AN: contains graphic violence and very brief and mild suicidal ideation.

Lionblaze has always been a better fighter.

If this were him, he would challenge Ashfur. He would win that fight — he already has won that fight.

But Hollyleaf isn't Lionblaze, and she doesn't challenge Ashfur.

She hunts him.

The steps are rote and familiar. She makes sure she is upwind, that her steps are silent, and Ashfur isn't even watching for her. Hollyleaf's breath is quiet, her heart is slow, like it has a finite number of beats.

Hollyleaf has heard fear described as tasting blood. Her mouth is dry.

She recalls the lessons Brackenfur gave her. She keeps her back straight and her tail still, her paws moving smoothly over the ground. Ashfur is larger than her, and stronger, so she'll have to use her speed and surprise.

But this isn't so different from hunting prey.

Hollyleaf has learned to stalk mice, to move her steps without making a single sound, and to pounce before they have the chance to run home.

She has learned to chase rabbits, to exhaust them in brambles and bushes until she can close in on the kill.

This isn't so different.

She waits for him to slow, she waits for him to freeze, she waits for the opportunity, just like Brackenfur taught her.

(Hollyleaf wonders if he knows how it feels to know you are going to die.

If he knows how it feels to see someone coming to kill you, to know that your life is about to end.

If he knows how it feels to stand huddled and desperate and hoping that this isn't really the end, that some miracle from the stars will save you, and to know that whatever happens — it is out of your power.

To know you are going to die, and you cannot fight it. You cannot win. You are helpless.

She won't be the one to teach him how that feels. She has more honor than that.)

Hollyleaf leaps.

(Does he know he is going to die? Does he see her? Is she dangerous?)

Hollyleaf has fought in battles. This is not a battle. This is—

This is her claws and teeth at his throat, ripping at his fur. This is the taste of blood, but not her own. This is latching on to him before he can even feel fear, knowing his heart hasn't even had the chance to speed up.

This is his claws dragging at her shoulders as they tumble, her heart pounding too loud to do anything but snarl. This is his frantic hiss as he tries to assess the situation and take control. This is her digging into his side, and him losing control.

This is what it feels like to hold a life in your claws.

(He knows how this feels.)

She's won. It is over as soon as she lands her first hit, as soon as she has clawed his side and he is pinned against the soft ground, her teeth barred and his sides heaving.

She can feel his blood under her paws, can feel his heart beat like a trapped bird.

At least he got to fight.

(She wasn't afforded that opportunity.)

Hollyleaf opens her jaws, ready to kill, to crush his throat, and Ashfur laughs.

"Are you really going to do it, then?"

She doesn't respond, she digs her claws in tighter, she tries not to think of standing behind Squirrelflight as everything crumbled beneath her.

"Are you going to break your precious warrior code, just for petty vengeance?"

(Is she?

But that's not what this is. This isn't vengeance. This is finishing something already set in motion.)

"You started this," she says. "The stars don't watch what becomes of rogues."

"If you kill me, I am coming back to haunt you." He is watching her so calmly. Like he believes she might let him up, let him lick his wounds and turn back to ThunderClan.

(He doesn't understand that he is already dead.)

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

She lunges.

Hollyleaf tears out Ashfur's throat, and he can't try to speak again. He dies slowly, his paws scrambling at the air and his eyes rolling back in his head. It is not a clean and pretty death. It is his blood pooling on the earth and around her paws, his last words ringing in her ears.

(Does she?

But that's not what matters here. Ashfur's fate was set from the moment he decided to kill them. It's just come sooner than he thought.)

When she's sure he's dead, when he doesn't twitch or pant, when his heart stops, Hollyleaf sheathes her claws and tries not to think about where her pelt feels tight and matted.

Blood doesn't show up on black fur until it dries.

Hollyleaf shoves Ashfur's body into the river. It doesn't float. She has to drag it until the current picks up, and she hopes the water washes the scent of blood off of her.

(Willowshine once told her there are spirits in the river. Hollyleaf had purred. Ghosts and spirits were kit stories.

Willowshine didn't tell her where the spirits came from. Hollyleaf didn't ask.)

She stands in the water as the body washes away, letting it run past her. If she took a few more steps, it would sweep her away, too. She'd drown before she could make it out.

What would ThunderClan think then? Would anyone speak for her? Would Lionblaze see the claw marks on Ashfur's flank and know? Would Jayfeather find the scent of Ashfur on her fur, beneath the water? Would Squirrelflight mourn like she was their mother? Like her words did not begin this?

Hollyleaf steps out of the river. She runs her tongue along her back, over the parts that are still dry. There is blood, sharp and metallic, but she doesn't know if it's his or hers.

Maybe it's both.

That would be fitting. She didn't get the chance to fight for her life the first time.

Squirrelflight spoke for them. She stood between them and begged. Hollyleaf thinks her life is worth more than begging. She thinks her life is worth fighting for.

Maybe this was her fight.

Maybe it was an inevitable conflict. Maybe she couldn't rest until she could know she would win.

(She might have started the battle, but Ashfur started this.

He brought this on himself. He took the first action. He chose to entangle himself.)

She wanted to live. She wants—

She's not sure.

This was a start.

(Did he taste ash under his tongue?

Did the fire nip at his pelt?

Did it whisper, "Do you believe in ghosts?" and tell him to stare at Hollyleaf and her brothers?

Did the heat cloud his head? Did the smoke blur his vision?

Did he think he was fighting?

Did he think he was winning?)