple Tinystar by the shoulders in a maneuver that could easily cause a cat to black out.

Tinystar struggled, digging his hind claws into whatever part of his foe he could manage. Blood bubbled between his toes and the tom on top of him grunted in pain. Finally Tinystar could wiggle just enough to clamp his jaws down on one of the tom's forelegs, biting hard until he tasted fur and blood.

The tom screeched and Tinystar let go – the tom whirled and limped away, tail between his legs. Tinystar got to his paws and attempted to assess his new injuries – but he had no time. Another cat, a massive tabby, was barreling at him full-tilt, and Tinystar braced himself to meet yet another foe.

I won't die here! He thought, mustering all his strength. I won't let anyone else die here!

A black-and-white blur crashed into the oncoming tom before Tinystar had to face such force – Barley!

The soft barn tom wrestled with the big tabby. Claws flashed and bloody scratches soon lined both cats' bodies. Ravenpaw appeared like a shadow and bit down hard on the tabby's ear, making the BloodClan attacker cry out.

Barley scored his claws down the tabby's side before letting the cat go free. Ravenpaw spat and hissed after them, bristling to the ends of his fur – a warning that they shouldn't come back. The tabby disappeared into the throng quickly, eyes wide with shock at the ferocity of such soft-looking cats.

"That'll teach them!" snorted Ravenpaw.

Barley was panting. "It's… been a long time since I had to fight like this…"

Ravenpaw brushed his muzzle against Barley's. "I'm not leaving you," he promised quietly. The small tom's eyes caught on Tinystar. "Are you all right?"

"All thanks to you," Tinystar breathed. "That tabby might have blown me off my paws!"

"There's no time to rest," admitted Barley. The barn cat looked hard and determined. "The longer we hesitate in this battle, more of our friends will die."

Tinystar swallowed, picturing Mosspaw's death-stunned face. You have no idea, he thought grimly. "Go where you're needed," he rasped. "Support any cat you can."

Barley and Ravenpaw both nodded before haring off into the fight. Ravenpaw screeched a warrior's cry as Tinystar watched him leap onto a shocked tortoiseshell rogue. Tinystar shook the ringing from his ears and steadied his paws, looking around for any cat who might need aid.

He quickly spotted a small ShadowClan apprentice - Rowanpaw, he thought – and wove through the battle to meet them. Two large BloodClan cats – both black-and-white toms almost identical but for their eyes – were harassing the poor young apprentice, who must have gotten separated from their mentor or the other apprentices somewhere in the middle of the fighting.

I might not be able to take them both, Tinystar thought, blood pounding in his ears, but I have more lives to spare than that little cat – StarClan help me, I'm not going to watch another apprentice die today!

He sprang onto the green-eyed patchy tom and raked his claws through his thick fur. The cat reared, hissing, trying to shake Tinystar off. Tinystar clung hard, digging all four paws worth of claws into the tom's spine. He was about to take a hunk of white fur in his jaws when he felt claws raking down his haunches. That moment of pain made him loosen his grip, and Tinystar was flung off of his opponent easily.

Tinystar landed hard on his back, gasping for air as spots danced before his eyes. His muscles didn't respond for a long moment – long enough for the green-eyed tom to plant his paws on Tinystar's side.

"Little pest!" he hissed. "I'll gut you like a fly!"

Tinystar swallowed a gulp of air and forced himself up, lashing out with a claw. He caught the tom in the eye, and the responding screech was more than satisfying. The green-eyed tom backed off, giving Tinystar time to get to his paws. Now he had both black-and-white toms' attention, though blood leaked from the green-eyed tom's eye.

"Rowanpaw, run!" he yowled.

The tiny ginger cat bristled, but bolted. Tinystar swallowed, bracing himself for another attack, eyes shifting to try and keep both black-and-white cats in his vision.

Why was there a third, suddenly, Tinystar wondered. Was he truly growing so dazed from battle?

But it was quickly made clear that the new cat was on his side – especially when, with sharp jabs of his paws, Swiftfoot managed to topple one of the black-and-white toms. Eyes burning with determination, Swiftfoot pinned his enemy, latching his jaws into his throat.

Tinystar felt fur brush up against him. Brightheart was there, suddenly, her eye narrowed at the green-eyed tom.

Hissing and bristling, the green-eyed tom spat, "What's this, a cripple? You'll be easy!"

"We'll see about that!" Brightheart hissed back. "Come at me, fox-breath!"

Tinystar watched as Brightheart remained steady and still as the squinting black-and-white tom began to circle her. Her tail and whiskers were twitching, and Tinystar realized that she was reading every movement that her foe made, even if she couldn't see him.

He was even more impressed when the black-and-white tom sprang at her from behind. Brightheart rolled onto her belly, quick as a snake, and, like a rabbit, flung the big cat away with her hind paws. The tom fell right into Swiftfoot's range, and, growling furiously, Swiftfoot raked him with his claws until he screeched.

Thoroughly trounced, both black-and-white BloodClan cats fled, screeching about vicious and horrible Clan cats.

Tinystar swallowed, looking at the two once-crippled warriors before him. "That was astounding!" he purred.

Swiftfoot shrugged. "We do what we can."

"Where's Cloudtail?" Tinystar asked.

"With Sandstorm," Brightheart replied. Tinystar must have looked worried, because she added: "They're okay – Dustpelt and Cinderpelt are with them too."

"Good," Tinystar breathed. He wanted to be by his mate's side but he had more lives than she did – though the thought of losing one of his lives filled him with a terror he could not describe. He was much more useful supporting those who needed it. "Look out for one another."

"Always do," Swiftfoot grunted. "For as long as we can."

The two bounded off through the battle together, pelts brushing. Tinystar swallowed and tried to get a read on the fighting, craning his neck to look over the mass of fur and claws to spot any cats he could recognize.

He spotted Sandstorm and Cloudtail fighting together, like Brightheart had promised – but Dustpelt was being dragged off the battlefield by Cinderpelt. Dustpelt's jaws were moving, likely in protest, but blood trickled after him. He wouldn't be in the fight for a while.

The more Tinystar looked, the more scenes like that he saw. Deadfoot, WindClan's deputy, was dragging himself to the medicine cats, blood pooling after him. A RiverClan cat was lying still on the ground, covered in dust and torn earth, unmoving. More and more Clan cats were retreating, and less BloodClan cats were sent screaming out of the clearing. More bodies littered the ground, and too few of them were BloodClan.

Tinystar swallowed against a lump in his throat. This has to end, he thought. Soon. Or there will be no one left to fight.

This battle had raged for so long, it felt, and the Clans had barely made a dent in BloodClan's forces. Tinystar dug his claws into the earth. He had to find Scorch – he had to end this. Barley had been right – these cats would fight and fight until they had nothing left to fight for. So long as Scorch lived, the Clans would lose this battle.

It was easy to spot Scorch now that the cats had thinned. The flame-colored tom was in the shadow of the Great Rock, battling with… with…

Whitestorm!

Dread filled Tinystar. He surged to his paws and flung himself towards the Great Rock, terror filling his body. There was no way the old white warrior could kill Scorch – Whitestorm was a great warrior in his own right but he was old, he was tired…

Before Tinystar could reach them he saw Scorch's claws flash. A burst of red followed.

Whitestorm fell, limp, to the earth, redness staining his pure white pelt.

Tinystar skidded to a halt beside his deputy's body. No, no, no! he thought, looking down at the old white warrior, who was gasping for air. Tinystar tried to stop the blood with his paws, emotion ringing in his ears until he wasn't quite sure he was in full control of his body anymore. Blood sucked at his paws, turning even his black fur red.

"You can't die!" Tinystar screeched, his mouth dry. All his time with Whitestorm was flashing through his eyes – the old white tom had been with him since the beginning, supporting and offering his advice. A world without him felt like it would spiral out of control – if Tinystar could only just stop the bleeding, the medicine cats could…

"No medicine… cat can… save me now," Whitestorm coughed.

Tinystar didn't know how much of his thoughts he was jabbering aloud. "We… we're going to lead ThunderClan together," Tinystar sobbed. "I can't do it without you, Whitestorm!"

Whitestorm's yellow eyes had a little clarity and wisdom left. He looked fondly up at Tinystar. "You can," he whispered. "ThunderClan will live on… and I will watch… you…"

Tinystar couldn't respond. He buried his muzzle into the white tom's fur, not caring about the blood, not caring about the battle raging all around him. It didn't matter right now – a piece of Tinystar's world was ending, and there was nothing he could do.

"Tigerstar…?" Whitestorm breathed, hope and love in his faint mew. "My love… is that you…?"

Whitestorm jerked twice, and then was still.

The sounds of the battle roared in Tinystar's ears. Slowly, he pulled his muzzle away from Whitestorm's body. With a red paw, he closed the old white tom's eyes.

"Go with StarClan," he murmured, trying not to choke on his words. "I will miss you, old friend."

"He fought well," a voice meowed through the din. "For an old-timer."

Tinystar went rigid. He turned his head to see Scorch standing paces away. The ginger tom's fur was speckled with blood. Whitestorm's blood. Other Clan cat's blood. His green eyes were level and emotionless as they looked on Whitestorm.

"An old cat like that shouldn't have been fighting," Scorch went on. "He held out longer than I thought."

Tinystar's only reply was a screech of rage.

Fury bubbled under Tinystar's fur. Fury like fire, fury and anger and hatred that he had always tried to stamp down. The temper that Bluestar had tried to nuture for her own gain was bursting forth, filling Tinystar with white-hot energy that burned to the ends of his claws. Any cat who saw him would say that they were looking at a totally different cat, something horrifying and filled to bursting with hatred, with ice-blue eyes narrowed to cold slits.

Scorch's whiskers twitched. "You were always quick to temper," he muttered.

Tinystar lunged at Scorch. Blood roared in his ears like an ancient cat, and he slammed into Scorch with what must have been the force of a cat thrice his size. Each strike was aimed for Scorch's throat or belly or face, anything vital that might end his life once and for all – but Scorch was dodging his blows easily.

"You were always sloppy when you were angry," Scorch grunted, dodging a blow aimed for his ear. "You got so single-minded! I'm sorry that the Clans didn't change that about you."

Scorch stunned Tinystar easily with a blow to the head. All of the energy and rage and fury suddenly fled him, and Tinystar was left shaking and exposed.

"I'm sorry I have to kill you, brother," Scorch mewed.

The blow came quick. Tinystar barely felt it. A slight tugging at his throat. Why did Scorch's paw come away so wet and red? Why was everything suddenly spinning, growing fuzzy and hard to see?

Tinystar looked down and saw blood beneath him. He was dimly aware that it was his own. He tried to move out of it – he tried to move anywhere, really – but his paw slipped in the puddle. With a splash, he landed on his side.

The impact blackened his vision. Tinystar tried to claw his way back to the light, tried to breathe – why was it so hard to breathe, suddenly? – but the light grew smaller and smaller no matter what he tried…

… and then there was nothing at all.