First Battle: SnowClan Challenge

Two lines of cats faced each other, hissing and spitting and snarling insults and profanities.

In the midst of all the chaos, there was a certain apprentice.

Fearless. Confident.

Arrogant.

Stupid.

And he had a friend- or, rather, the kind of cat one hopes to become more than friends with.

She was crouching next to him, the silver fur on her spine rippling, her blue eyes flashing with cold fire at the enemy. She had an odd mark on her forehead, like a sliver of the moon, or a claw. Or a curved fang.

The tom's amber eyes glared heatedly at enemies, and he was lashing his tail, his jet-black fur spiked, darker than night. He was too confident.

The enemy warriors could sense it and bade their own apprentices take note. Some of the more clever apprentices would be pitted against him by their mentors.

One especially clever golden-furred apprentice took note of the invisible yet painfully obvious bond between the black tom and the silvery she-cat. In war, any and all advantages are to be used.

Then, on silent signal, the two lines of cats leaped at each other to become writhing, snarling, bleeding balls of tearing fur and whirling claws.

The lean black apprentice had a brother. Though not larger, the ginger tabby was more-well muscled than his brother, but the black one was quicker.

And, have I mentioned, arrogant?

After batting one of his own foe's away, a tiny apprentice, too young to be any threat, the black apprentice leaped to the rescue of his younger twin, who was fighting a warrior twice their size.

Together they beat him back, and the warrior, much to his embarrassment, was forced to back down.

"Thanks, Flintpaw," the ginger one gasped, dodging two warriors locked in combat.

"No prob, Flamepaw," the black tom shot back.

The two fought as a team, making carefully sure to only fight one cat at a time.

Flintpaw chased off another scrawny apprentice.

Then he heard a painfully familiar pain-filled yowl.

He whipped around, eyes widening, and charged towards the sound, leaving his brother behind.

Skidding to a halt, he faced a golden apprentice. Not much larger than he, but stronger. Pinned on her back was the she-cat, breathing rapidly and staring up into golden fur.

"Leave the battle now, and no-one gets hurt," growled the golden apprentice.

Flintpaw bristled. "You wouldn't dare," he spat, lashing his tail.

"Fli-" the she-cat started, only to break off with a gasp as the golden tom held his claws to her throat.

"You wouldn't," Flintpaw growled again. "It's against the warrior code."

The golden tom's amber eyes were chillingly cold. "Try me."

He sank his claws into her throat, just a little, but enough to draw beads of blood.

"Let her go!" Flintpaw roared, launching himself at the golden tom.

But he was only batted away. His head bounced off a rock and for a split second he couldn't think. Couldn't comprehend the sight of blood spilling out of a silver throat, glazed deep blue eyes staring at him, jaws parted in a soundless yowl.

He lay there and blinked.

No.

NO.

"NO!" He screeched, shooting up and at the startled golden apprentice.

"I- I- I didn't mea-" he started, but was cut off when the black bullet rammed into his chest.

"You killed her!" He screeched. "You killed her!" He tore into golden fur, then red flesh, not noticing his own growing wounds. They were the last ones fighting, and it took four warriors to restrain them.

"He killed her!" Flintpaw kept howling. "He killed her!" He would not stop fighting until that tom was not breathing. Until there was no more blood for his heart to pump and so it stopped. Until his body was soaked in his own blood.

But it would have to wait. The golden apprentice and his Clanmates were leaving, and so were Flintpaw's.

He heard someone call the golden apprentice's name. He would never forget it.

Then he heard someone call his own name and turned, but no one was there.

Flintpaw. Wait for me.

I will, Fangpaw, he sobbed silently. I always will.

After that battle, he was different.

Colder.

Silent.

Thoughtful.

Becuase one cannot plot murder out loud.

Flamepaw asked their leader if they could be named after her- the silver she-cat with the fang-like black mark on her forehead.

They became Flintfang and Flamefang, and one will not rest until the cat who killed Fangpaw bleeds his life out onto the hard-packed ground, and the blood flows in rivulets till it pools.