Tigerfrost sat quietly on the rock, his eyes as cold as his namesake as he watched SwiftClan go about its business. Their warriors were moving about, muttering quietly to one another as they groomed each other. To any outsider—not that they would be allowed into the camp—everything would look perfectly normal. But he could see the anxiety shining in their eyes, the urgency of the whispers that they passed along from Clanmate to Clanmate.

Yes, Lightstreak's death had shaken them all. When the cream tom had been dragged back into camp—covered in deep wounds and expression trapped in one of utter terror—it had taken the combined efforts of Emberstar, Smokelight, and himself to calm down the panicking cats.

Tigerfrost's lip curled in disgust. How dare they show fear—how dare they allow themselves to be overrun with weak emotions! How dare they follow their foolish leader's example—their leader who was so old he could barely remember his own name, let alone remember how to run a Clan! He snorted. As far as he was concerned, Smokelight was the real leader of SwiftClan. And he, Tigerfrost, served as its loyal deputy.

The sleek tabby tom lifted his head arrogantly to gaze down at the Clan below. Most of them were loitering around in the center of camp, eating their fill—save for two shapes who were making their way towards the camp exit. One was a young, russet-furred she-cat with mournful blue eyes, who trudged across the dirt with her tail dragging in the dust. Cherrypaw was obviously still in mourning after her old mentor's death—but not even her blatant show of weakness got on Tigerfrost's nerves. No…it was the cat who walked next to her that stirred his rage.

The tom wasn't very big; nor was he particularly small, either. His dingy, dark grey pelt looked as if it hadn't been properly groomed in at least a few days, and his eyes were dull as he muttered quietly to the apprentice. He walked with a heavy limp, barely putting any weight on his left foreleg as he hobbled across the grass.

Tigerfrost's gums curled back, utter hatred shining in his dark blue eyes. Without a moment's notice, he had leapt down from his small rock and stormed across the camp, blocking the surprised tom's path. "And just where," he snarled, "do you think you're going with that apprentice, Sharpstrike?"

The warrior took a step back, blinking in surprise. He glanced down at the apprentice that trailed in his shadow. "I thought I would take Cherrypaw out to train," he said gently. "After all, seeing as Emberstar made me her mentor after…well…" He smiled sympathetically at Cherrypaw, gently flicking her with his tail. "I thought…I don't know, maybe that some fresh air would cheer her up a bit."

A low growl sounded in Tigerfrost's throat. He would never understand what in the name of StarClan possessed Emberstar to let a filthy, fox-hearted rogue into the territory itself—let alone let him join the Clan! This cat here should be groveling at his paws, and yet he addressed him as a fellow Clanmate? Oh, he would not have it.

"Cheer her up?" he snarled. "No cat is allowed to leave the camp without permission." His lip curled. "Or are you so stupid you've already forgotton the extra precautions Smokelight laid down in the wake of this moon's…unfortunate incident?"

He noticed Cherrypaw flinch out of the corner of his eye. A crease appeared between Sharpstrike's brows, and he frowned slightly and glanced at the thin she-cat. "I've never really understood those rules," he said hesitantly. "After all, the Clan has to stay strong, right?"

Before the tom knew what was happening, Tigerfrost had thrust his muzzle into Sharpstrike's face. "No, you wouldn't understand," he spat derisively. "A filthy rogue like you doesn't have the brainpower to comprehend orders, let alone understand the laws set down by the warrior code—"

"Tigerfrost, that's enough."

The dark brown tabby looked up in surprise as a broad-shouldered, smoke-colored tom emerged from the den beneath the boulder. The tom flicked an ear as he fixed his gaze on Tigerfrost. "Enough, Tigerfrost," he repeated, pale green eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch as he stared him down.

Tigerfrost's jaws opened and closed as he fought to keep down the words that threatened to spill from them. But he simply lowered his head, keeping his gaze on the ground. "Yes, Smokelight," he said obediently. He did not dare contradict the SwiftClan deputy so openly, even if it concerned the rogue filth that besmirched the Clan.

Smokelight sniffed disdainfully. Then he turned back to Sharpstrike and Cherrypaw, looking down his nose at them before flicking his tail. "You may go out to hunt," he said icily. "But I highly suggest you keep in mind the rule. Every apprentice is to hunt with a warrior within sight." He twitched his whiskers. "Have I made myself clear?"

The scruffy tom hesitated, opening his mouth slightly. But then he dipped his head respectfully. "Of course, sir. I'll make sure that Cherrypaw keeps safe and follows the rule."

Smokelight stared them down for a few moments more. Then he nodded his head and flicked his tail. "Tigerfrost, let them past," he said calmly.

Tigerfrost turned to his deputy with a look of outrage. He was actually going to allow this? The riff-raff scum allowed the run of the forest? "Smokelight—" he began.

"Step aside, Tigerfrost," Smokelight repeated, turning a dangerous gaze onto his warrior.

The brown tabby swallowed. But then, casting a last baleful glance at Sharpstrike and Cherrypaw, he moved out of their path. The former rogue moved past them, dipping his head in thanks. Then he nudged the forlorn ginger she-cat by his side. "Come on, Cherrypaw," he said kindly. Then the two stepped out of the thorn barriers and out of sight.

Tigerfrost glared after them, not bothering to hide his disdain. "Smokelight, you're only encouraging him—"

But the smoky tom raised his tail for silence. "Quiet, Tigerfrost," he said evenly. "You know as well as I do that I have no love for rogues." His lip curled slightly. "But Sharpstrike knows his place. There is no need to make a fool of yourself in front of the Clan over it. And we mustn't neglect the training of the future generation." Smokelight turned his gaze back to his warrior. "The next time an issue arises," he chastised, getting to his paws, "I advise you to hold your tongue and keep your temper in check."

As the SwiftClan deputy padded away once more, Tigerfrost couldn't stop the anger that swirled in his chest. With a low snarl, he got to his paws and padded out into the forest.

Cherrypaw padded along through the forest, eyes on the ground as she forced her paws to move.

Misery continued to prick at her heart. Lightstreak had been a decent enough mentor, teaching her all the things she needed to be a warrior. He'd taught her how to hunt, how to fight…and yet, at the same time, he'd always been so harsh with her. Every time she'd done something wrong, he'd snap at her and have her sent back to camp to do chores. He was always following her, almost as if he was waiting for her to do something wrong so he could punish her. As much as she hated herself for it, there was a part in the back of her mind that was glad that Lightstreak was gone.

She jumped as something flicked her shoulder. She glanced up in surprise to see Sharpstrike watching her with a sympathetic look in his eye. He nodded once, then kept walking.

Now and then, Cherrypaw cast sideways glances at her new mentor. She hadn't known Sharpstrike for very long—but then again, no one really did. The sickly-looking cat had been found stumbling across the territory about two moons back, half-starved and ill. Emberstar had ordered him brought back to camp, and, after he'd stayed for a while, he'd asked to join the Clan. Though half the Clan had protested against it, Sharpstrike had adjusted well to Clan life quickly, despite the fact that his limp hindered him out on hunts.

Cherrypaw glanced over again to see the ragged rogue blinking solemnly back. She stiffened, then quickly looked away again. Finally, after a few more moments, she opened her mouth. "I'm s-s-sorry about T-Tigerfrost," she stuttered. "He's always m-mean like that."

Sharpstrike tilted his head. He half-smiled sadly. "It's not like it's your fault," he said. "There's always going to be cats like that, no matter what I do."

The ginger apprentice suddenly felt a pang of pity for the former rogue. He must have had a hard life, without a Clan or a family to take care of him.

Did he have a family? she wondered idly. I wonder if he misses them…

The bushes suddenly rustled, and she flinched again. But it was a familiar golden she-cat who trotted into sight, bearing a plump mouse in her jaws.

Cherrypaw smiled. "Hello, Honeywillow!" she greeted softly.

The golden warrior smiled back. "Hello, Cherrypaw!" she replied. Honeywillow was a few moons older than the apprentice, but they'd always been close friends.

Honeywillow looked up and dipped her head to Sharpstrike. "Good morning, Sharpstrike. Where are you two going?"

"Smokelight's told me to take Cherrypaw hunting," he replied. "I wanted to take her training, but…" He simply shrugged.

Honeywillow sighed. "Let me guess," she said. "The high-and-mighty Tigerfrost forbade you?"

"Unfortunately."

The golden she-cat wrinkled her nose. "He thinks he's StarClan's gift to the Clan," she sighed. "He practically thinks he's leader when he's not even the deputy." She sighed, then dipped her head to pick up the mouse she had dropped. "Well, good luck hunting anyways," she said tiredly. Then the golden she-cat bounded off into the undergrowth.

The russet she-cat tilted her head. Honeywillow was so weird sometimes.

As they started walking again, she sighed. She wasn't that much younger than Honeywillow—she'd only just become a warrior a few moons ago, but she didn't see the other warriors following her around like a kit every time she felt like going hunting or going for a walk.

"I hate the rules," she muttered mournfully. "If I didn't have to be watched all the time, I bet I could hunt better." And she probably could have—every time she'd gone out hunting without permission, she'd always caught far more prey than when she had Lightstreak hovering over her like a hawk.

Sharpstrike paused in his walking slightly. His brow creased slightly. After a few more moments, he opened his mouth. "Why do they have the rules?" he asked curiously. "I've never really understood them myself. I've met rogue cats younger than you are, and they hunt better than half the warriors in SwiftClan."

Cherrypaw winced slightly. No one liked talking about the reason why everything was so tightly supervised. The fact that one of their own Clanmates had betrayed them…

"Well…moons ago, there was a cat named Branchfall. He seemed nice enough to everyone, I guess…but one day, they caught him attacking another apprentice while he was out hunting. He said he hadn't done it, but the apprentice was covered in blood when they brought him back, and there had been an apprentice who saw him do it." She turned her face away. "After that, when Smokelight became deputy, he made a rule that every apprentice has to be accompanied by a trustworthy warrior when they go out of camp for any reason, to keep it from happening again."

When she looked up again, Sharpstrike was frowning slightly in thought. After a few moments, he added, "What happened to the cat that did it?"

Cherrypaw shuddered at the thought of it. "He was killed," she said simply. "They dragged him out of camp and…" The russet apprentice shivered again.

Her mentor didn't speak for a moment, but he tilted his head. A small smile came over his face. "But if the cat who did it is dead," he said, "then what are they all worrying about?"

Cherrypaw shrugged helplessly.

The former rogue paused. "If I were to keep an eye on you," he said slowly, "do you think you would be all right hunting by yourself?"

The apprentice stopped in her tracks and blinked. "What?" she asked incredulously. "Hunt by myself?" Her ears flattened. "But we're not allowed!"

Sharpstrike shook his head. "You wouldn't be by yourself," he said. "I'd be listening for you and making sure you don't get hurt, but I wouldn't be hovering around you and making you nervous." He smiled again. "You said it yourself," he reminded her. "You might be able to hunt better if you didn't have someone watching her all the time."

As Cherrypaw pondered it, she felt herself smiling. They wouldn't really be breaking the rules, would they? Sharpstrike would still be keeping tabs on her as she hunted, and she'd be able to do better if she knew no one was ready to pounce on her and scold her for mistakes in her technique. And, really, could they really punish her if she brought home tons of prey?

But then an image of her old mentor's body flashed into her head, and she flinched. He'd obviously been killed by something out in the forest. He'd been totally alone at the time, and he'd been hunting…

Fear flashed in her chest. "But what about the thing that killed Lightstreak?" she asked anxiously. "What if it's still around?"

Sharpstrike flicked her reassuringly with his tail. "Don't worry," he said. "If you get scared for any reason, yell for me and I'll come find you." He smiled reassuringly. "After all, I lived in a far worse place for a long time. I think I can handle anything this forest has to offer."

Slowly, Cherrypaw felt herself smiling as well. Lightstreak would never had said something like that to her—he probably would have scoffed at her fear and left her to fend for herself in such a case. "You really mean it?" she asked.

Her mentor nodded. "Now, off you go. See what you can catch before sun-high. And remember, if you need me, I'll be right around here!" And with that, the scruffy tom gave her one more nod and limped off into the bushes.

Cherrypaw beamed to herself, and began sniffing the air for any hints of prey. Then she took off in the opposite direction pursuing the delicious scent of a starling.

Neither of the two cats had noticed the pair of blazing blue eyes that had been watching their every move, or the black-tipped ears that had heard every word they'd said.

Tigerfrost emerged from the bushes with his lips curled back in a snarl. First the filthy rogue acted as if he could have the run of the forest. Now he ignored the rules—the rules that had been set down to keep apprentices safe—and threw them away like nothing?

The tabby tom growled, fury sparking in his blue eyes. Sharpstrike had already proven time and time again that he had no respect for the warrior code, and for the rules that kept SwiftClan in order. He was unworthy to be a part of SwiftClan, unworthy to be called a Clanmate.

And therefore, he needed to be taught a lesson.

Tigerfrost slunk through the thick undergrowth, sniffing for any sign of Sharpstrike. His lip curled in disgust as he shoved through thorn patches, following the ragged tom's faint scent. It was about time Sharpstrike got what was coming to him. He couldn't hunt properly with his ridiculous limp, let alone fight off a rogue. Sharpstrike was just another mouth to feed, taking in SwiftClan's precious resources and lazing about while giving nothing back in return. And, worst of all, he disregarded the rules his deputy had given him specifically to keep the apprentice safe. He clearly had no respect for the warrior code…so why bother keeping him around?

After all, Smokelight himself had admitted that he hated the cat. And the majority of the Clan didn't even bother hiding their disdain for him. Tigerfrost would be doing them a favor in running the filthy rogue off their land.

And as the dark tabby stormed through the forest with vicious delight burning in his heart, he never noticed the dark shadow that stalked his every pawstep in silence.

He never noticed the amber eyes that burned with murderous intent, inching ever closer to their unsuspecting prey.

Tigerfrost came to a halt, scenting the air for any more traces of Sharpstrike's presence. He frowned. Was it just him, or had it gotten strangely quiet in the forest?

Then he heard a crack.

His head whipped around with a hiss, but he saw nothing. But there was a faint scent in the air—unmistakably cat-scent, but it wasn't Sharpstrike's. In fact, other than the fact that it was cat-scent, he couldn't tell any more defining from it.

"Who's there?" Tigerfrost challenged with a snarl. He unsheathed his claws, every muscle in his body tensed for action. "Show yourself, coward!"

But nothing stirred in the forest. No figure came out to take his challenge. Suddenly, Tigerfrost felt anxiety pricking in his chest. Though he pretended not to, he too remembered finding Lightstreak out in the forest. The cream tom had been wearing a look of utter terror.

His hackles began to rise, but it was not out of anger. Moments later, he snarled and shook himself. How dare he allow such weak emotions to control him! He was not some pathetic mewling little kit—he was a warrior of SwiftClan! He was Tigerfrost! He was strong!

A second cracking sound broke the silence. He whirled around with his teeth bared—and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a dark pelt rippling though the undergrowth.

With a roar of hatred, he hurled himself forward without thinking, ready to meet this coward with everything he had.

But his paws fell on empty air.

Tigerfrost blinked in shock. He had been almost certain he'd seen a cat slinking along mere moments ago. And as the dark tabby pondered, his hackles rose again as he felt the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

And then a heavy something hit him from behind, and everything exploded in pain.

He opened his jaws to let loose a howl of pain, but his throat would not respond. Everything felt numb. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak, and his limbs would not respond to his commands. All he knew was the pain that was tearing into every fiber of his being.

As he stared upwards, he gazed into the blazing amber eyes of the cat who had struck him down.

And for the first time in a long time, Tigerfrost felt fear.

"No," he whispered incredulously as he recognized the cat who stood confidently over him.

The dark cat he had thought long dead simply smiled coldly, triumph gleaming in his amber eyes. He lifted one paw and unsheathed gleaming claws.

And then Tigerfrost's throat exploded and everything swirled into darkness.

Honeywillow's eyes gleamed with pride as she lifted the shrew in her jaws. Her third catch of the day—the Clan would be proud to see how much she'd managed to find.

But as she lifted her head to scent for more prey, a strange scent filled her nostrils. A scent that made every hair in her pelt stand on end and made her feel sick to her stomach.

Blood.

The golden she-cat took off into the woods, leaving her shrew forgotten on the ground. Oh, StarClan, she thought. Don't let something have happened to Cherrypaw…

The smell of blood was overwhelming. Honeywillow didn't even notice how it seemed to grow stronger until her paw caught on something and she went sprawling across the forest floor. The young warrior winced, silently cursing whatever tree root had gotten in her way. Now her fur was all sticky and wet….

…Wet?

Horror squeezing her chest, Honeywillow looked up to see exactly what she had tripped over.

And she screamed.

He paced the forest floor, mad delight shining in his eyes as he grinned and giggled to himself. Tigerfrost had earned the fate that had befallen him moons ago. They had all earned their fates on that day.

The amber-eyed tom raised his head to stare back down at the forest below. How sweet it would be when they all paid the price for their acts. How utterly delicious it would be when he had his final revenge…

…on the whole of SwiftClan itself.