First, I would like to thank three new reviewers:

D0gHnuTwiNg—Skystep of StormClan—Anonymous Reviewer

Second, I would like to point out that I am, to use a term of Chris d'Lacey's (author of the Last Dragon Chronicles) writing this story organically. This means that I do not plan out anything—I sit down, and do a (to use another author's term—Veronica Roth, author of Divergent) "word vomit." I just regurgitate everything that I'm thinking onto my paper, and, with some tweaking, that becomes the chapter. Plots written with this strategy may be very confusing, but, if you know the basic plot of Harry Potter, that should not be a problem with this story.

So! That said, onward we go…

On the third day of their newly-kindled friendship with Fawnpaw, Blackpaw and Russetpaw were surprised by an unexpected announcement. True, they had taken note of HallowClan's recent desolate feelings, but neither of them thought much of it—preferring to keep their minds centered on the hunting and fighting skills they were learning, that, ever since Fawnpaw had begun to offer encouragement and assistance, had become slightly easier.

On the contrary, Ashstar and Specklefang had put quite a lot of thought into curing HallowClan's misery, their discussions and debates finally settling on mossball—and this was what Ashstar's proclamation declared.

"In an attempt to bring more excitement and enjoyment into our lives, Specklefang and I have organized mossball tournaments that will occur at every half-moon. Two teams will be facing each other in the sport that is not just for kits now! If you would like to participate, please talk to Specklefang or me, as we will both be organizing our own teams.

"Thank you."

It was an understatement to say that Russetpaw and Blackpaw were a little surprised. Mossball? Russetpaw mouthed to Blackpaw, who felt exactly the same. "Has Ashstar got bees in his brain?" Russetpaw mewed, regaining his powers of speech. "We're warriors; we don't spend our time playing games…"

"Apparently we do now," Blackpaw responded. "Do you think it will even work?"

"Nah." Russetpaw idly groomed a thorn out of his pelt. "It's just a silly game."

Right, thought Blackpaw. Just a game. He still couldn't shake the suspicion that some part of him yearned to be a part of the mossball tournaments.

"Focus, Russetpaw!" Specklefang's warning reached the red apprentice's ears a tiny bit too late—he was already sprawled on the ground, Fawnpaw standing above him, victorious. It was now a quarter moon after Ashstar's 'bee-brained' announcement, and Raggedfur, Specklefang, and Ashstar had come together for a joint training session with their four apprentices.

"Get up," Ashstar told the fallen Russetpaw, not unkindly. Moaning, Russetpaw heaved himself into a standing position, ready to hear what admonition Specklefang or Raggedfur had about the inaccuracy of his pounce, which Fawnpaw had dodged easily.

"We need to work on your precision," Specklefang decreed, selecting the smallest of the leaves from a pile next to her. "I'll throw this leaf in any way I want, and you will have to try and catch it. Yes, even you, Fawnpaw, Blackpaw, and Redpaw. A little precision practice never goes amiss."

Without warning, she scrambled up the nearest tree, yowling, "Everything short of killing each other is within the rules!" and sending the leaf tumbling into the air above the apprentices' heads.

The four young cats rushed to catch the leaf, knowing that the three mentors were watching intently, but only Blackpaw took a running start, spring-boarded off of a tree, and caught the leaf in a flying bound.

Specklefang looked at him with the astonished stare of a kit first opening its eyes. "I've—I never—I can't—" she stammered. "Come with me, Blackpaw! You three, continue your precision practice with Ashstar or—Ashstar, wake up!"

The leader (who was not asleep, no matter what Specklefang said) watched the deputy take Blackpaw away from their training session. He would have kept his eyes on the retreating pair had Russetpaw not run up to him, pushing a leaf into his mouth and demanding they keep "playing," leaving Redpaw and Fawnpaw shaking their heads at the tactlessness of the red apprentice.

Blackpaw felt anxious. What if Specklefang wanted to reprimand him for showing off? What if she thought he needed punishment for rudeness? What if…what if Specklefang was concerned with his progress? The mere thought made him shudder.

But they did not stop in any of the clearings they passed; Specklefang did not say a word, let alone a lecture. On and on they walked, more and more confusion swamping Blackpaw's brain.

Just when Blackpaw was about to give into his muddled thoughts and ask where, exactly, they were travelling, Specklefang motioned for him to stop at the edge of a hollow where several older apprentices were mock-battling.

"Excuse me, Pikeflight, but may I borrow Woodpaw for a moment?" she meowed to one of the warriors yelling at the apprentices battling.

"Oh—yes, yes, you may," Pikeflight replied distractedly, dismissing Woodpaw and resuming yowling comments about Birdpaw's fighting style.

Specklefang padded back to Blackpaw, followed by a brown tom with powerfully-built shoulders. "Blackpaw, this is Woodpaw, the captain of my mossball team, LionClan. Woodpaw," she began excitedly, her attention turning back to the older cat, "I've found you a Hunter!"

"Really, Specklefang?" Woodpaw meowed, starting to look over Blackpaw intensely, making him a bit uncomfortable. "Small, but powerful…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Quick, light-footed, agile…from what I've heard, clever…all in all, a fine Hunter, Specklefang." He beamed at the deputy. "So, Blackpaw, are you up for a game of mossball?"

Blackpaw had been stunned into silence while this whole ordeal had been occurring. "You mean…I'm really going to play mossball?"

"Yep!" said Woodpaw. "You'll be our most important team member—the Hunter can decide the outcome of the game! Just wait until I tell the rest of the team—they'll be ecstatic…" He turned back to Specklefang. "Do you mind if I take Blackpaw for a bit of mossball practice? Pikeflight won't care."

"Fine by me, Woodpaw. I'll let Ashstar know." Suddenly, she smirked. "He won't be happy to know that our team is complete; he was hoping we would have to forfeit!"

"Great!" Woodpaw responded enthusiastically. "Alright, Blackpaw, get ready for a great practice…"

They came to a tree-surrounded alcove that Woodpaw declared "Perfect." He circled it, examining every stump and bramble sitting there as if it was personally offending him. In a matter of moments, he had finished, so he proceded to begin his speech. "So. Mossball. It's simple enough to understand—a bit harder to play. In our version, there are seven players on a team: three Pitchers, two Strikers, a Shielder, and a Hunter—that's you."

"Seven players," Blackpaw repeated to himself. "Pitchers, Strikers, Shielder, Hunter."

"Right. On our team, the Pitchers are Tawnypaw, Birdpaw, and Cherrypaw. They try to throw the mossball into three holes cut into a tree on each side of the court. You got that?"

"Three Pitchers try to throw the mossball into the hole," Blackpaw recited.

"Good. The Strikers—ours are Sparrowpaw and Kestralpaw—throw pinecones at the other team and try to stop them from scoring, while defending our team to stop us from getting hit by the pinecones. You shouldn't have to worry about getting hit—Kestralpaw and Sparrowpaw are more than a match for a bunch of pinecones."

"Okay," mewed Blackpaw eagerly. "What do you do?"

"I am the defender," Woodpaw said proudly. "I stop the other team from earning points by blocking the scoring holes. And then there's you. You, my friend, are in charge of finding the Golden Rock—a stone hidden by Ashstar or Pikeflight—she's the referee, by the way—somewhere on the field. It's not gold, either, so it's not easy. Each goal is worth ten points, but capturing the Golden Rock is one hundred and fifty points. If you find the Golden Rock before the other team's Hunter, we are almost guaranteed to win."

"Wow," said Blackpaw admirably. "When's the first game?"

"Half a moon," Woodpaw replied. "So there's plenty of time to get our team nice and ready—there's no way we're going to lose!"

Blackpaw hoped this was true—it would be his fault entirely if they failed to bring a win. He threw himself into that practice with great enthusiasm, finding all of Woodpaw's hidden pebbles in a matter of seconds. It was very satisfying to know that he would be leading his team to victory in a half moon.

"Wow! You're on the mossball team?" Russetpaw mewed, astonished, as Blackpaw told his friends the news. He was in a particularly good mood after his success at mossball practice and did not even feel annoyed that Russetpaw was looking at him like a revered StarClan warrior. Laughing, he responded, "I thought you said it was fur-brained, Russetpaw."

"Well, I—um—I—hmmm…" Even Russetpaw didn't seem to be able to talk himself out of that.

"I thought for sure Specklefang was going to punish you, Blackpaw!" Fawnpaw meowed, stifling a laugh that was directed towards Russetpaw. He scowled, albeit good-naturedly.

"I know—I'm pretty shocked myself," Blackpaw said happily.

"Who else is on the team?" Russetpaw asked interestedly.

"Well, there's Woodpaw—the big, brown apprentice; Cherrypaw, the little black one; Birdpaw—she has a brown pelt, too; Tawnypaw, the black she-cat; um…oh, and your brothers, Kestralpaw and Sparrowpaw!"

"Sounds like a good team…we'll be there for your first game, Blackpaw!" Fawnpaw said zealously.

Blackpaw looked happily from one friend to another, slightly miffed that he had been wrong—mossball had already improved his mood. In fact, he felt like this was the time for a spontaneous visit to the medicine cat's den. Ivystep and Brackenleaf deserved happiness, too, and he had enough to fill the clan.

Well, maybe not, but he had at least enough to cheer up the two injured cats.

Thanks for reading; remember to review!