A/N: We're still in the slower character establishing part of the story, before things really heat up, but I've got big plans coming up soon! Like, next chapter soon ;3

It was hard to dissipate the tension in the air, try as Spottedpaw's mentor might have. Nearly a moon had passed since ElmClan and IvyClan's last skirmish, and Falconstar was demanding every mentor train their apprentices for the next. Cloverfoot was a gentle giant of a cat, forgetful and at times dumber than a prey animal, but Spottedpaw could tell he cared for him. Cloverfoot could see the way the constant fear of losing more Clanmates wore on his little apprentice, and there were times like these Spottedpaw felt his mentor was far more observant than cats gave him credit for.

Then again, he mused, Falconstar must have recognized potential in the white tom to gift him a pupil anyway — unless she was hoping for his apprentice to do the mentoring.

After a bout of practicing fighting moves, specialized for his shorter frame, Spottedpaw was growing tired. The sun was setting when they started, and by now the sky was a dull blue, bathing the sparring cats in a similar hue. His calves felt as if he'd just darted across the Thunderpath, and he shifted his weight from paw to paw to allow them some rest. The melted snow beneath him only added a biting cold to the aching sensations, and he couldn't have been readier for leaf-bare to be over.

The opposition seemed to have no such concerns. Sorrelpaw was cleaning her chest fur of dirt, a barely visible bead of blood forming beneath her reddish nose. Spottedpaw hadn't meant to hit her as hard as he did, but in his defense, the ginger molly's claws were out for the first round.

"Hey, it's getting late, isn't it?" Cloverfoot's voice cut through the darkening glade as he rose to his paws with a stretch. "You two've worked real hard. How about we head on back to camp?"

The other mentor present, Brightclaw, blinked, before looking to the sky with a flicker of his white-and-gray tail. "It's only sun-fall. There's still time."

Not wanting to fight anymore, Spottedpaw was inclined to agree with his mentor, but he also didn't want to risk appearing lazy to a cat like Brightclaw. Falconstar's mate and one of the most prolific battlers and strategists ElmClan had seen in recent memory, Brightclaw had the biggest say out of the warriors in if Spottedpaw would receive his warrior name. He kept his mouth shut, but it didn't appear Sorrelpaw had the same instinct.

"I'm tired!" The molly pouted, and her sudden bluntness made Spottedpaw snicker despite himself. His opinions on her were mixed — since the deaths of Maplepelt and Tawnyfur, Sorrelpaw grew prone to acting out, what little impulse control she had dying with them. Some cats found it endearing, but it got on his nerves. Loud cats just weren't his type, and by Brightclaw's sigh at his apprentice's statement, Spottedpaw wasn't alone in that train of thought. The dark ginger apprentice either didn't notice their reactions or didn't care. She sniffed, trying to get rid of the blood bubbling beneath her nostril. "Wanna go back to my den."

Cloverfoot purred. "Can't blame you! Say, Spots," Spottedpaw glanced up at his nickname, only to feel Cloverfoot's large paw smacked affectionately against his shoulder. "How's about a reward for working so hard, huh?" His blue eyes glinted good-naturedly. Spottedpaw didn't feel particularly close with any of his Clanmates, but he couldn't fault Cloverfoot for trying. "Catch yourself something nice before we go."

Ears flattening, Brightclaw cut in. "I should hope you don't. The elders, queens, and medicine cats eat before anyone else eats." His hard stare into Cloverfoot did nothing to discourage him, apparently. "Eating while on a hunting patrol is forbidden, much less in leaf-bare."

"We're not on a hunting patrol, though, are we?" Cloverfoot replied without a beat, Spottedpaw unsure if he was clever or just that dumb. "Just a little mouse, or somethin'. Spottedpaw's tiny, he doesn't need to eat much."

Spottedpaw frowned. "Hey."

"C'mon, Spots, just trying to cover for you."

Brightclaw glared harder as Sorrelpaw returned to wash herself. Finding Cloverfoot unperturbed by the stern gaze of one of the Clan's most prolific warriors, he finally relinquished after a moment. "Fine. If only because you're incredibly hard to say no to."

"Thanks!" Cloverfoot beamed. "Hey, Brighty, if you don't see nothing, you say nothing. Good to make cats feel like their work pays off, y'know?" He stretched, before beckoning with his tail to lead Spottedpaw further into the forest. Sorrelpaw bounded after them, quickly taking the lead between her energy and Spottedpaw's shorter strides. Brightclaw was last, not hiding his disapproval.

Prey was hard to come by at this time of night, Spottedpaw spending what felt like a moon crouched and watching for any prey to emerge from its home in the trees. Brightclaw was about to remark under his breath that this was what they got for trying to eat while hunting, but as he did, an oblivious squirrel skittered down the trunk of a large elm to be immediately restrained and killed by the tortoiseshell apprentice.

He watched Cloverfoot for approval, and the tom's eyes had lit up. Spottedpaw's heart warmed — his mentor wasn't wrong that it made him feel better. As he ate his catch, not as dissuaded by the idea of breaking the warrior code as he thought he'd be, freezing slush was kicked into his face by Sorrelpaw scrambling her way up the tree to find more where it came from. If there were any left, her commotion would've scared them off, Spottedpaw thought.

By the time the remains of their prey was buried and the group returned to camp, the sky was dark and cloudy — no stars were to be seen. The ElmClan camp was surrounded by thick, large trees, branches interwoven together as if to shield the vulnerable cat colony. Spottedpaw thought bitterly that they hadn't been very successful at it — every time he looked at his home, all he could see was the IvyClan cats' indiscriminate attack. Clan camp was the last place any cat should feel unsafe, but he felt his fur stand on end as he and his Clanmates returned.

The dark shadow shambling through the snow didn't help, but as it grew closer, Spottedpaw found it was no enemy cat — no, no, it was his closest friend, a lilac apprentice named Dawnpaw. As she approached, she dipped her head towards Brightclaw in respect, before turning her attention to her fellow apprentices. "I was waiting for you guys for, like, an hour."

"I was busy beating the fluff outta Spottedpaw!" Sorrelpaw exclaimed loudly and proudly, before being hushed by her mentor.

Rolling his eyes, Spottedpaw corrected, "we were training and went out hunting after."

"Really?" Dawnpaw mewed, dull blue eyes lighting up. She turned her head to Brightclaw with enthusiasm. "Can I—"

"Unless you intend on bringing it back for the others, no." Brightclaw stated, before padding off towards the warrior's den. "You should head to sleep soon." He called as he went, before vanishing into his nest.

Cloverfoot watched him go, glancing from the white-and-gray tom to the three apprentices, before bidding them goodnight with a purr and following Brightclaw.

"Brightclaw's a real stick in the mud." Dawnpaw pouted the moment the high-ranking warrior was out of sight. There was a beat of silence, before she lowered her voice to address Spottedpaw and Sorrelpaw. "Last Gathering I went to, they were saying ShellClan's deputy had kits in IvyClan."

Allowing that to linger in the air for a moment, Spottedpaw then huffed. "That sounds like a rumor."

Sorrelpaw shook her head, not discouraged. "But isn't it cool? Why can't we have fun drama like that?"

"Drama— our Clan's at war… !" Spottedpaw rarely if ever raised his voice, but he couldn't let that go unspoken.

"I mean, she's right. A deputy scandal'd be fun." Dawnpaw shrugged. "More fun than doing battle moves all the time."

"Could you imagine the kind of stuff Rosestep gets up to?" Sorrelpaw's eyes shone at the topic of the ShellClan deputy. "Being at the leader's right paw, while having a molly from another Clan…" She gasped. "You think he has a mate in ShellClan, too? That's so exciting!"

Starting to pad across camp, Spottedpaw shook his head. "I'm kind of worried about your definition of fun." Hearing Dawnpaw follow after him, he turned into the apprentice's den and curled himself up in his nest as Sorrelpaw skittered off to no doubt torment other cats with the gossip she'd learned. "I just want a normal Clan. No fighting, no scandals… it must be kind of nice, right?"

Spottedpaw worried he'd said something wrong when Dawnpaw went quiet, but he knew she was desperate to become a warrior ElmClan would be proud of. Born the kit of a sickly molly and a tom mutilated in battle, the family's worth had always been tied to proving themselves worthy warriors. To her, any way of doing so that wasn't fighting for her Clan likely felt unreasonable. Slowly, she nodded. "I guess, but… I like serving my Clan, though." She averted her gaze to the den's grassy floor. "I would feel bad for cats like Maplepelt and Tawnyfur if they fought for nothing."

"Do you think they wanna see us get hurt?" Spottedpaw asked, puzzled.

"I mean, no, but… we should avenge them, right?" Dawnpaw tilted her head as she settled down in her nest. "They died because of IvyClan. I don't think they'd want us to just… forgive them and move on."

Spottedpaw went silent. He couldn't argue with that, but more than anything, he couldn't voice what he really thought — who cares what Maplepelt and Tawnyfur think? They're the ones who decided to fight and get killed. He remembered he fought that day, too, but… there was no sense of servitude in it. He wasn't proud to defend his Clan. He was just scared of getting hurt.

He rested his head against his paws, and sensing the conversation was over, Dawnpaw did the same. Even as the lilac molly slowly fell asleep, Spottedpaw's mind continued to run. Every sound in the camp made his fur stand on end, and his wide eyes flickered from the den's entrance to the visible corners of camp. How could any cat sleep after being attacked in their own camp, on a day like any other? It was a moon ago, and no attacks happened since, but that didn't stop Spottedpaw's thundering anxiety in the least.

He knew this wasn't right. He knew that other apprentices didn't live like this, and how he envied them, but he couldn't help his fear. The rest of the Clan was asleep, a perfect time for the IvyClan rats to attack if they so desired.

Distantly, grass rustled, and Spottedpaw backed into the den's corner, baring his claws. A shape emerged from the camp entrance, and through the roaring in his ears, he recognized its white pelt and blue markings. Just another apprentice. Spottedpaw exhaled, shuddering in relief. This was routine for him, ever since the night he'd watched two of his Clanmates be slain before him. Every pawstep could be ones of the black-and-white IvyClan tom who haunted his nightmares.

He didn't know what he was going to do if they were. His fur settled, though his yellow eyes were still widened and fixed upon the cat who entered. Heronpaw, the leader's son, a mischievous tom with possibly the biggest ego that Spottedpaw could fathom. The rules of curfew didn't seem to apply to him, wandering out almost every night without so much as a slap on the paw. Spottedpaw heard that he was doing chores, but that always felt like a cover story. He didn't know what Heronpaw did, and never thought to ask, simply stepping aside as the taller young tom stretched and joined him in their den.

"StarClan's sake, Spottedpaw." Heronpaw hissed lowly, rolling his eyes. "It's moonhigh, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Spottedpaw blinked rapidly, shaking his head to try and calm himself. He was exhausted, and his mind was playing tricks on him, no doubt. "I was training with Cloverfoot."

The sneer on Heronpaw's face only made Spottedpaw's worry return. "Oh, yeah, your dumb brute mentor." He huffed, leaning forward to sniff the air around Spottedpaw, making the tortoiseshell cringe back. "He brought you out hunting, too? Pushover." Spottedpaw wasn't sure if he meant Cloverfoot or him, but it made him stare at his paws in unease.

Heronpaw seemed to take notice of the gesture, rolling his eyes again and dropping his voice. "Look, that guy's not gonna teach you mouse-dung. He had to have his warrior ceremony delayed twice." His gaze was hard, letting his statement hang in the air like it made much of a difference to Spottedpaw. Truth was, he didn't care about that, not being in much of a rush to become a warrior himself.

"Can't fight to save his life, either." Heronpaw continued. "You wanna protect this Clan, you gotta learn from the experts, not the cat who had to go to the medicine den for a day because he choked on a squirrel bone." He tipped his head to the camp entrance. "There's this spot by the border with IvyClan. I go there all the time. Best hunting and training spots on this side of the border. Cats just don't go there 'cause they're scared."

Spottedpaw didn't quite grasp what he was getting at — or, at least, what his motivations were. Some kind of ego trip? As far as he was concerned, the bratty leader's son wasn't capable of true kindness. The chores he did around camp were for his mother's approval and nothing else. It was an unspoken truth around ElmClan, but one nothing could be done about. Regardless of his motivations, the help was appreciated, and as much as the other tom annoyed him, Spottedpaw found himself thinking that, too.

He couldn't let it show, though. Heronpaw thrived in having his ego stroked, and Spottedpaw wasn't about to give that to him. "What, you're gonna take me on one of your weird rendezvous?"

"And you're not excited?" Heronpaw's nose scrunched up. "If you wanna hold off your warrior ceremony for six more moons, that's none of my business. But you're a smart cat. I saw you fighting last moon. You've got potential, can't waste it all on the dumbest cat to walk the forest."

Spottedpaw went silent, tail wrapped tightly around his paws. When he said nothing more, Heronpaw just scoffed. "Quiet freak. Look, at sunhigh, I'm gonna go herb collecting for Comfreywing. You come with. I'll drag you out by the tail if I gotta."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Somebody's gotta. Cloverfoot treats you like a kit. When IvyClan does something again, you'll be fresh-kill."

When. Spottedpaw shivered. It was a matter of practicality. As nice as Cloverfoot was, trying to take Spottedpaw's mind off of the harsh reality he was living in wouldn't help him. The taste of the squirrel remained on his tongue, the blood a sour reminder of the tom who attacked him that snowy sun-high. Had Stormstar not intervened, his throat would've been torn out like Tawnyfur's.

He sighed. "Fine. Sunhigh."

Heronpaw grinned. "Sunhigh. You're not gonna regret this, promise."