Recap: Cariad got himself caught by the nasty warriors, oops. Shortsighted much. Never fear though, he still alive and kicking ass. Somehow.


We don't deal with outsiders very well

They say newcomers have a certain smell

You have trust issues, not to mention

They say they can smell your intentions

-Twenty One Pilots, Heathens


Disbelief has never been such a collective emotion, Cariad thinks, as the Clan stares at him in wide-eyed defeat. For a moment all he feels is triumph. It is short-lived. Shock turns to mutiny; fear to rage. This is, perhaps, unprecedented, unimaginable. It gives him hope because, bone-tired and battered as he is, he still triumphed over one of their number. Maybe they all stand a chance.

It is clear now that they are not infallible, that the mighty may die.

The cold silence is broken suddenly as yesterday's small grey target rushes forward, shaking Volepaw's body with one paw. "He's dead," she says, as though she has to announce it. The ring ripples, wavers uncertaintly, and the regal golden she-cat descends through its ranks. Her eyes are firmly fixed on Cariad, and it unnerves him. Perhaps she's about to slay him, execute him for winning the fight of his life. He knows without a doubt that she is not an opponent he can overcome; he doesn't have even the slimmest of chances. Still, he stands tall and proud- for Khia, for Elettra, for Thad, even. He will not die like a coward, though he's already proved his own mettle.

"Come with me," snarls the golden she-cat, as the clearing erupts with cries of, "Cheat! Murderer! Kill him!" He bares his teeth, but he cannot resist; if she's not killing him on this spot, there might be a chance he survives this. Wordlessly, he trails her as she stalks from the camp. The hostility of the Clan cats is crushing, a heavy venomous pressure that does not lift as he steps into the shade of trees. He is acutely nervous, heartbeat hammering beneath his skin. She is formidable to look at, and to fear her is instinctual. As they stop, she mutters something like city scum under her breath.

"Well, well," she says, facing him at last with a withering stare. "What am I to do with you? Can't kill you, can't let you go…"

"What?" he asks. "Why not?" At least he won't be killed, in the foreseeable future, although he can clearly picture his life as PureClan's prisoner. He spent the night in that cave cell, the reek of blood and terror in his nose. There were a few other, skeletal creatures in there, but they have all been subsequently dealt with. His own horror must be apparent on his face.

The leader rolls her eyes, as though it should be obvious. "There is an old, soft law that states death is the only acceptable outcome of an apprentice's final trial. Once such death has been achieved the winner is untouchable. In older times this meant if a Tainted became victor they were allowed to flee with their life, or become assimilated into the Clan as a means of introducing new blood. However," she continues, narrowing her eyes, "this hasn't happened for years."

"You could still let me go," he pleads, but her expression is resolute.

"I cannot," she snaps. "You'll run back to that little rebel group you belong to, the one that's been relentlessly plaguing me. Don't bother denying it. As it is, there's the curious question of your origin."

"I'm a city cat," he replies, although he doesn't sound overtly convincing. Still, he's not sure what she meant with her flippant comment. Surely she can't know anything I don't. He begins to doubt himself, although if he's not a city cat he has no idea what else he could possibly be. "What are you going to do with me, then?" He inserts some small amount of defiance in his voice; whatever she chooses, she can guarantee he'll put up a fight.

Her noses twitches in distaste, and she glances up at the sky through the canopy before replying. "It's getting late. You'll find out in the morning." It sounds ominous, and chills run through his pelt, though she offers no words of comfort, and he can't say he'll receive any ever again.


They trap him in the cave again. Blood lingers in the air, and it is filled with ghosts; there are a couple of remaining rogues, but they do not talk to him. Small prey bones crunch underfoot, and contribute to the fetid odour in the air. They have not bothered to fed him, and he begins to feel faint with hunger. Night is quickly approaching, and he hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. He is used to hunger, familiar worth it even, but his days at the warehouse have left him well-fed. Although there's a straight-backed guard sitting warily outside the cave mouth, Cariad doesn't bother to petition him for food. They won't possibly deign to feed him after he killed one of their own.

He lies down to sleep, thinking that after the events of day, he will slip away easily. His head aches with exhaustion, but he is haunted with with bloody memories. Cariad had not expected to kill anyone today, and he has, and though Volepaw was probably no saint, he can't help but feel guilty. There was no other way, he tells himself, but he wonders what else he would do to save his own skin. He snorts to himself, as the other cats watch him balefully; he's supposed to be killing them, after all, he's trained for it. Perhaps he is not meant to have a conscience, or perhaps these forest cats are not supposed to warrant his guilt and pity. He should know this after witnessing today's carnage, but all he can see is how they've taught the young to hate and fight and hunt, how their ingrained malice have been drilled into them. There's every chance they could unlearn it and redeem themselves, yet Cariad thinks Miss won't agree. Then again, she might concur that the way to topple a dynasty is through the young, the pure, the future. He resolves to tell her so, if he ever escapes this hellhole.

That thought sends him to sleep, but it is patchy and light, and he wakes with the dawn. It is soft and warm, glazed with gold, and he wonders what it promises him. The guard on duty throws in a couple of voles- ironically, perhaps- and Cariad snaps one up ravenously. It's the best meal he's ever tasted, though it merely dulls his gnawing hunger. After this, when it is apparent they are not coming for him immediately, he settled down to groom himself, a mundane and pressing task. Aside from clumps of dried blood, he has grass and twigs in his fur. It is simultaneously relieving and soothing to undertake such a boring activity, and Cariad begins to feel like himself again- albeit, himself in a dark, depressing prison cell. The other two cats keep their distance, and this suits him. He doesn't feel like making conversation with the doomed.

As the sun rises in the sky, two Clanners enter the prison; he remembers the small black she-cat from yesterday, but the brilliant white queen accompanying her is a new addition. Cariad rises to his paws, claws unsheathed, although he senses he will not need them yet.

"You," growls the white she-cat, "and you." She has selected Cariad and a pale grey tom in the corner, covered in scabbing wounds. They exchange an uneasy glance but come to stand before the warrior anyway, prickling with apprehension. "Follow me," she orders, turning and sauntering away without a further comment. Meekly the two toms obey, trailing her as she leads from the cave, through the meadow and into the forest. He supposes he's about to find out whatever the golden queen omitted from their brief conversation, and the prospect is not thrilling.

The white Clanner halts before they enter the camp; through a thin veil of undergrowth he can hear the routine morning bustle of PureClan. They sound normal, unremarkable, if a little cold. The black she-cat slips away quietly, and returns within moments with the leader.

"Morningstar," the white one says, bowing her head respectfully. "The toms, as requested."

"That will be all, Meadowmist," she says curtly, and Meadowmist promptly disappears. The grey rogue looks petrified, but Cariad's nerves have been allayed. He's very certain he's not about to die. "Now, you-"

"Cariad," he interjects helpfully. Her tail flicks in irritation.

"It doesn't matter," she mutters. "There's general dissent among the warriors. They will react poorly to your joining- unless you prove yourself."

This sounds ominous indeed, although Cariad is faintly sure he already proved himself by killing Volepaw. He opens his mouth to protest- he wants nothing to do with these callous monsters, and he certainly does not want to join their ranks. He would be a proverbial mouse in a viper's nest.

"This is not negotiable," Morningstar grunts, halting his objections. "Come now." She strides back into camp; Cariad bows his head and follows. He does not understand this old law, but perhaps he should thank it for saving his life. In her absence, the Clan has formed another ring, and his stomach drops. This is eerily reminiscent of yesterday's bloodbath trials, which he was all too glad to see the end of. Morningstar pushes through the crowd, and they part for her like waves. Their stares are heavy on his back, although the severe hostility has lessened. Still, the animosity is a thick and cloying presence. Do they know I'm supposed to join them?

"My Clan," Morningstar announces, and their attention snaps to her. "We have not encountered such an anomaly in recent history, but it was once commonplace for outsiders to best our own in a fight. In such a case they were offered a prestigious position in PureClan in order to introduce new blood. As this has not happened for several years, I am willing to let this stranger ascend to our ranks once he has truly proven his worth." Her words are met with sullen and belligerent hisses, but no one steps forward to confront her. "This is your own assessment, Cariad," she murmurs, glancing between him and the rogue. "Don't disappoint me." With this, she melts into the assembly. Cariad turns slowly to face the grey tom, who still looks confused. Realization begins to dawn on his face, and it makes Cariad's stomach churn. He does not want to do this, but his desire to survive overrides his weak-willed morals.

He drops into a fighting stance, inviting his opponent to take the first move. His tail lashes. The tom is ginger, reluctant, but takes a few heavy swipes which are easily evaded. Some Clanners cheer despite themselves. Cariad performs an easy feint and then slashes at his vulnerable rib cage; he senses this cat is not used to fighting, if he knows how at all. The grass is fresh and green under his paws- although it still bears traces of blood- as he circles swiftly. Innately, this is no different to sparring in the warehouse. This match will end, however, with someone gasping their last on the ground. He didn't have time to think about it yesterday, but the burden of murder is a recent scar, and the guilt already swamps him. Cariad endeavours to finish it as quickly as possible- not to impress the captivated Clanners, but to prevent any pain his rival may feel, for he surely deserves none of it. With ease, he pushes the loner to the ground; he is frail, and his strength is pitiful. Cariad pins him to the ground and stares deep into his eyes as he stretches down to grasp his throat. His pulse stutters in his grip, but his eyes are wide and forgiving, so Cariad bites down and looks away. There is so much blood.

The cats jeer as he rises, soaked in gore, and Morningstar seems almost proud. She climbs a small knoll situated in the center of camp, and the others languidly place themselves at the foot of it. Cariad finds himself at the front, recognizing some of the faces from yesterday, though he is more focused on the blood dripping from his torso.

"PureClan," Morningstar cries. "We have witnessed the worthiness of these young cats to uphold our laws and continue our eternal fight. May Firepaw, Cloudpaw, Littlepaw, and Willowpaw step forwards." Half of the standing cats move towards Morningstar, who barely bothers to look at them. "Do you promise to uphold and protect the warrior code, and protect PureClan from the poison once known as love?"

"I do," the big tabby tom murmurs, and the rest follow suit.

"Under the eyes of StarClan I present you with your warrior names. The Clan honours your quest to evade the poison. Firepaw, you will be known as Firestorm. Cloudpaw, you are now Cloudstrike. Littlepaw, I name you Littlefrost. Willowpaw shall be known as Willowfang." The newly minted warriors drift back into the crowd, most look immensely smug, leaving Cariad standing on the fringes of the she-cats.

"May the apprentices known as Flurrypaw, Ashpaw, Swiftpaw, Sunpaw, Dawnpaw and Fernpaw step forwards. Under the eyes of StarClan they are presented with their warrior names. Flurrypaw is now Flurrycloud, Ashpaw has become Ashflower, and Swiftpaw is to be called Swiftriver. Sunpaw has become Sunfeather. Dawnpaw is Dawnshadow and Fernpaw is now Fernstep."

Cariad watches Fernstep as she stands in the crowd- his hapless victim now has a name. She looks up, and meets his gaze with a steely glare. It's likely that Volepaw was her brother, he supposes, considering she was the first to react. Cowed, he looks back up at Morningstar. Her attention, once again, is on him. He wonders if he is about to be inducted, swept into their ranks as another faceless beast.

"Finally, the tom before you has thrown away the shackles of love and renounced the poison's claim to him. He has proven his worthiness in all facets and as such will be accepted into the Clan with the identity he took from us. From this moment onwards he shall be known as Voletooth, and is much a warrior as any of you."

The Clan mutters to themselves, and Cariad is not close enough to catch the whispers. He imagines they are nothing kind. He shakes his fur out and contemplates his new name: Voletooth. He much prefers his old one, and he'd prefer not to be reminded of his first kill every time someone adresses him. He is still musing over this when Morningstar calls out again.

"This ceremony hasn't yet concluded, you lazy things, so sit still until it has. These new warriors have not completed their duty to this Clan; to do so, they must first be paired. It is with pleasure I announce that StarClan has approve the matches between Littlefrost and Flutterwing; Scarpelt and Dawnshadow; Nightwhisker and Fernstep; Flurrycloud and Willowfang, and lastly Voletooth and Sunfeather. This completes the ceremony, you can resume doing whatever inane task you were busy with before."

The assembly disbands, and Cariad looks around for his so-called 'pair'. Ceremonial pairing is not yet clear to him yet, but he still has no idea who Sunfeather is. Before he can stand, Morningstar leaps down from her pedestal, wordlessly demanding his attention.

"You have a lot to learn," she says gruffly, signalling to to someone over his shoulder. "I can't babysit you, so Sunfeather will teach you. Her first mentoring gig, if you will. Know this- if you try to escape, I will kill you. If you kill one of mine, I will kill you. If you step a foot out of line you will be dead, and it will be painful." As she says this, a pretty golden she-cat appears at his shoulder, amber eyes round and prismatic. She is lithe, and elegant, and all hints of blood have been carefully groomed from her shining pelt.

"Yes, mother?" she says, and Cariad recoils a little bit. Her voice is every bit as light as her pelt and bright as her eyes. She seems, frankly, sunny, and her name appears appropriate.

"Show our newcomer around, teach him our ways, don't let him get killed. He's your pair now, and don't bother asking for a new one," the leader commands dismissively. "That will be all, you may leave me now." Sunfeather dips her head and walks away. For safety's sake, Cariad keeps close to her heels. She leads him into the forest, winding her way through trees. Finally, once they can see no one else, she turns to him, regarding him with something a few shades softer than apathy.

"Well," she says, "I'm Sunfeather." It is a short introduction, but one that he's comfortable with.

"I'm Cariad," he replies, smiling slightly, "but you can call me Voletooth." The name is foreign in his mouth, tripping over his tongue, but he has his whole life to get used to it. Sunfeather looks at him and frowns, shaking her head.

"Don't do that," she reprimands. "Don't smile. Don't be friendly, or relatable. You have to be cold and callous, and do not be amiable with me. It is all about presentation in PureClan; everything is an act. The sooner you learn this, the better. StarClan, you're just like a kit."

"Okay?" he says, still unsure. It makes sense, he supposes. "You're my pair, what does that mean?" She rolls her eyes as if he is resoundingly stupid.

She snorts, "You're the father of my children." Cariad can't help but gape at her, his thoughts flashing to Elettra. Does he love her? Is it worth preserving what they shared, at the cost of his life? Misreading his stricken expression, Sunfeather continues, "Don't worry, Cariad, it's just duty. They'll back off after one or two litters. You're under no obligation to care for me- you really shouldn't, if you understand our rules at all."

"You mean...now?" he wheezes, wondering if she brought him to this private location for such an ulterior motive. The idea doesn't exactly repulse him, but it seems a bit soon. They've just met, after all.

Sunfeather purses her lips and stares at him, unamused. "No, you dork. We have time. I would rather wait, and know you a bit better first. We should get out of here before you make things any more awkward. We have to tour the territory, teach you the code...Ugh, and it reeks of badger here, too."

Cariad doesn't know what a badger is, but sure; it reeks of something, anyway.


this was the only plot point i had planned for ttatt three years ago and i don't like it but it leads to fun things so here we go

are my reviewers alive out there guys do i have to send a search party

cariad in the middle of a bunch of marauding killers hoping to get lucky omfg boy stop