Chapter 8

Forestguard had never been more frantic in his life. He panted in exhaustion

as he raced through the forest, desperately trying to follow the scent trail of a

RustClan warrior, ears pricked for any sounds of movement.

Three WoodClan kits were missing, and he hadn't a moment to lose.

While most of the Clan was at the Gathering, a tom from Rustclan had sneaked into

the nursery, knocked out Dawnray, and taken them. When Woodpelt's party returned,

he instantly split up the Clan and began a rigorous search.

He keeled over, too tired to possibly continue any farther, when he heard

voices wailing piteously. The kits! Another harsh voice was faintly audible as well.

"Kits! Why did Redstar have to send ME on this mission?" the tom's deep

voice growled, "Surely a queen would handle this better..."

The prospect of being so close to the captor and the kits gave Forestguard

renewed energy, and he stalked closer as the enemy warrior grumbled and

struggled with the kits. He was now in sight of the fox-red tom, who dragged

Sunkit along.

The tom must have caught his scent, because he suddenly dropped the

kit, who landed with a yelp, and turned towards where Forestguard was hidden,

teeth bared. He growled and cautiously walked toward him.

"Show yourself! I know you're there, mouse-dung!"

Forestguard let him creep a little closer, before springing upon the foe!

The tom let out a cry of surprise and crashed to the ground, before sinking

his teeth into Forestguard's shoulder.

"Foolish WoodClanner! Do you really think you can beat ol' Bloodstrike?

I'm gonna eat you for dinner!"

Bloodstrike bit him again, and Forestguard writhed in pain, but retaliated

with his hind claws, raking across the red tom's flank. Scarlet blood flew across

the clearing -- both from Bloodstrike and Forestguard -- and agony wracked his

body. No part of his training had truly prepared him for his first real battle.

Oh, he had all of the skills needed to defeat an enemy; but did he have the

endurance to withstand the pain?

He continued clawing the treacherous RustClanner, and eventually even

the older, more experienced warrior let out a yowl of pain. Bloodstrike thrashed

in agony, and threw Forestguard from him. In an instant, the warrior was sinking

his teeth into his throat, searching for a firm grip, fully intending on ending

Forestguard's life.

Forestguard was pinned to the ground, struggling against the weight of the

cat on top of him, as well as struggling for air against Bloodstrike's jaws clamping

down on his throat.

The world was dimming, and Forestguard knew he could not continue this

struggle. But he also knew he could not die like this; a hair short of his mission,

with the distressed mewls of kittens ringing through his ears. He channeled every

ounce of his willpower into throwing the enemy away from him, and Bloodstrike

soared through the air; surprisingly seeming weightless! As he staggered to his

feet, he felt a wave of relief at seeing Woodpelt and Sparrowpaw pinning

Bloodstrike to the ground.

"Forestguard, take the kits back to camp. Sparrowpaw and I will deal with

Bloodstrike."

Late at night, the RustClan threat was finally dealt with; for tonight,

anyways. Forestguard circled his nest, and settled into a welcome sleep.