Somehow, he cons Cloudpaw into a tussle. It's obvious Sleetclaw won't be adequate for his mentoring, and who better to teach him than the deputy's apprentice? It's as though Iceface is teaching him through a kind of medium. It's as close as he can get. Oakpaw knows it doesn't take much to ascend into the warrior ranks; first, you need to use your nose, and if you can't do that, then you've no business in being a cat. The second task is the easiest fight of any Clan cat's life. He's heard the hard part is cleaning blood from fur afterwards, and wondering if you've now got mange. Oakpaw is confident he could achieve that even now. Nothing is easier to beat than something already broken.

Yet he sees Strongclaw, and this shakes his confidence. Strongclaw is dangerous, in his brokenness, erratic sharp edges and a madness to his grief. Oakpaw fears being broken, as he flees through the forest, as he wrestles Cloudpaw to the ground. PureClan's philosophy has never sounded so agreeable. Love is not merely a weakness; it's a weapon, a tool, a torture. He can't help but wonder, if his mother were alive, would she still love the pitiable thing in the meadow?

Oakpaw tolerates the kind of pain that can be seen; scratches, grazes, scrapes. Morningstar has instituted a strict 'claws out' policy, and as of late, Oakpaw finds himself agreeing with everything she does. Learning through experience is all he can do, he supposes, and after all, there will never be anything as dangerous as a PureClan warrior. Cloudpaw is nowhere ready to take his vows, but he learns a lot at Iceface's heels. More the Oakpaw can dream of learning with his own dud mentor.

Still, Cloudpaw is a challenge. For now, Oakpaw is content to chalk it up to a superior education and the fact that his mother, Meadowmist, is apparently handy with her claws. Oakpaw is fighting with a medley of instinct and half-learned moves . It's one thing to wrestle as a kit, but reality requires more strength and a superseding skill. At least it's just them in the training arena, scuffling in the dirt and pretending it's grander than it really is.

They're both panting when they hit the dirt simultaneously. They're grinning, though, the kind of exhausted smile only an extensive workout can produce. Fighting is a camaraderie, perhaps the only thing two cats can really bond over in PureClan. It suits Oakpaw just fine.

"That last move was so cool," Cloudpaw says, and Oakpaw puffs up with pride. There's something about praise from someone older, something Oakpaw likes, something he could get used to. "Show me again," the other apprentice demands.

So he does, kicking out at the fluffy tom's belly when he closes in, pins him down. Knocks him away with a power he revels in, with a move that's less structured, more instinctual. Cloudpaw lands breathless, but he's still grinning anyway.

"Like that?" Oakpaw asks, but he's smug anyway. That move is already a perfect kind of art, but he won't admit he discovered it five minutes ago, thrashing in an attempt to escape Cloudpaw's grasp.

The spell is broken when Iceface enters the arena, perpetual scowl perhaps a touch more bitter than normal. Oakpaw thinks this is probably due to his apprentice fraternising with the less desirable, both bad history and bad blood. "Cloudpaw," the deputy snaps. "Why aren't you at camp? You know the assessments are this afternoon. You ought to be learning from this opportunity."

Cloudpaw shrinks away from his mentor's glare, looking, despite all his fur, very small. "No," he says. "Guess I forgot."

Iceface tsks, impatiently, tail a slow pendulum behind him. "Better get to it, then," in a tone indicating Cloudpaw should do nothing else if he hoped to survive the moon. Cloudpaw nodded and hurried from the clearing. And sure, Oakpaw guessed he didn't really have anything against the deputy, but he wasn't in the mood to linger with him and his cold creepy eyes. He followed Cloudpaw into the forest, wishing someone had told him about this assessment. He's only two days into his apprenticeship, but still, he could stand to pick up a few advanced tips. He's yet to see a real Tainted anyway. His mother doesn't count, in his eyes; Strongclaw is not poisoned, but merely broken.

It's strangely silent, as they near camp. Oakpaw expected more noise; perhaps the babble of crowd anticipating a good murder or two. It's quiet until there's a shriek, and Oakpaw flinches as a bird streaks into the air above him, shrilling a warning that the PureClan's living spectacle is too late to heed. The pair finally break through the undergrowth and find PureClan assembled in a ring, eyes hungry and dark. Oakpaw's never seen the Clan so organised, not even in assemblies, where everyone sits in a straight-backed impatience until they can leave. But this is an entertainment requiring management; the crowd is partially involved, in way, and it's a cruel fuel for their bloodlust.

Oakpaw spots his sister, sitting blankly by Fawnpaw. He can't see into the ring, yet, but there's another shriek and he's desperate to see what's going on. He ditches Cloudpaw and scurries over to his sister, squeezing in beside her. Flutterpaw is in the arena, looking more hesitant than bloodthirsty, and she looks just as terrified as her opponent. Still, the white on her chest is hidden with gore, and her claws gleam wicked in the sunlight. The Tainted she faces is a small black she-cat, eyes a filmy shade of yellow. Her spine is a ragged clump of slick fur, and she quivers against the ground.

Oakpaw doesn't understand. She must know she's going to die; there's no point shaking about it. He focuses on Flutterpaw again, and her sister, gold and red, sitting in the crowd, a look of satisfaction on her face. Flutterpaw makes a quick advance and jabs the she-cat's ribs; Oakpaw snorts, because this is a poke, not a battle-move. Were this a real cat, Flutterpaw would already be dead. But she persists with her butterfly taps, and she cuts, here, cuts there. Oakpaw knows she's not trying to be vicious, but her war of attrition is pointless. It just hurts the Tainted more than it would've if Flutterpaw had ended it immediately.

He's sure he can't shout this out, to shove some sense through her ears, so he settles for hoping one of her pokes breaks the Tainted's delicate neck. Oakpaw darts a glance at Morningstar, who looks distinctly unimpressed. He doesn't doubt she could wipe out half the crowd in a fraction of the time the pale tabby has taken. It takes a while before Flutterpaw's claws skid west, and the Tainted looks down to find her neck is in ragged ribbons. The apprentice stands there, hunched and awkward, as her opponent begins choking to death.

Finally, Morningstar announces, "Next," when the black cat slumps to the ground; not quite dead, but close enough. Flutterpaw sits beside her sister with hollow eyes and bloodstains on her paws. Oakpaw's attention has already abandoned her; Nightpaw has entered the ring, a black-and-white tom who already looks more promising than his predecessor.

The cat that follows him is all ribs, a tangle of bones beneath a thin grey pelt. Maybe once it would've put up a real fight, but not now, not hollow and starved. Oakpaw can't tell if it's a she-cat or a tom. But he watches hungrily, because bloodshed is new, interesting, what he will one day master.

Morningstar flicks her tail and Nightpaw tackles the Tainted. He knocks him to the ground, and there's a snap of something, but it's not its neck. The Tainted pushes back, but it's a somatic strength- any will this cat held was broken in that darkness, and it has failed to sweep up the pieces again.

The pair tussle. Nightpaw is eager not to end it too quick- he wants to show off, to earn himself a name and reputation. Oakpaw can respect this. Skills were meant to be shown, after all. Here, however, there is no opportunity for flair, for the black-and-white tom to show his aptitude for murder. He ends it with a scream and a gurgle, teeth buried in the grey cat's throat. The Tainted is discarded, quite dead, but its eyes are no more empty than they were before.

All attention rests upon Morningstar, who uncurls and stretches. She looks bored; she's seen such carnage, and this pathetic affair has only served to put her to sleep.

"May the apprentices Goldpaw, Flutterpaw, Scarpaw and Nightpaw step forwards," she intones. It's a speech she delivered too many times, but it excites Oakpaw. He wants this; when he dreams, it's of this moment, when he receives his name and glory. Among the littermates, the only one looking truly enthused is Scarpaw, still covered in blood.

"We have a mandate laid down with the bones of those who strode before us. These apprentices have today demonstrated their worthiness to uphold these old laws. Do you promise to uphold and protect the warrior code, and to help protect PureClan from the invasion of the poison formerly known as love?" She directs her lazy attention to the cats in front of her. The novelty of this ceremony, so coveted in youth, has long since abandoned her, and it shows in her blank eyes, her apathetic voice.

There's a small chorus of assent, and now Morningstar looks vaguely thoughtful, as if she's trying to remember what comes next.

"Flutterpaw," she calls. The pale she-cat shivers a little- she doesn't look at the leader, but rather, at the ground below her feet.

"Under the eyes of StarClan I present you with your warrior name. The Clan honors your quest to evade the poison. You shall be known now as Flutterwing."

Oakpaw pauses to wonder what his name will be. Nightpaw is promptly renamed as Nightwhisker, and Scarpaw as Scarpelt- befitting, even now- but he dismisses them. They're plain names, the kind everyone dreads. He decides he likes Oakstorm. It's dramatic.

"-be known as Goldpool," Morningstar finishes, looking unashamedly relieved. She leaps from the hill without a further word of dismissal, and the Clan drifts apart. Impulsively, Oakpaw hurries after her. The warrior ceremony has reminded him of something, but Morningstar is already leaving camp, a flicker of bronze in the undergrowth. He bounds after her, and he's already forgotten the cats in the center of camp, the taste of their new names a little bitter in their mouths.

"Morningstar!" he shouts. "Morningstar!" He's in the fringe of the forest when she hears him, and turns with face him with a disgruntled grimace.

"What do you want, poppet?" she asks.

Oakpaw perks up. "I wanted to swap mentors, now that there's been the warrior ceremony and all that. Like, Gorsespots, or something."

She narrows her eyes at him. "What's wrong with the one you've got?"

Oakpaw thinks the answer is fairly obvious. Sleetclaw is hardly a rervered warrior; in fact, he's hardly a warrior at all. "He's not good enough."

Morningstar, for a moment, looks incredulous. "You, the son of sin, built from the very thing we hope to break down, thinking you deserve something? That this Clan owes you?" When she laughs, he begins to feel he has made a mistake. "Don't delude yourself. You're lucky the Clan has extended its generosity to you, but even now, it may be waning. We owe you nothing. You should not exist."

Oakpaw doesn't follow her when she leaves. Can't she see he just wants to learn? It makes no sense to him, that his parentage has anything to do with him now. They're dead, the pair of them, and as far as PureClan is concerned, that's atonement at its finest. He thinks of Strongclaw saying, "You have no rights at all." It's only now that he thinks this may be true.

He wanders, sulky and brooding, through the forest. It will be nightfall soon, but that's not his concern. He's never had an official tour, but he can stumble over paths in the darkness. Surely, Morningstar must think it's what he deserves. He's drawn to the sluggish hum of water; right now, the mercurial blackness in its depth appeals to him. But he's not its only visitor.

He nearly steps on her, before he sees her, rent and ragged, on the forest floor. It's Flutterwing's tormented black Tainted, twitching with small, shallow breaths. She's not quite dead, but close, and Oakpaw wonders how she got here. She meets his gaze, and his fur prickles. Up close, death looks inglorious. Oakpaw hears something splash. Looking up, he sees a body weaving its way through the currents of the river, leaving red ribbons in its wake. A warrior stares after it, another corpse at their paws, and Oakpaw realizes this is the solemn send-off of the Tainted, the disposal of the scraps left behind by the new warriors.

Oakpaw backs away, and then runs away, but as dusk smothers the forest, he wonders if she died drowning.


wow, a chapter.

for those of you wondering what's going on right now: I'm trying not to make it too confusing, but for both Emberpaw and Oakpaw, nothing too much is going on now, just trivial Clan stuff. As for Khia, she's escaped Tillman's with her cousin and adorable little Gideon to find her brother. Cariad is with the rebels, who are not focusing on too much right now. They're pretty preoccupied with training up the new recruits. As for every fifth chapter, it will be entirely random, and probably won't impact too heavily on the plot, but will offer little insights and clues. It's not too confusing, I hope, but it may help to scan over the previous chapters if you're a little lost. Not sure how frequent the updates will be. I'm nearly on study leave, so we'll see how appropriately I manage my time

sorry for the wait, sorry for the terrible quality of my uninspired writing, reviews are wonderful, see you next time.