As the day slowly reaches it's end, thoughts that have occupied Ashfur's thinking all day remain persistent still. Lionpaw has clearly noticed his mentor's absentmindedness, but beyond looks that range from intrigued to annoyed has not responded much to it. Today's training was fairly straightforward, thankfully enough. Some battle training in the mossy clearing, followed by a mock assessment, letting the apprentice show if he can catch his own prey well enough yet. Though some small troubles presented themselves, mostly due to lack of experience, experience Lionpaw should have at this point if he weren't so insistent on battle training, it actually went reasonably well. A vole and a plump mouse, no feast for the whole clan but as the outcome of a single hunt none too bad. A bit more hunting training and the young tom will pass his assessment with ease.

Still, it is difficult to pretend that his whole focus was on the young cat he's meant to train today for the grey pelted warrior. Much of his encounter with Talon last night continues to reemerge in his thoughts regularly. Between all he learned, of Bloodclan, of Talon and all that happened in twoleg-place, Ashur catches himself constantly drifting off into thought. A lot has been weighing on his riverside companion. The clans are always fast to condemn kitty-pets as lazy for being from twoleg-place, yet it seems for most cats there it is anything but cozy. The remaining injury to the cat that might become his mate, the clanmates he could not save, it is difficult to imagine how that might weigh upon a cat. As his bright pelted apprentice leaves his side upon striding into camp, Ashfur finds himself following at a slower pace towards the freshkill pile. Despite their similarities, it remains apparent that there are still some great differences between clans like Thunderclan and Bloodclan. And the coming raid on Windclan… has Ashfur made the right choice? He has not betrayed his own clan, and according to Talon it was going to happen either way, that what Ashfur told him might prevent lives from being lost. He can only hope that's true. His dislike for Windclan does not reach far enough as that he would wish death upon any of them.

By the time Ashfur arrives, Lionpaw has deposited his catches and already bounds onward, presumably to find his kin. Focusing for a moment, the warrior pushes the new prey aside, as well as cuffing a squirrel that was lying under it out of the way with a small scoff, trying to see what lies even further beneath. With some interest, his eyes settle on a starling, which he proceeds to carefully pull forth without letting the rest of the pile fall into too much disarray. This will do nicely. It has been a little while since he enjoyed on of these. It's usually Thornclaw or Brackenfur who manage to get these and it has as of yet eluded Ashfur how or where they so consistently manage that. Perhaps they learned from watching Brook, she had proven very capable at catching birds. Shame she and Stormfur left the clan. They had been decent company, pleasant to have around on patrols and generally.

Recognising from he corner of his eye other cats approaching the freshkill pile, Ashfur takes a few steps to the side to make room, earning him a brief, appreciative nod from Whitewing. The white she-cat goes in to pick Lionpaw's vole without much deliberation, while Sorreltail traveling beside her eagerly takes the squirrel Ashfur shunned. With a hum, the grey tom looks over who else is trying to reach the pile, finding Brightheart and Brambleclaw engaged in calm discussion as they wait for the pair of she-cats before them to clear off. Not taking a chance at potentially being pulled into talking with the clan's deputy, the blue eye warrior pads off. His mind is already being louder than it should today, no need to provoke adding to it. Perhaps a spot can be found where he may eat in peace. After a brief surveil of the clearing, Ashfur settles down beside the nursery and begins plucking the feathers off the small bird. The worst disturbance he should encounter here should be one of Daisy's kits emerging to playing with the feathers, some of which already begin to dance in a soft breeze blowing through camp, at best Ferncloud might show. Either way, it ought to be fine here. Daisy's kits… Spiderleg's kits. Easy to forget that they are kin. The thought is mildly entertaining to the grey tom as he takes his first real bite out of the starling's chest. If he considers Cloudtail's bloodline kin as well, it occurs to Ashfur that he is part of quite the sizeable family. A somewhat peaceful idea. His mind calming a bit, he enjoys his meal, tearing into the small bird between his paws. Though in the far back of his mind he knows that it is temporary, he welcomes the respite the moment offers. Who knows, perhaps at the end of it all, when all is done, he may yet add to that family himself still. Maybe, in due time. Though eventually the pondering on kin draws his thoughts eventually away from progeny. There is on other member of his family that he may see again very soon. A mixture of anticipation, as well as mild dread arises in the blue eyed warrior. It's quite possible Thistleclaw might call him to train again tonight. Leafpool has resigned herself to asking very few questions by now about the regularly reoccurring bruises and the cuts. She retains her usual warmth of character, but there is a tiredness to her lately. No doubt she's been seeing these injuries on Brambleclaw as well, now him… and perhaps more still. Thistleclaw had mentioned Tigerstar training yet someone else from time to time. Along with her normal duties and the stress Talon's raid must have put her under, her resilience is admirable. Most warriors would have begun complaining at some point with all of that piling up. Plucking away a few more feathers to lay free more of the meat beneath, Ashfur feels a measure of shame for contributing to it all, more so still for excusing it with empty little lies. As if a medicine cat couldn't distinguish between a gash made by a thorn and a clawed paw. Perhaps he could offer to help her seek herbs or the like when newleaf comes around. Try to ease his conscience a bit by helping out. If Jaypaw doesn't drive him up a tree with his snarky comments at the attempt.

Licking his lips to get the blood off his muzzle, Ashfur looks up at the evening sky. Not too late yet. He may still have time to go out hunting one more time, even if Thistleclaw plans to bring him to the Dark Forest tonight. A quick hunt around Thunderclan's outer border, a moment of calm at his spot by he river, not necessarily in that order, before returning to camp and retreating to the warrior den for the night. He'll have to see. Licking the delicate bones of what was a starling, his rough tongue loosening the little bits of meat still clinging to them, he flicks his tail and gets ready to rise up again. Better to stop thinking about it all too much if he can. Otherwise his mind will unavoidably wander to Leafpool and Jaypaw's kin and then a rare pleasant evening will be soured. Now then, where to first…

„We were growing weak…"

Ashfur's ears perk up and his head rises from licking his newly struck wounds. Laying on the ground covered in it's ever rotting leaves, the Thunderclan warrior and his ancestor rest by a small pond of murky, sinister water. Training has been hard, harsh, like last time, but Ashfur had endured it well enough. Though still, Thistleclaw had shown his descendant that he had a far way yet to go to reach the same kind of prowess in battle. The spiky furred spirit turns his head to look at the living warrior. The cut Ashfur has managed to deal the spectre on his left cheek brings some small satisfaction to the warrior, but like the rest of Thistleclaw's injuries it pales in comparison to his own gashes.

"You asked to know of my story, of what happened. Training is over for tonight and you haven't left yet. Might as well tell it now. No point wasting time"

Ashfur's nicked ear flicks. His interest palpable, he lays down his right front leg he'd been tending, his attention entirely on the spirit that just moments earlier tore the gashes now stinging Ashfur.

"Things could have always been better, but it truly began to show when Pinestar abandoned Thunderclan. To become a kitty-pet of all things."

Turning his head and staring into the murky water with a glare, Thistleclaw's voice drips with venom at the last sentence.

"Tigerstar's father. A strong fighter but he'd always been too soft... we just never realised how bad it was. After that, it became ever more clear. Under Sunstar it was slow, but constant. But as hard to watch as that was, when Bluefur discovered her ambitions to become deputy, to become the next leader, I knew Thunderclan would become a breeding ground for weakness. She always despised me. She knew I wanted to be leader. I did not care for that kind of position, but it would have been the only way to guide us back to strength. So she did what she always did, try to sabotage me, try to deny me, weaken everyone around her..."

Thistleclaw's voice rises and falls between it's neutral, gruff sound and actively flaring in anger, up and down. With a swat of his paw, Thistleclaw sends a few leaves into the pond, only to watch them sink, disappearing in the depths within moments.

"Why? What led Bluestar to despise you?"

Shooting a glare at Ashfur along with a scoff, Thistleclaw claws at the ground.

"The weak often despise the strong. And she had always been weak. Soft on kitty-pets, trespassers, enemies... We never cared for each other, but she was never good at losing and she could not stand it when she, in her cursed mind, lost something valuable to me. That was when dismay turned to hate in her, when she decided to undermine me with every breath she took!"

Listening closely, Ashfur feels like his ancestor is referencing something he's supposed to understand, but finds himself clueless. Sufficiently so to be evidently visible upon him, as after a brief silence Thistleclaw turns his gaze to his descendant, only to shake his head with a grunt of annoyance.

"Of course... you know nothing of your own kin. Your eyes. They are the exact same as hers... Snowfur. Your ancestor, my mate... Bluefur's littermate. Whitestorm inherited her pelt, you her eyes."

A hint of sadness enters the spiked spirit's voice, even if it was so brief, the blue eyed warrior could have thought he merely imagined it. Unexpected to hear from a warrior such as Thistleclaw, who's only emotions Ashfur had heard so far were anger and annoyance in varying degrees.

"Whitestorm never told us much of his parents. Or much in general... Brindleface raised us for the most part."

Ashfur's reply seems to not even register as Thistleclaw looks up into the black, starless sky. The same searching, almost longing gaze he saw on Thistleclaw last time.

"Bluefur got her own sibling killed on the thunderpath. Things were different after that. I tried to raise Whitepaw, raise him to be strong, but I failed. Bluestar took him from me, infected him with her weakness. I tried to raise my apprentice to be strong, Tigerpaw. I thought I succeeded in that... but he craved power more than strength. His need to prove himself better than his coward father made him a traitor in the end. Even there, my effort turned out wasted. As if it even matters in the end. The clan turned weak either way. Kitty-pet leader, kitty-pet warriors. The Thunderclan I served died a long time ago."

His gaze hardens into a fierce glare, still looking into the inky black sky. Fur spiked on end as he glares at a Silverpelt unseeable from here, claws unsheathed and digging into the ground. Ashfur observes his ancestor for a few moments, before looking back into the pond of dark water. A faint putrid odour arises from it, though the smell of rotting leaves mostly drowns it out.

"But, why are you here then? It's clear why Tigerstar would be here, but you? What did you do to be send here? You were loyal to your clan, it's clear you were proud to be such"

Ashfur's voice comes out more quietly than intended. Thistleclaw's tail lashes as his glare turns to his descendant. Ashfur fights the urge to shift away. Few as their meetings have been, he'd quickly been made to understand that Thistleclaw has both little hesitation with his claws and skill the Thunderclan tom can not compete with, not yet anyway. The scowl on the spiky furred spirit turns to a toothy snarl.

"I was not send here first. That was the final insult they dealt me. I WAS loyal to my clan. I hunted for it, fought for it, never betrayed it. I walked the hunting grounds of Starclan. I was at Snowfur's side agan, even if some of those so self-proclaimed 'wise ancestors' already disagreed with it back then. But when they foresaw that Bluestar had a role to play among them once she would die, they had to make sure she would not question it. They knew that would never happen with me there"

Thistleclaw's pelt by now bristled up enough to make him seem almost twice his size, even still lying down as he is. Raw fury burning behind his eyes, the likes of which could send a pack of badgers whimpering away. The only thing Ashfur could possibly compare it to was a fiercely blazing inferno, an all consuming fire, leaving naught but wrath, with a tone of voice to match.

"They CLAIMEd I needed to be judged anew for my deeds. My training in the Dark Forest, the way I protected Thunderclan, the way I stood for THEIR very code. The only selfish thing I ever did was trying to find a new mate in Spottedpaw, just to perhaps..."

Thistleclaw's voice lowers and turns slightly pensive for a heartbeat, before he fiercely shakes his head as if physically wanting to clear it of any notion of being wrong, violently rejecting the guilt this seems to hold, before continuing with the same fiery voice

"They condemned me for that as well. They claimed my heart was dark. They banished one of their own, a Starclan cat, to the Dark Forest. Away from Snowfur, this time forever. My pelt shone with the light of stars when I arrived here! Over moons it grew dimmer, until I became a full Dark Forest cat. Let that teach you of the 'grace' of Starclan. They care only for their own plots, bending their own rules as they please."

The old spirit seethes on, jaws clenched tightly enough that one could worry a few teeth might shatter in his snarl. His gaze is directed towards the barely visible reflection in the overly murky water, his tail thrashing back and forth. Though what he received as an answer certainly interests Ashfur, the last thing he wanted to do, among other reasons for his own safety, was bringing his ancestor to such fury. He can't help but wonder if that's all there is to the story. If in the brief time he's known his ancestor by now he learned anything, it's that Thistleclaw is fierce in just about anything he does. That along with his seemingly very strict ideals, it would not be too difficult to imagine that there could have been trouble. And what about Spottedpaw? If it's Spottedleaf he's talking of, she was a medicine cat. Someone who was as strict as Thistleclaw with the rules would certainly never try to be mates with a medicine cat... unless she only chose that path after his advances. The possible implications of that are worrying at best. Sure enough though, it is not a safe moment now to voice any of those thoughts. The Thunderclan warrior waits, wordlessly, without much motion, as slowly, very slowly, Thistleclaw's tail ceases lashing, his neck fuzz settles down again. As much as it was ever settled down at any rate. As the spirit lets out a loud nasal huff and rests his head on his front paws, Ashfur deems it safe enough to move again, resuming licking his newest wounds. Some of the blood has seeped into his fur by now, tinting it darker. Much longer and it would have begun to crust, would have been a much bigger hassle to get it cleaned off again. Seeming to notice the motion beside him, almost with slight surprise for a moment, Thistleclaw grumbles.

"Go on, get back to your clan. There won't be any more questions tonight. You got your answers, that is all you will receive."

Looking up from cleaning his wounds, Ashfur nods, though before he can get up, a noise grabs his attention. His ears perk up directed where it seemed to come from. A pained, rageful shout. Thistleclaw turns his head in the same direction with a quiet, yet deep hm

„Tigerstar is training."

Ashfur looks at Thistleclaw briefly before looking back in the direction of the shout. Too far to see from there, the dense undergrowth of leafless bushes of the Dark Forest not helping. It certainly wasn't Tigerstar's voice. Nor was it Brambleclaw or Hawkfrost. It was younger, in an odd way familiar sounding. Ashfur is certain he's heard such a shout before. But where? Slowly, the blue eyed warrior rises up.

„Don't think about it"

A warning grumble arises from Thistleclaw, who's turned his head just enough to glare at Ashfur from the edge of his vision.

„Not your business to poke your nose into. This isn't Thunderclan. You do not meddle in the affairs of other Dark Forest cats unasked. When he trains Brambleclaw, perhaps you can take a peek, because that is your reason for being here and I train you for it. Most have their own little territories here and wandering far is asking for trouble. A lot of cats easy to anger, with nothing better to do than hold grudges. And you know Tigerstar"

Ashfur nods, though his narrowed eyes shoot a lengthy glare over into the depths of the Dark Forest. A slow hiss escapes him as he slowly turns away from it, his blood feeling as if burning with anger as his thoughts center around the tabby in question. The mangled form of his fellow apprentice, the one nurturing parent he had partially devoured, his brother's mate disfigured…

„Yes, I do know Tigerstar…"

With a scoff, the warrior pads off at a little distance. He has not forgotten. Nor does he forget his kin. Hawkfrost plotting, playing his little games, Brambleclaw taking Squirrelflight. How could he forget. Perhaps if Thunderclan had seen that foxheart for what he was in time, they could have all been spared the rest. Ashfur could have been spared the rest. Sitting down, he shakes his head. Pointess… they didn't and the past can't be changed. No, he has to remain stalwart in his own endeavour. That must remain his focus, it is his only chance to right at least one of the wrongs. And for that, he needs rest, heal his wounds, train some more. Taking deep breaths, Ashfur attempts to calm himself, despite the mouldy smell ever lingering in the air here. He'll get there. He has Thistleclaw and Talon to aid him. Brambleclaw only has Tigerstar, it will not suffice to remain ahead.

Very slowly, a sense of calm returns to Ashfur and he lets himself fall into actual sleep, the dreary scenery of the Dark Forest falling away around him like droplets of rain off his fur. Patience. Soon enough, but for now patience and rest.