Recap: Emberpaw's a pretty chill gal but Morningstar...not quite so much. It's been awhile since the happy couple 'interrogated' a city tom, but suffice to see they didn't receive any of the answers they wanted.


The tom on the ground is pathetic in defeat. He is the first of his kind, a pioneer, but that did not make his victory any more four of them stare down at him in contempt, and wonder how anyone could be so stupid as to attack them- in their own territory. The wounds on his sides shiver as he breathes, and his own blood is dark against his fur. They have not escaped unscathed, not wholly; the neat claw marks on Emberpaw's flanks burn faintly, and from the corner of her eye she can see Sleetclaw is missing several clumps of fur. The intruder isn't dead, but none of them are sure what to do without Morningstar's approval. She glances at Sleetclaw, the senior of the group, and he meets her stare with a blank gaze; she can see why Oakpaw so evidently loathes him.

"We should take him to the cave," she says, confidently, when no one else makes a move. "Then someone should go fetch Morningstar." Unless, of course, she's already on her way here, hunting down the scent of blood and battle like a bloodhound. Emberpaw glances down at the black tom; barely conscious, he voices no complaint. "You, and you," she continues, nodding at Sleetclaw and Cloudpaw. "Pick him up." Cloudpaw stares at her for a moment, a little defiant, reluctant to obey a tiny she-cat who displays no real power. As the older tom moves, he joins him, gingerly grabbing the Tainted by the scruff of his neck and lifting him. Sleetclaw balances him cautiously on his back, doleful in his compliance. In an awkward tandem, they begin to move in the vague direction of the meadow.

Emberpaw lingers for a moment, staring into the river, the wet indents of paws on the opposite brother is a good fighter, she knows, but that won't be any help if he chases his prey right into the hornet's nest. She can't put it past him to not do something so stupid. Emberpaw is not worried; he'll catch the Tainted long before he encounters any real trouble. Rolling her eyes, she leaves the soft shelter of the riverbank and follows the toms into the forest, Fernpaw at her heels. The two have never talked, not really, and Emberpaw would hardly consider her a friend. Still, she's faintly glad Fernpaw's not dead.

The trip to the meadow is swift; she keeps a wary eye on the Tainted's back, although he does nothing more than twitch. He drips blood all the way; it runs sleekly through Sleetclaw's fur, and she avoids stepping in the small puddles on the path. She wonders who he is, what the hell he was trying to accomplish. His size reminds her of Oakpaw, but he is slimmer; large by nature, scrawny from a lack of decent food and regimented scrapping. His muscles are wiry, and speak of practice, use. Fat lot of good it did him, Emberpaw thinks, but the odds had been inherently unfair, as they always were. Within minutes, the meadow comes into view, although the entrance to the cave is hidden, mere metres from the gorge. Emberpaw doesn't think of the gorge, because she knows her father is still there- the real one, the dead one. The brutish scarred tom she had never really liked, the one who harassed her mother without morals. She peeked down once, and caught a glimpse of bones bleaching in the sun. It had been enough to make her sick, at the time. Now she's not even sure if she'd even blanche. It never escapes her, that her parents died here; it's an area she tends to avoid, if just to ignore the memories.

The she-cat guarding the cave is Nettlecloud, Emberpaw notices, as they crest the small hill and and continue slowly towards it. She watches them with grim, narrowed eyes, the mouth of the cave yawning darkly beside her. Nettlecloud doesn't move as they halt in front of the cave and deposit the tom in front of her. Emberpaw dips her head in acknowledgement, but the other she-cat barely twitches a whisker.

"Nettlecloud," Sleetclaw says, "there was an ambush on an apprentice." He gestures loosely to the black tom, who still doesn't move. Nettlecloud turns her gaze to the three of them; Emberpaw stands straighter; she'd hate for her to assume that she was the hapless victim. Still, it's clear Fernpaw is the worst for wear among them; fur hangs in clumps off her haunches and her sleek grey fur is slick with blood.

"What a development," Nettlecloud replies, glancing down at the tom again, scrutinizing him with an impassable gaze. Her muzzle twists, a critical leer on her lips. "Does Morningstar know?"

Sleetclaw shakes his head wordlessly, looking slightly guilty. Nettlecloud tsks at him, despite the fact that she is his junior.

"You've been remiss. You'd better fix that, hadn't you?" Cowed, Sleetclaw nods and slinks off in the direction of camp.

"Quickly," Emberpaw says waspishly, before Nettlecloud has the chance. The older tom flattens his ears against his head but hurries away anyway, finally moving at a satisfactory speed. Soon, it's just the five of them, along with whoever lurks in the cave. Emberpaw peers into the entrance and catches a glimpse of bright, baleful yellow eyes, although she doesn't see much more than that. The cave is eerie, and an uncomfortable shiver runs down her spine.

"Was he alone, Emberpaw?" Nettlecloud asks.

"No. There was another one, but Oakpaw chased her off," she replies.

Nettlecloud looks amused. "And he's still chasing, I'll bet." Emberpaw shrugs. It's very likely; she wouldn't expect anything less, but he's not exactly a fast runner.

Presently, Morningstar appears the the edge of the forest, trotting serenely towards them with Sleetclaw at her heels. There is nothing on her face that appears troubled, or even irritated. Emberpaw awaits her arrival with apprehension; will she be mad they failed to stop the intruders before they attacked? That no one had stopped them at all? Were they about to be punished? She halts smoothly before them, and ignores them all in favour of staring at the defeated Tainted.

"He looks like he put up a fight," she muses aloud, foregoing a greeting. "Where is the other one?"

"Ran off," Emberpaw says. "Oakpaw tailed it." Morningstar rolls her eyes in response, as if this comes as no surprise to her. "He'll be back tonight," she continues confidently. This isn't his first trip out of the forest, after all; he knows his way around.

"Good for him," Morningstar mutters, as she rolls the unmoving Tainted onto his back and blanches at his face. Emberpaw scrutinises her expression, but she gives nothing away, least of all anger. Her dark eyes are narrow. "Smells like the city," she growls.

Emberpaw breathes in uncertaintly, and tastes the urban aroma of her tongue. Though stale, it is thick and bitter, and entirely unpleasant. She must be making a face, because Nettlecloud glances at her and snorts in amusement. She mouths, you get used it, and winks, but doesn't dare speak for fear of interrupting Morningstar's concentration. Eventually Morningstar looks up again, ignoring most of the gathered party- bruised and bleeding where they stand- for favour of glancing at Nettlecloud, who was arguably the most removed from the situation.

"How many more do we have in the cave?" she asks, frowning. "I want to conduct the first assessment today, and the next tomorrow."

Nettlecloud furrows her brow as she counts. "Leftover from the raid, along with that loner and her kits we brought in a couple of moons ago about...27?"

Morningstar grunts. "Barely enough. We're overdue for another raid, but as it stands with the city…" Emberpaw thinks of Iceface and his enablers, and what they must surely be planning in the city. Things are becoming ever volatile, and she recalls the ambushes laying in wait for one of the last raiding parties. The ambushes that, coincidentally, triggered her birth and the set of mysterious and tragic circumstances that were never really resolved. She doesn't often think of her birth, or anything that happened in the first few moons of her life; it makes it easier to push away, easier to forget. She never had a mother or a father, or a two lost apparent siblings who are never mentioned in passing conversation. During her long hours in the canopies, this topic does not come up for good reason.

"We can scour the nearby forests for rogues and loners," Nettlecloud suggests, but Morningstar shushes her.

"This is not a conversation for today," she replies, sending a pointed glance at Cloudpaw and Fernpaw. "As it it, we have an adequate supply. Sleetclaw, go and ready the apprentices. You two-" she says, turning to the other two apprentices, excluding Emberpaw entirely, "go get your wounds seen to and prepare to undergo your first assessment. I assume you're more than up to the task." Cloudpaw's chest puffs with pride and he scampers off; Fernpaw follows at a much more sedate pace.

Emberpaw watches them go, not jealous in the least. She knows it will be her turn, soon enough, and she's in no hurry to stain her paws with blood.

"As for you," Morningstar continues, turning to Sleetclaw. "Bring some senior warriors to me. The good ones, I'm sure you know who." Sleetclaw dips his head and hurries away again. Emberpaw is left standing beside Nettlecloud; she doesn't really have a clue what the first 'assessment' entails, and she's only ever witnessed the popular fights that herald the ascension into warriorhood. She suspects it's something much tamer.

Morningstar, with an air of resignation, sighs, "It's up to us to shepherd them out. StarClan knows it will take those idiots half an hour to get here." The other warrior immediately darts into the cave, amid pale shrieks of fear, but Emberpaw is halted as she goes to follow her.

"Pick the weaker ones. Brutalize them," Morningstar hisses. There is a smirk on her muzzle, a bloody, lusty leer; Emberpaw senses this is not a casual assault, but an opportunity. Another tom in a den, another mascot, another martyr. More blood to spill in the name of answers. She doesn't dare refuse, but remembers how she held down Feliks in the darkness; she's sure, if she were asked, that she would have gutted him. Emberpaw is taking steps, she knows, but she may only climb as Morningstar guides her.

She steps into the gloom of the cave, and her eyes adjust rapidly. Nettlecloud chases some from one corner to another, snapping at their heels. Most are bunched in the middle of the cave, flinching whenever the dappled warrior comes close. One tabby she-cat lies breathlessly on the ground, blinking hard. There's no blood; not yet.

Ember descends further into the cave, the leader's breath hot on her back. As one scrawny tom scrambles past she trips him and stomps hard on his ribs, ignoring his protests. She slices a thin line across his spine and catches sight of something tattered around his neck- it's a thin scrap of cloth, and something small and metal on the end of it tinkles sweetly as he grunts. Emberpaw walks over him, and is nearly bowled over by a lean she-cat, who is furiously attempting an ill-fated escapade. She is, however, unlucky enough to run into the claws of Morningstar, who tears into her with a tepid grin.

The next five minutes encompass only chaos. Emberpaw soaks herself in blood; some is hers, for her troubles. It is apparent that there is no real skill amongst this group, and whatever strength they once possessed has leached from their muscles in the slow throes of starvation. The dirt floor begins to resemble mud, though it stinks of copper and fear. There is no revulsion, she finds, in repeating the same act so often. It is a method, a recipe, and the grand accumulative total is not quite something she has worked out yet.

Amid the squalls of pain, warriors trickle into the cave; Emberpaw spots Tornear, Thornstreak and Meadowmist, who has not relinquished her interim deputy duties.

Morningstar also notices, and the warriors begin to gather at the entrance, leaving the Tainted as quivering puddles of fur. Emberpaw joins them, feeling a little subconscious of her junior rank. She's the youngest, and the smallest, and relatively free of scars. Morningstar, however, ignores her presence. "Thank you all for gathering so...promptly," she begins delicately, teeth gleaming redly in the faint light soaking the entrance. "The first assessment is being held a little earlier than planned, for obvious reasons." Silently, the other cats glance at the black tom, who lies still in the entrance. She doubts any of this has been explained to them, but it seems fairly obvious.

"Distribute the Tainted, as usual. Be creative, if that lies within the parameters of your capabilities. We can't allow the entitled youth to simply waltz into warriorship." The warriors nod and move deeper into the cave, prodding and snarling at the cowed prisoners. Thornstreak is the first to leave, shepherding a scrawny black tom in front of him. Morningstar turns to Emberpaw, smiling pleasantly.

"Well, go ahead," she says, as though bestowing a great gift upon the bemused apprentice, "pick one."

Emberpaw frowns and scans the desolate faces, finally settling on a plain tabby with a vivid scar on her nose. She nods at it as Morningstar watches, and idly wonders what she has in mind. She's still wondering as the leader jostles the Tainte to her feet and hauls her from the cave and into the awaiting forest, stepping neatly around PureClan's most recent acquisition. "Anywhere in mind?" Morningstar calls. Emberpaw shakes her head, because she's still as confused as the Tainted. The golden she-cat begins to lead them deeper into the forest, and the tabby starts to whimper. Emberpaw grimaces in irritation at the small and hopeless sound.

Morningstar stops in the small clearing, small dirty puddles underfoot. There is more mud than solid dirt, and the Tainted slips upon entering, streaking brown across her chest. She remains on the ground, staring at a twig bobbing uncertaintly on the water. "Please," she whispers, "don't kill me." Morningstar chuckles in response, although it gives the tabby no semblance of a reprieve. "Death is the least of your problems currently, dear." The tabby exhales slowly, still staring at the water as though she very much means to drown herself in a puddle an inch deep.

The golden she-cat takes a moment to survey their surroundings. "You'll want a good view, Emberpaw. Climb that tree." She flicks her tail to an old birch, and, obediently, Emberpaw scrambles up, making a show of hesitance and clumsiness. Even Morningstar doesn't need to know how well she can really climb. Her canopy network is hers only, and that is perhaps the only thing she is sure of.

"Is this high enough?" she calls down momentarily, clinging to a branch a few feet above ground. She can climb so much higher, and she knows it, but a voice tells her it's not wise to show Morningstar the depth of her skill. It's something of an advantage, she supposes, although she does not yet know why she needs it. From this distance, she can see Morningstar rolling her eyes. She doesn't bother to answer, so Emberpaw assumes her position is merely adequate. Up here, she can faintly see the forest floor through the sparse forest canopy. Morningstar, meanwhile, drags the tabby through the mud as she squeals, and places her roughly at the foot of the tree, shoving her against the exposed roots. The dirt on her pelt camouflages her against the bark, and it is only her white eyes and heaving chest that give her away. "I'd tell you to stay, and it's not that I don't trust you…" Morningstar trails off as she rises into the air, and brings her strength onto the tabby's hindlegs. They snap with a brittle, hollow echo, and even Emberpaw winces as she glances down to see the twisted mess the leader has left. The forest is terribly quiet for a mere moment, until the Tainted shatters it with her scream. Faintly, Emberpaw thinks she hears a twin, an echo, deeper in the forest. This is what she meant by distributing the Tainted and being creative. Now, Emberpaw can only wonder what's left for the apprentices to do.

Morningstar glances up the trunk of the old tree, squinting for a moment until she spots Emberpaw once again. "Stay here," she orders. "Wait for your apprentice, and don't let them be the one to finish her off." She jerks her head at the broken tabby, who lies cradled against the roots, gasping limply. With that, she saunters off, splashing regally through the puddles as she exits the scene. Emberpaw settles in to wait, anxiously scanning the forest around her for traces of another cat. She thinks she has deciphered Morningstar's order, and the threat of it looms. Gulping, she glances down at the tabby, who doesn't even seem to be conscious. After an hour, however, Emberpaw grows bored, and contemplates taking a nap whilst balancing precariously on the slim branch. What started as a promising, exciting morning has dwindled into an anticlimactic afternoon.

In the end, it is Littlepaw who shuffles into the clearing. Emberpaw wonders if it took him so long to arrive because he took ridiculously miniscule steps the entire way. He doesn't see the Tainted at first; his nose is close to the ground, and his amber-gold eyes are focused on the mud in front of his face. It's a tracking test, Emberpaw realizes, and realizes the way to receiving her warrior name will be nowhere near as tricky as she had previously imagined. She can track and stalk with the best of them, after all. Abruptly, Littlepaw spots the Tainted and flings his head up in alarm. When he realizes she is clearly in no position to brutalize him, he begins to study her, curiously, and the look in his eyes tells Emberpaw that he's fascinated. She wonders if this is how it began for Morningstar- a simple, abject fascination- but dismisses it. Morningstar was born callous and learned violence as she learned to walk, talk. Littlepaw continues to stare, looking something close to amazed, and Emberpaw decides it's a prudent time for intervention. Summoning the steely will she's encountered before, she drops from her perch and lands heavily on the Tainted back with what seems to be the audible crunch of a spine snapping. Without pause Emberpaw pushes her head to the ground, grinding her cheek into the dirt, and rakes her claws against her throat. Blood rushes to soak the ground as Emberpaw raises her eyes to meet Littlepaw's. He looks repulsed. Get used to it, kid, she thinks, and steps off the Tainted as she gurgles.

"Took you long enough," she says instead, keeping her snark to a minimum, although she thinks even that may be too much for such a sensitive soul as Littlepaw. He flattens his ears against his head and doesn't reply, but Morningstar saves him the trouble by strolling into the clearing a heartbeat later.

"I concur," she announces, giving her son a dismissive glance. "Even Willowpaw is already done with his, and you know he can barely smell the difference between a mouse and an owl dropping." Littlepaw looks cowed at her words, and shuffles back as the tide of blood threatens to touch his toes.

"That was very impressive, Emberpaw," she comments offhandedly, although her mind is clearly more focused on her dismally disappointing offspring. Emberpaw doesn't mention the hour of meticulous and flawless planning that was devoted to the thirty seconds of violence. How it would be quickest. How to get as little blood on her as possible. How easy it would be to forget. Oakpaw has longed for such a moment, but Emberpaw will be glad to move on. "But that will be all," Morningstar adds, and gives her a stare that clearly states, go away and let me ruthlessly lecture my son in peace, thanks. Emberpaw nods and scurries off, accidentally splashing loudly through a couple of puddles.

She spends the rest of the afternoon in a secluded corner of camp, picking at a sparrow and watching the older apprentices congratulate each other. Well done, you all managed to use a part of your anatomy for its correct function. So impressive, she thinks to herself, and her thoughts are reflected by the visible scowl on her face. This somehow fails to deter Mosspaw, who comes to flop down beside her, commenting about their own looming assessments. Emberpaw mutters in agreement, but wonders what will happen once she receives her warrior name; she doubts she will easily slip from underneath Morningstar's thumb. Perhaps she will be the leader's lackey for life. This thought follows her to her nest, and she has a bemusing dream concerning an elderly Morningstar and her crotchety orders.


Mosspaw wakes her in the morning, her sister Fawnpaw bouncing on her paws behind her. "Wake up," she hisses. "The next assessments are about to take place." Groggily, she follows the sisters out into the clearing, where a rough ring is forming. Approaching through the trees is a party of warriors, a gaggle of cocky apprentices and in the middle of them all, a cowed group of Tainted, who bear wounds old and new like manacles, politely shuffling as an orderly crowd to their collective deaths. Only when Emberpaw lines up with the rest of the Clan does she realize the black Tainted of yesterday's botched ambush is among their number; his eyes are fixated on the ground, but Emberpaw knows better than to think his wide stare is hopeless.

Morningstar pushes through the assembly to take her spot on the Speaking Hill. "This is where I would normally ask everyone to gather," she says dryly, "but you're all already here for once. Today we witness the transition from apprentice to warrior whilst upholding the vows PureClan considers most sacred. In one fell swoop we strengthen ourselves and weaken the enemy, the poisoned. Each apprentice must fight their opponent to earn their warrior name, and win. Nothing but death may be accepted. According to tradition, the apprentices will fight in age order. Firepaw is first."

Firepaw takes his place in the ring with a confident smirk as his Tainted, a young calico, is pushed towards him. She is rough and scarred, and was perhaps something of a fighter in her alley of origin. Emberpaw smoothly deducts this as she makes the first move, throwing herself at his chest and wrapping her jaws around his throat. Firepaw rips her away, but he is already bleeding, and irate. They tussle for several long minutes, evenly matched, until Firepaw manages to slit open her stomach. Warriors haul her away before she's properly dead, but it is an assured thing.

Pale-grey Ashpaw is next and, wraithlike, rips out her opponent's throat before he can blink. Her sisters follow in similar suits; Flurrypaw breaks the spine of hers, and Swiftpaw twists the head of some poor silver tom until something his neck snaps audibly.

Cloudpaw bounces into the makeshift arena, and his presence reminds Emberpaw that her brother still has not returned. She glances around, feeling slightly guilty she hadn't thought of this before, but decides he must be having a great vacation out in the woods. He tackles his large black tom with ease, though a small scuffle breaks out before Cloudpaw chokes him into submission with vivid enthusiasm. Emberpaw nods at him as he leaves, and he gives her a cocky wink in return, an action that serves to make her slightly uncomfortable.

In typical brute fashion, Willowclaw beats his into submission. Dawnpaw decapitates an old grey tom as she flashes a smile at her mother. Littlepaw, timidly, drags his claws across a decrepit queen's throat until she collapses and then, looking mortified, shuffles back into the crowd, wiping the blood on the grass. Sunpaw has a few flashy moves, and Emberpaw makes a mental note to memorize those later. At last, with the ring a mess of blood and several sections of a renegade intestine, Fernpaw delicately enters, followed by a scrawny pale tabby, who glares menacingly at the crowd. She circles him and makes several feints, all of which he falls for. As he sprawls into the dirt, she leaps onto his back and sinks her teeth into his exposed throat, shaking her head until he stops his wild thrashing. At this point even Morningstar is beginning to look bored, although there is just one apprentice left- and, by extension, a single Tainted.

Emberpaw is not sure of Volepaw's abilities, but thinks he has a fear chance of killing the new Tainted, due to the solid beating he received yesterday. Even now he moves gingerly, contradicting the loose, spry steps of Volepaw. Recently orphaned, he is still the son of capable fighters Jayflight and Smokefang. Concentration is evident on his face as he sizes up the bulk of the young black tom. Volepaw is not small, either, but he has not yet reached the hulking heights of the Tainted before him. Emberpaw throws a small glance at Morningstar; she is grinning widely. This seems to be an acceptable punishment for encroaching upon PureClan's territory.

Volepaw bares his teeth and gives a cautionary snarl- the Tainted flattens his ears against his skull, but makes no move. Volepaw begins a slow sideways circle and slowly, reluctantly, he starts to mimic it. "Fight me," the apprentice whispers, and it softly carries to Emberpaw's ears; she hears in it his anxiety, his fear, a nerve that is a little less that iron. Fernpaw, upon a cursory glance, looks slightly nervous for her brother. She knows too well the strength the Tainted possesses.

Abruptly, the Tainted drops into a predatory crouch and the uncertain rhythm of the circle is broken. Volepaw hesitates, and the Tainted surges forwards, knocking over the Clanner in a single rough movement. For a moment they tangle on the ground, clashing with teeth and claws; grey and black fur, ripped free of somatic restraints, float away, borne on the idle wind. After a brief struggle, they separate, panting, and scramble to their feet. Volepaw bleeds profusely from his shoulder; the Tainted holds his left foreleg gingerly above the ground, where it twitches spasmodically. Volepaw tackles his weakened side, but the black tom uses his bulk to push him away, sending him sprawling to the ground with a muted thump. It descends into a rough skirmish, and their grunts of pain are inseparable. Morningstar watches on, frowning. Perhaps the tom was supposed to die quietly. Finally, with a flare of blood, they both collapse, Volepaw pinning the larger tom.

Of course, Emberpaw thinks, sour, the underdog never wins. If he had a fair, fighting chance, he could have decimated the other tom…

Volepaw slides off the belly of the Tainted and keeps going, rolling over to reveal his ruined throat and glassy eyes. Triumphant if but for a moment, the black tom stands and spits blood from his mouth. After the silence comes the chaos.


I'M SORRY.

sooo much has happened since i last updated i don't even think i could list it all but- my rabbit had her teeth removed, my puppy is wrecking havoc on the household, i had my exams and graduated high school, had my 18th (it was really wild trust me) and in the last couple of days my rabbit had a kind of relapse and isn't so well right now but things are at least better than what i thought last night because it seemed like the only possible outcome was to put her down this weekend. so yeah, life happened, and unfortunately got in the way of my motivation which to be honest is always pretty lacking but this chapter has been half done for SO LONG. so i wrote the other 2000 words tonight because this chapter is way overdue and i feel so bad. so here it is, riddled with 2 a.m. typos. enjoy it.

also Brighteyes it is so good having you back I missed your lovely reviews so much! but i am a review fanatic in general tbh

poor volepaw has his first appearance in the story and then wham, sorry kid

anyway thanks it's nearly 4 a.m. and i had goals to get up at 8:30 haha oops.