This is as far as I ever got with this story, which I last wrote for on October 24, 2015. My writing style has greatly improved since then, and I will be adding nothing more to this story, but I wanted to post this tidbit just to get it out there, just in case. Thank you for reading my stuff!

Beepaw felt warm; leaf-bare's icy claws were hardly able to reach her through the thick forest layered between her and the outside world.

Everything seemed perfect: the sunlight slicing easily through the bare treetops, the faint breeze that kept the gray she-cat on her toes just enough.

Until something snagged on her tail and in one unfortunately flawless move Beepaw was flipped roughly onto her back.

Beepaw groaned, and Amberear's shocked face swam above her. "Lakepaw! All I dared you to do was clap your forepaws around her tail… I didn't challenge you to flip her over like a flimsy squirrel."

"Thanks for helping me up," Beepaw grunted bitterly once she was on all fours again. She shook out her pelt thoroughly and fixed a firm glare on the black-and-white bully. "By StarClan, you two are both acting six moons old!"

Lakepaw shrugged not-so-apologetically. Muscles rippled beneath his pelt even with this tiny movement, and Beepaw rolled her eyes. "Hey, Amberear's like the sister I never had! Stop chiding us like Fogpaw would."

"This is what I get when Squirrelflight puts me on a patrol with these two 'hooligans,'" Beepaw added in a mutter.

She could feel Lakepaw's breath uncomfortably hot on her cheek. "Hey, I heard that!" he growled. He paused. "And hey, that's a Morningpaw word!"

Beepaw whirled around, startling him so much that he leaped away and rammed his back into a scrubby tree. As he caterwauled, she burst out giggling as if she were insane. "Hooligans!" she cried, tears gathering at the edges of her eyes. "I can't believe that word seriously just left my mouth."

Amberear snorted, flicking both apprentices over the ears with her tail. "Now look whose acting six moons old."

"You mean nine moons old?" Beepaw corrected her, drawing herself up and puffing out her chest.

"Yeah, yeah, know how to add, Amberear," Lakepaw pressed. "Remember, I can reach up to flick your ear now." He did just that, but Amberear ducked just in time, causing the mentor-and-apprentice pair to explode into their own fit of laughter.

Beepaw turned away, grinning contently as she slipped forward through a patch of rotting ferns. For a split few heartbeats, her joy faded as she swept her blue optics over the browning plants. I remember that patch was lush and green just a quarter-moon ago. Things can change so fast…

Nearly a whole season— leaf-fall— had passed since Foxleap's murder. Bramblestar had decided to immediately commence the impending final battle with the band of foxes dubbed "FoxClan" that had been living on ThunderClan and a portion of WindClan territory for far too long.

Beepaw remembered their last confrontation with FoxClan like it was yesterday: soon after returning home from the Gathering, most of ThunderClan had stormed the foxes' camp…

"We're going to get killed!" Morningpaw whined, her yellow eyes glittering with undisguised terror as the cats pounded over the stinky border.

Beepaw wrinkled her nose not just at the reek of fox dung, but also at the fear-scent wafting off of her sister's pelt. "What's wrong with you? Why did you come with us then?"

"Why did you come?" hissed Morningpaw in return. "I got pushed into the group and right out of camp. I had no choice. But you, meanwhile, decided to thrust yourself into this battle party, place a significant risk on your life, and not care about how many cats you'll hurt if you get slaughtered out there."

Rage detonated inside of Beepaw. "Every word you breathe is you scolding somebody! Chill out for once, have fun for once! We're just tearing the fur off of a few foxes, that's all."

"We're also fighting foxes, Beepaw, not just giving them a 'haircut,'" Morningpaw retorted, at first apparently unfazed by her sister's outburst. But then the silver she-cat was silent after that. Beepaw was satisfied, and didn't even wonder how much more she'd severed the ties of their relationship.

The cats crashed through one final line of brush, and Beepaw found herself directly in the heart of the enemy base. With the fiercest battle cry she could muster, she sprung at a vixen with a creamy orange pelt. The she-brute was heavily scarred and stumbling out of a den— Beepaw didn't even recognize who she was.

"Take this, Fox-face! Do you like the idea of my claws scraping your belly? 'Cause I'll gladly do that. Or how about the idea of scram, eh? Scram from our territory—"

"Off, cat," the fox replied. This was paired with a simple whap to Beepaw's chest, and the gray tabby was sent sailing across the clearing. She landed at Squirrelflight's ginger and white forepaws.

The deputy leaned down, shock gleaming in her green gaze as she grabbed Beepaw by the scruff and hauled her up. "Was that my mind running wild," Squirrelflight panted, "or did I just see you get smacked to the sun-drown-place by the fox leader?"

Before Beepaw could answer, a sniggering dark red fox thrust his scraped muzzle between the two. Yellow teeth and foul breath scored Beepaw's face worse than claws could, and she fell back with a gasp.

"Aaka leader no more. Zing lead now. Idiot kitties." He swiped his tongue over his chops, but Squirrelflight kicked him away.

"StarClan! That Aaka vixen was so weakened after that battle in our camp, her second-in-command just took control over her!" Squirrelflight breathed.

Dizzy, Beepaw scrambled to her paws and shook herself, holding her tongue from saying "Well, that's obvious enough." Instead she added, "And I bet that scrubby imbecile is Zing's new suck-up."