Fireheart padded through the forest near Snakerocks with Sandstorm, Snowpaw, and Bramblepaw following him closely. He paused to sniff the air occasionally, keeping his senses alert for any sign of danger. The adders were already enough of a threat as it was, and with the strange rogues that were apparently roaming the forest and picking off Clan warriors, he didn't want to be caught off guard.

"Anything unusual, Fireheart?" Sandstorm asked, padding up to his side.

He shook his head. "All safe," he reported, resting his tail gently on Snowpaw's shoulder and blinking twice to let him know.

Snowpaw nodded, then glanced over to the rocks and back at Fireheart, tilting his head to the side and flexing the claws on his right forepaw. Can I hunt?

"Of course," Fireheart meowed, nodding. The white-furred tom's eyes lit up and he bounded off to the top of the rock formation, glancing around for any unsuspecting prey that might be lurking about.

"Come on, then," Sandstorm meowed, nudging Bramblepaw gently. "You should hunt too. The more we can bring back for our Clan, the better."

"Okay, Sandstorm," Bramblepaw agreed, turning around and racing over to join his denmate.

For the rest of the morning, Fireheart and Sandstorm watched over the apprentices while they hunted. Snowpaw was doing well, but Bramblepaw was another story. It was easy to see that the young tabby had inherited his father's size–he wasn't fully grown yet, which meant his paws were a little too big for him. Unfortunately, this had the effect of making him rather clumsy, causing him to miss a few catches. After he let a shrew escape him, he sat down, looking extremely dejected.

"Sorry, Sandstorm," Bramblepaw meowed, his head hanging.

"That's alright, Bramblepaw," Sandstorm meowed kindly. "You're still growing into your paws. It's natural for you to be a little clumsy."

"I suppose so," the tabby apprentice agreed. "But Tawnypaw is such a great hunter and a fighter. I just want to be as good as she is."

"Tawnypaw's probably already done growing. She's already gotten past her clumsy stage," Fireheart meowed. "But you seem to have inherited your father's size, Bramblepaw, so you probably have at least a moon before you're fully grown. But don't worry, I'm sure Sandstorm has ways to help you stop tripping over your own paws all the time until then."

"Naturally," Sandstorm huffed in a mock-haughty voice. Bramblepaw snickered slightly, looking a little more cheerful.

"Okay," he meowed, giving his chest fur a lick. "Thanks, Sandstorm, Fireheart."

"Of course. And Bramblepaw," Fireheart meowed, resting his tail on the younger tom's shoulder. "Don't feel bad if your sister is a better hunter or fighter than you. Sometimes, our siblings are just going to be more naturally gifted than we are and there isn't much we can do about it. We aren't going to think any less of you just because she happens to be a little stronger or a little better at stalking mice."

Bramblepaw relaxed visibly. "Thank you," he murmured. "That means a lot."

"Anytime," the flame-colored deputy replied warmly.

The rest of the hunt went by smoothly. Sandstorm had Bramblepaw practice his stalking a few times before he tried to catch any more prey, and by the end of the hunt, Fireheart thought his form had improved. He was still clumsy, but he managed to catch a respectable amount of fresh-kill nonetheless. Snowpaw had performed admirably as well, and Fireheart felt a surge of pride for both of the apprentices, knowing the Clan would be eating well that night.

As they walked back to the camp with their prey, however, Fireheart became aware that something wasn't right. There was a strange scent in the air, one that hadn't been there previously. It was definitely a cat, a molly to be specific, and she smelled of Twolegplace and crowfood. One glance at the expression on Sandstorm's face told him that his mate had picked it up as well.

"Who's there?" he called out, lashing his tail. "Show yourself!"

"It's coming from over that way," Sandstorm growled, pointing her tail toward a thick clump of nettles. "Hold on, I'll get her out here."

Fireheart nodded and watched as the pale ginger warrior stalked toward the clump of nettles, her eyes narrowed. Once she was a few tail-lengths away, she leaped forward, her claws outstretched. A yelp of pain came from the nettles as Sandstorm dragged out a solid brown molly by her scruff, tossing her unceremoniously onto the ground. The unfamiliar cat rolled over onto her stomach, spitting indignantly.

At once, Fireheart could tell that this was no ordinary rogue. Her pelt was unusually well-groomed and there was a red collar around her neck. With a sinking feeling of horror, he noticed that it was embedded with dog and cat teeth. He remembered the strange-looking white attachments he had seen on Scourge and Bone's collars and realized that they must have been teeth as well.

Great StarClan, do they kill their enemies and then take their teeth as trophies? Fireheart thought in mingled horror and disgust. Then he shook himself off. Whatever strange behaviors these cats exhibited, it was of no concern to him at the moment. There was a trespasser on his territory, and he needed to make sure she knew that she wasn't welcome.

"So," the molly sneered, curling her lip to reveal rows of blackened teeth. "Going to kill me, forest fool?"

"Who are you and what do you want?" he snarled, stalking up to the rogue.

She glared up at him, yellow eyes filled with hatred. "My name is Fang," she snarled. "And I'm a warrior of BloodClan."

"BloodClan?" Bramblepaw spoke up, looking confused. "What are you talking about? There's no such thing as BloodClan!"

"Quiet, Bramblepaw!" Sandstorm ordered sharply.

Fang laughed, a high, cold, maniacal laugh that sent a shiver down Fireheart's spine. "You think you know every Clan that there is, you stupid little tom? BloodClan has better and stronger warriors than any pathetic forest Clan could ever have. Just you wait. We'll pick you and your precious friends off, one by one, until there's nobody left to defend your precious territory. And once the last of your kind is dead, we'll be taking the forest as well as the town."

"I'd like to see you try," Fireheart sneered.

"Fireheart, what do you say we teach this rogue a lesson about how strong 'pathetic forest Clan warriors' can really be?" Sandstorm growled, her eyes glinting.

"She's all yours. Just make sure not to go too far, I'd hate to scar Bramblepaw and Snowpaw."

Sandstorm nodded and launched herself at Fang, her teeth bared and her claws outstretched. The brown molly barely had time to react before Sandstorm's teeth were buried in her shoulder, her claws raking her back. Fang snarled and slashed her claws over the pale ginger queen's shoulder, but Sandstorm barely flinched as she brought her paw down hard over Fang's head. Spitting in fury, the rogue tore herself free, sprinting off in the direction of Twolegplace.

"Should we go after her?" Sandstorm asked.

Fireheart shook his head. "Let's just let her go," he meowed. "I doubt she'll be coming back anytime soon, and besides, we need to report this to Bluestar. We can check later to see if she's really gone. I don't know what this BloodClan is, but something tells me that it's not a coincidence that we're hearing about it so soon after Graystripe and Loudbelly were attacked."