Recap: Cariad doesn't know how to say no, so as a result, he's going to go on the worst road trip of his life with the tiny ferocious menace known as Azazel. There's also no small degree of kidnapping and potential murder involved. Well, at least the scenery is nice.


It's his final night in the city, and the guards let them sit out and watch the sunset. Elettra is quiet, and Thad is not here to fill their silences. It is tense, but not awkward. She leans on his shoulder and the sky bleeds above them, bloodier, even, than a promise. Cariad has never wanted to freeze a moment more than he does now, not even when he left Khia, desolate in the dark. It's suddenly very clear he could die. He is not infallible, although he has been reassured that his death at their hands is 'very unlikely.' Nothing until this point has felt so real, not even the brush of Elettra's fur against his own. He doesn't tell her how he feels, afraid to discredit her, her presence and her words. Surely she wouldn't understand, anyway. What they have undertaken is immense, and none from the Bayard's basement comprehend their future. Cariad was the only one to receive a true warning. Still, he haplessly agreed to this 'adventure', before they told him what it entailed. And he can't back away now, can't find an escape. It's his word, and it's as good as his life.

Also, he's fairly sure Azazel will gut him herself if he so much as looks longingly in the wrong direction. She's coming too, and he's not sure why. They're an exclusive party of two, trained prettily and well, and not prepared at all. Ice still stares at the pair of them with disdain. They were debriefed yesterday. They depart tomorrow. And, in the moments in between, Cariad wishes he never opened his mouth.

The final remnants of sunset linger stagnant in the dark sky. To Cariad, however, it's all over, so he stands up, gently dislodging Elettra's head from his shoulder. "We'd better get back inside," he says, glancing down at the pretty she-cat by his side. She meets his gaze.

"Okay," she replies, smiling, looking not at all worried. He doesn't blame her; she doesn't know exactly what he's going off to do. Neither does Thad, in its entirety, but that's how Cariad prefers it. Better they think he's on some mild expedition. Better they don't expect him to die; he imagines that's how Khia feels, helplessly awaiting the only thing certain to her; his death, and a cruel one at that.

Together, they head back inside. The warehouse is poorly lit, but they easily make their way back to their nest, a path so familiar to them now. Thad is waiting for them with suggestive grins and winks, their share of dinner lying at his paws. As far as last nights go, it's not too bad. He leaves early in the morning, and dawn follows.

Azazel is not exactly great company; neither chatty nor pleasant. They're escorted quietly through the city, and for a further hour beyond that. That's the extent of Miss' generosity for them, however, and now they're on their own. There's nothing more than a few parting words from their superiors to guide them, and their mission that is now ingrained in them. Follow the river, said Meino, who accompanied them out into the wilderness. The river will take you where you need to go. It seems to be reasonable advice, except Cariad wants nothing to do with what lies at the end of the river.

Cariad didn't exactly sleep last night, knowing he would be crawling into the lion's den and hoping, madly, that he would come back out alive. He made extensive lists of all the things he could achieve, of all the reasons this would work instead. His strength and skill is a large comfort to him, though he knows this does not make him invincible. Still, it's good to have.

Az marches ahead of him, short ginger tail stoically upright. One small part of him is glad she's here- glad he has anyone to rely on, that he's not entirely alone. He's not really one for words or conversations anyway. To have Thad by his side would be nice, but he knows he is about to confront his own mortality, and it's not something he wishes on his friends. Although, he supposes, staring idly at the green path ahead, he'll probably be dead soon enough. Eventually Miss has to progress somewhere with her revolution, to evolve beyond guerrilla ambushes and unrealised ideas. She's making an army for a reason.

"Please keep up," Azazel snaps. "I don't want to do this on my own."

"You won't have to," Cariad grumbles. If anything, he's convinced she'll flee at the first sight of a Clanner, the first touch. He can't blame her; at her height, those beasts would appear truly monstrous.

"Because I will," she continues, as if he hadn't spoken. "If I have to."

"Yeah, sure," he mutters at her back, making an immature face. Already, Cariad is ready to bail. A nice life in the woods doesn't sound so bad; fresh food, clean air. He'd be a lonely hermit, sure, but he's confident he'd get used to it. But he knows Az would pounce on him the moment he turned.

It takes many more silent minutes for Cariad to feel like they've gotten anywhere. Eventually, the rolling green fields turn to a forest of pine, dark and unnervingly silent. The river is the only thing to make any sound as they progress through the trees, their paws cold and noiseless on the pine needle carpet. According to Meino, they'll need to cross the river at some point, but only when they're certain of their target. It wouldn't pay to casually stroll into the heart of PureClan territory.

He hasn't bothered to discuss strategies with Az. For some reason, he's sure she'll just say something along the lines of: we'll find a cat, stupid, and then we'll take it. There's no finesse to her methods. To be fair, Cariad doesn't think there's many finer details to cover. Kidnapping. It's very straightforward.

Night falls quickly in the forest, where there is no ample amount of light in the first place. The sounds here are foreign to the two city cats, and even the most pleasant of ambiences makes them jump. These are soft sounds, harmless, but alien all the same. They stumble through the dark until the pine blends with ordinary trees and undergrowth, and deem it adequate shelter. Az curls up on a pile of leaves, and Cariad noses his way under some ferns. The smell here is strange- earthy, fresh- and he likes it. The smoggy city air falls far inferior in comparison. Despite the strange noises and Azazel's restless twitching, he falls asleep quickly. It's the best night's sleep he's ever had.

She is the first to wake, and pokes him relentless until he gets to their feet. They're both hungry, but they've never hunted anything in their life. Az takes to it with an easy grace, but he finds it harder to shift his bulk into a suitable crouch, to move without sound. Noise never mattered in the city, where there were a hundred other sounds to mask your own. Here, everything he does seems somehow amplified. Cariad does not catch any prey that morning, but he tells himself this is helpful, a useful learning experience. After all, when they hunt down their Clanner, he can't afford to step on every twig in the forest.

Az catches enough for both of them, a fat black crow nearly as large as she is. Cariad finds birds are not the easiest of meals, but still, it's a far cry better than rat. They bury the remains under some leaves where they slept. They know enough not to leave a trail, hapless clues. They must be unseen, unknown, unexpected.

They move on, while it's still early. Az takes the lead again, and Cariad is happy to follow her. He certainly doesn't want to forge a path into the enemy's den. He's tired of walking by now, but he knows it's better than the alternative; fighting, action and a probable death at the paws of a far superior warrior. They'll have to be tactful, somehow, and Cariad spends the morning pondering subtle devices, tricks; anything which might work. He decides it must be a trap, and Azazel must be the bait. Cariad may have a tough time convincing her, but he has decided this option is the likeliest to succeed. They won't beat a Clanner into submission through an open brawl; they can't stroll into the camp and drag one out by the scruff of its neck.

He tells her so. She spits at him, turning. "I'm the damsel in distress, am I? The helpless she-cat? Why do I have to be the bait?" He winces, and wishes he chose a gentler word, although he can think of none.

"You'd be more convincing. No one's going to be suspicious of you. Me, however, if I try to cower and weep, well…"

She growls into his face, but she sees the voice of reason. Grumbling to herself, she mutters, "I'm going to bite you one day."

He smiles pleasantly at her back as she continues to march. Can't win them all.

Cariad is confident now, more so than he was yesterday morning, leaving the warmth of Elettra and the friendship of Thad. He has a plan, and this is not so daunting as it might be.

After several hours, they walk blindly past PureClan's territory; there are no borders, no definitions to mark the edge of their land. It is only when they catch a stray scent they realize they have gone too far, and double back, more nervous than ever. Az glares at him, and blames him, but she's scared too.

They pick a spot near the river for their den, close enough to hear it. It's a precaution, they decide, to remain hidden from sight, even if they have yet to spot a single soul. There is an uneasy tension between them, the ever-present weight of what they must do.

"We should take shifts and watch," Azazel says, but she doesn't volunteer to go first. Rolling his eyes, a motion she doesn't catch, Cariad gingerly proposes that he be the first one to stare blankly into the forest for a few hours.

"Wow, Cariad," she says, smirking. "I do believe that's the first helpful thing you've ever said."

He takes the criticism stoically, and Az, bored of him, begins to gather leaves for their nests. Cariad pads to the top of the small rise that shelters their rudimental campsite and crouches down. The river slides past before him, flat and unassuming. The afternoon sun filters through the trees, and Cariad falls for the illusion: what a peaceful place this must be, as calm and serene as it is, so far removed from the chaotic workings of the city. The river itself looks innocent, but Cariad doesn't know anything about these pretty woods and the monsters that have been reared here. These woods have a history, one that Cariad has not bothered to learn.

Hours pass, and Cariad learns this particular spot is not a favourite haunt of the Clanners. He sees nothing but prey, which makes it hard to pick a target. Tomorrow, he decides, we'll go exploring. He's not really watching, as such, but begins to plan their trap- a grand plan, in his own mind. The prospect of seeing anyone at all fades from his mind, and the river lulls him into a sense of security, false as it is. He misses the movement on the opposite bank, the soft silent steps of another. She is small and grey, containing nothing of her dead father. She has inherited her mother's grace, her sleekness, and walks by unnoticed by Cariad. Only the presence of Azazel standing at his shoulder- with the addition of her claw in his ribs- alerts him to the fact that anything is amiss at all.

"Stop daydreaming, you stupid oaf," she hisses. He grunts at her, but fixes his attention on the she-cat padding daintily by on the other side of the river.

"We found them!" he whispers, anxious that despite the distance the Clanner will still hear them. "Should…should we go now?"

"I found them," she corrects disdainfully. "And no, we shouldn't. We'd never cross the river in time and she'd hear both of us coming. No doubt we'd bring the whole Clan down on our heads." Cariad wilts a little at her words; they've come a long way, and now the final hurdle lies before them, uncrossable. Azazel must see the look on his face, and tells him, crossly, to be patient.

As they argue, the grey she-cat drifts out of sight, further into the forest, and the river masks any sounds she might make. They stare after her, and begin to think this might even be easy.

Azazel promptly dismisses him from watch duty, and tells him to go do something really useful. Cariad wanders off and tries to think of all the ways he could help, in lieu of fighting. He comes up with a few meagre option including gathering leaves for bedding and attempting to hunt. He decides on the latter, and hopes he can find something, anything, to wrestle into submission. He needs the practice.

It's not long before he hears a rustling in the bushes to his right, a restless implacable sound. He freezes and stares into the myriad of leaves, catches a hint of something brown and white before it bursts from shrubbery with a long low hiss. It races away from him, and Cariad, in his shock, almost lets it go. Without thinking he springs into pursuit. Despite his heavy weight and his limited sprint ability, he gains quickly, almost as if his prey is not used to running.

Cariad tackles the creature to the ground, and it gives up the fight abruptly. It is a cat now, he sees, possibly white, though his pelt is largely hidden beneath a mass of mud and forest debris. His eyes are odd, both green and blue and fierce.

"Who are you?" Cariad asks, confused. This is clearly not a Clanner.

The tom spits at his feet. "Doesn't matter. What are you doing here?"

Cariad eyes him coolly. He's bigger than the tom, though he must be moons older. Still, he could overpower him if he needed to.

"None of your business," Cariad says, well aware of how stand-offish he appears. Perhaps he could use a little of Thad's charms right now. This brings a stoic standstill to their conversation, and they both eye each other uncomfortably, hackles raised.

"You should probably get out of here," Cariad suggests. "I don't want anyone in my way, and besides, I think you have no idea what kind of danger lies just over that river."

The white tom bristles at his words. "Whatever you're planning, kit," he snarls, "it won't end well."

Cariad tries to bare his teeth, to refute his claim, but the mangy tom has already turned his back and proceeds to walk away. Cariad follows him, at a distance, until the trees turn to pine and he starts to feel a little lost. The whole encounter has left him bewildered, and wondering what exactly that cat knew.

The grey she-cat passes by three times in the following days. Azazel watches her intently, tail twitching in the dirt, and Cariad tries to perfect his plan. This she-cat has a plan, a clockwork pattern: she drifts down the banks every morning, blank and unwatching. Az can barely believe their luck, that someone so hapless could simply fall into their jaws.

The night before the planned ambush, Cariad finds he cannot sleep. He lies awake, and the tiny details of his plan filter through his mind. He thinks of everything that could go wrong: there so many examples it makes his stomach twist. Mostly, the warning of the strange tom plays over in his mind. He never told Az about it, because she'd worry and demand they find him so she could assert for herself what kind of threat he poses. He's gone anyway. I hope.

It won't end well.

The morning comes warm and balmy, and his fur feels slick with heat. He rises before Az- a feat that's not particularly tough- and scans their meagre store of prey for suitable breakfast. There's a finch, a mouse, and something that looks like the mouse's fat cousin. He picks the chubby rodent and retreats to the watch post. They have a comfortable margin of several hours, he supposes, before their ambush. He hopes she won't put up a fight.

Az joins him shortly, but she doesn't eat. She fidgets instead as he tries to finish his meal. Her antics make him nervous, more than any thought he'd had the night before.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," she mutters, under her breath. This doesn't inspire much confidence in Cariad.

"Of course," he mumbles back. She didn't ask for a reply, but she nods anyway, and stands up as he takes one final bite. Together, they slip down the bank and step towards the river. Neither of them know how to swim, but they hope this won't be a large obstacle to them anyway. The river is low now, in the summer heat. It doesn't seem dangerous at all. It is, in fact, a relief to step into the cool water. The heat only continues to build, but it's bearable in the forest. In contrast, heat in the city was sticky and stagnant. It's not a bad last day in the woods, really.

Gingerly, the pair of them wade into the languid current. It reaches their bellies, and then their shoulders, but it doesn't submerge him completely. Azazel is forced to paddle, awkwardly, and Cariad tries not to laugh. They reach the opposite side in less than a minute; the crossing was far less dramatic than either of them predicted. Azazel goes straight to the spot they picked: exposed and open, and with her ginger fur she's not exactly hard to spot.

Cariad takes a moment to pick a hiding spot. He's gazed at this bank for hours, but could never be decisive when it came to this. Eventually he dives under a bush, convinced he can hear voices- it's nothing but the burble of the river. His heart races anyway. At least it is shadowed here, and he blends seamlessly with the darkness.

It must be an hour. It may be two. After his sleepless night, he finds it difficult to stay awake. Just like the first time, he nearly misses her entrance. It's her smell that alerts him, the scent of ferns and dirt and something wild. Her legs pass by his hiding spot, slim and grey, and he jumps, immediately awake.

Azazel starts her act. "Please!" she cries. "I need help, please!" The fear in her voice is palpable, and he knows it's not all an act. There's something grossly intimidating about the Clan cat, even in her blank, placid state. Cariad tentatively peeks out of the bushes. Az is pressed flat to the ground, mouth wide open in a silent plaintive wail. The grey Clanner has come to a sudden halt, and from here. Even Cariad can see her ears are pressed firmly against her skull.

"Tainted!" she yowls. "Tainted in the territory!"

Cariad feels faint for a moment. They underestimated her, the silent grey ghost. They should've known any Clan cat was a threat. Then he leaps from the bushes, because he has a mission, a duty, and sinks his claws into her haunches. They crash heavily to the ground, and Cariad has no time to think this is his first real fight, the first real danger he's ever been in. It's all just a thrill- finally, he has found a worthy sparring partner. And yet they are not sparring.

She fights back viciously, though she is half his size. Azazel helps to batter her from the other side, but there are voices crashing through the undergrowth, heralded by the loud snapping of branches and the panicked shriek of birds. The grey cat snaps her teeth around his paw and he yowls. Something crunches in her mouth and he pulls back violently, breath caught in his throat.

"Run, Cariad!" Az screeches, falling back as cats leap onto the bank. She falls back, grey fur caught between her claws, but he is trapped. The Clanners are a solid wall at his back. He tries to dart past the she-cat, but she trips him and rakes her claws down his spine. Azazel flees without a backwards glance. She splashes into the river, and water lands on his nose, one last token of the tiny fiery spitfire.

Something pounds past him; it's a heavyset young tabby, he sees, as he leaps brazenly into the river.

"Oakpaw!" someone yowls. The tabby does not look back.

Cariad struggles free of the she-cat's grip and whirls around, claws unsheathed, but even he can see it's hopeless. There is a small force of them lined in front of him, snarling, excluding the tom chasing Az. There is a fluffy white tom, a slim black she-cat and a sleek grey warrior, and they all stare at him with hate in their narrowed eyes. Cariad bares his teeth in a menacing growl and barrels into the midst of them. He thinks of Elettra, Thad, Khia. He hopes they never find out he died like this.


happy birthday to my wifey uriekuki ily have a good day with cheetahs

like this chapter actually would not exist right now without your birthday. it's your crappy birthday present because international posting is expensive

anyway who didn't see that coming