"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,"

LION

Eyes wide, teeth bared.

Hearts beating to the cadence of the war drums.

Blood of fire, spirit of sorrow.

Moral divergence.

He crouched low, hugging the earth. His muscles trembled with exertion. Perspiration soaked his hot, pulsating pelt, yet his blood ran cold beneath his skin.

One minute.

That was all the time he was allotting himself to rest. One minute on a battlefield where every second determined the fate of another. Whether another blow was scored too deep. Whether one's heartbeat was their last.

One minute.

A shrill cry pierced the air.

He winced. It was time.

With a strained grunt, he forced himself to his paws and emerged from behind the boulder he had taken refuge. Following the sounds of caterwauling in the ravine below, he lumbered clumsily amongst the rocks, his claws scrabbled, plunging him into thick marsh.

This was not the land he was accustomed to. Not the land his paws had tread since he was a young kit, the land that had shaped his youth. These lands were scored with rivers and glades, the grounds soft and kissed by clusters of stone. His heart ached for the moorlands.

With startling force, he was thrust sideways. A deep-throated snarl sounded by his ear as claws sunk deep into his ribs. Letting out a yowl of pain, he rolled onto his belly; his attacker closed their teeth into the back of his scruff. He let out a hiss of frustration. He judged the enemy warrior to be lesser in size than he, yet his strength was failing him. He writhed, scrabbling to get stable footing to shake off the warrior when the weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He heard the warrior cry out in surprise, then the sounds of their pawsteps retreating.

"Are you hurt?"

He quickly pushed himself to standing. "Fine," he growled, facing the mottled dark warrior. "How's the front line?"

"We're falling back. Our defense has crumbled," she muttered in dismay.

He cursed under his breath. "They're pushing us back to the shore. Any farther and this battle is over."

He surveyed the battlegrounds before him. Countless figures were locked in fierce tussles. Screeches of agony and fury filled the space. It was clear who had the upper hand in this battle. The faces of their enemies were caked in mud and blood, fashioning masks of war. The disadvantaged warriors slithered and stumbled in the slick mud. The scent of fear was overpowering.

"You're hurt."

He could feel blood seeping hot and sticky down his hind leg. "They've siphoned us deeper into their territory," he growled, ignoring her. "We're cut off from the east."

She frowned, but didn't press him further. "How would you like to proceed?"

He narrowed his eyes as he watched two of his warriors below him being closed in on by four others. "This battle is lost," he said at last. "We need to retreat, but they've restricted our access back to camp." He turned to his companion. "I need you to lead the charge and get everyone home. Go beyond the Horseplace and don't stop until you're well past Twolegplace."

She nodded, listening intently. "What about you?"

"I'll take the rear. I'll try to divert them back to the west and open a course of retreat," he explained. "They're trying to confine us to their territory, so it'll be a narrow window if any."

She eyed his wounds warily. "I'll double-back for you."

"Only when everyone is already across. I'll do a final sweep on my way out, but try to get everyone out if you can."

She nodded and he turned back toward the battle, fur bristling as he braced himself. With a mighty leap, he thundered down the ravine. Utilizing momentum to his advantage, he tore through the group like a bullet, abruptly dividing the combat.

"Retreat, WindClan," he roared to his comrades. "Retreat!"

With wild eyes and frustrated hisses, his Clanmates turned tail and fled, filing after the dark she-cat in a steady stream. The stockier enemy warriors sneered and snarled in response, but he was much more agile and capable of evading most attacks. He darted between scuffles, breaking them up and sending his warriors fleeing toward the moorlands. He spun around, suddenly realizing he no longer recognized friendly faces. His heart twisted with both relief and trepidation.

A yowl of agony erupted from his throat as fire scored his underbelly. The warrior was so accustomed to his eyes on the sky that he hadn't anticipated the river warriors' capabilities from below. They emerged from the marshy glades like muck monsters, hooking their claws into his legs and dragging him under. Contact to his open wound struck like a bolt of lightning – the edges of his vision streaked with shadows. His knees buckled into the sludge. Teeth and claws fastened into him from all sides. The two enemy warriors were reinforced. Thick mire water rushed his throat and he emerged, spluttering, lungs convulsing.

In a moment of terror, he realized his limbs had stopped responding. He crumpled, weighed down by warriors, into the mud. The sounds of chaos tapered out as darkness consumed him.