The amount of blood shed had been costly, but who cared the price as RiverClan took pride in their battle skills, having taken possession of the stream once again. The only thoughts fluttering through their simple minds had been some variations;

ThunderClan'll think twice about messin' with us

The river is ours again

No ThunderClanner would dare lay a paw in our river now that it belongs to RiverClan

Again - who cared about bloodshed?

Nutfur.

Nutfur cared.

Nutfur cared as he slowly trudged his way around the watery fronds toward camp, his back aching with the weight of his bloodied sibling. His ruddy brown pelt was stained crimson, bathed in the colors of battle. His eyes were closed, and for that, Nutfur was grateful. He wasn't sure if he could stand to ever look at his brother and see anything but shame and disappointment as he locked eyes with those glassy, dead hazel orbs.

"Tonight is a victory! We must feast!" RiverClan's prideful brown tabby leader perched himself on a mossy stump, yowling to the victors of this night's battle.

Warriors milled about, carelessly throwing themselves into conversation with one another upon snatching their meal.

Weary-eyed and sore-pawed, Nutfur stumbled his way through the reeds into the cleared central camp, catching stray bits of words - mostly Pikestar's as he cheered his warriors on a fight well won. Brownpelt remained immobile on the living warrior's back, perched precariously as his legs began to shudder. He scanned the clearing for the tabby tom, finding his leader now sharing tongues with the deputy Shallowfern.

"Pikestar!" Nutfur cried out, grabbing the tom's attention from across camp.

Pikestar had looked up with inquisitive eyes, ears perked. "...Is that Nutface?" His eyes trailed beside himself at Shallowfern, looking for confirmation.

"Nutfur," she had corrected, just as the warrior ambled closer and gingerly slid his brother onto the ground in front of him.

"Ah yes, what is it, Nutfur?" the RiverClan leader asked plainly, as if blind to the clearly lifeless corpse.

"You cry of victory and prosperity but you say nothing of the loyal warriors who have their blood spilled for the sake of this Clan!" Fatigued, Nutfur had unintentionally exploded his emotions, gathering the attention of the rest of camp.

"Ah. Mudpelt will be missed, I suppose," the brown tabby tom shrugged, nonchalant as he gazed upon Nutfur's deceased brother. "I don't recall him ever doing anything amazing worth mentioning though. Half-Clanners don't do much anyway beside inevitably betray so..."

"You remember that we're half-clan but you don't give a mouse's tail as to our names?" the pale warrior hissed, the adrenaline from battle pounding through his veins. "Brownpelt was a noble cat - he'd never betray RiverClan! WindClan heritage or not!"

Pikestar blinked. "You're half-clan as well."

"Your point?" Nutfur growled, standing protectively over Brownpelt's lifeless form.

RiverClan's leader shrugged his shoulders again. "Jus' means you'll betray me and die someday too. This here, uh, Brownpelt, he wasn't very special. An average cat among brilliant fighters and hunters. You're just as normal."

The fur along the pale cat's spine bristled with fury. "You spout nothing but lies! Brownpelt and I are hardly average. He worked his tail off to become a warrior and make a life here. And if none of you can see how unique my brother was," he started to address the entirety of the Clan. "Then you're all blind!"

Green met green in a flourishing haze.

"A blind, lying, foolish leader," Nutfur spat, cradling himself around his smaller sibling for comfort.

Lies lies lies.

He tells nothing but lies.

Challenge for TorrentClan

- Thornpaw