EMBERPAW

    "Stop slowing us down, Emberpaw," Palethorn growled.

    Emberpaw snarled beneath her breath, but picked up her pace all the same. The already mundane task of border patrol, made even less enjoyable by her father's constant comments, seemed to weigh down her body, along with the rain.

    It pelted down around her in sheets, turning the ground into soft mud that sucked at her paws and threatened to take her over the edge of the cliff on her right. She had never seen this much rain in her life and prayed to StarClan she never would again.

    Picking up her pace, she pulled up alongside Silverhawk, who followed closely behind Beartooth and Palethorn. The silver she-cat's smirking face returned to its normal snooty look under Emberpaw's glare. The tortoiseshell apprentice turned away, attempting to ignore the insulting thoughts running through her mind.

    Her amber gaze landed on Beartooth, the only redeeming quality of this patrol. Ever since Sparrowstar's death, and Runningheart's disappearance as her mentor, the old tabby had taken it upon himself to continue Emberpaw's training. She found him to be a fair mentor, and one she got along with well.

    Runningheart she'd seen once or twice, usually resting in the warriors' den or nursery, where his mate, Mapleblossom, moved a couple of nights ago.

    Mapleblossom's pregnancy also, unfortunately, resulted in a change of mentor for Littlepaw and Beetlestar tiredly granted Palethorn's wish after a long, heated discussion. Though the pale tom screeched and shouted at Littlepaw during training, he always made sure to direct even more at Emberpaw. Even the highest praise from Beartooth couldn't withstand the onslaught of criticism.

    Sighing, the tortoiseshell realized she was falling behind again and moved to catch up, but stopped when the sound of voices reached her. Glancing at the patrol, which walked on as if no one had noticed her absence, she turned to follow the voices instead.

    A couple of foxlengths away from the cliff edge stood six tall red stones, their surfaces slippery from nearly a half moon of constant rain. Padding quietly over, Emberpaw pressed herself against the nearest one, sticking to its side as she circled it.

    The voices grew louder as she neared the other side and she halted, listening. The splashing sound of rain competed with the soft whispers, but their thoughts remained loud and clear, echoing their voices as they spoke.

    We must do something about this, there is no other way. If he agrees to the traitor's wishes, there will be a war, and wars only kill.

    Wars kill, but so do rebellions. We don't stand a chance either way.

    Smokie's right, Ash. We either die here or there.

    But a rebellion only takes us down with it, Brook. A war takes down the innocents of the Clan.

    Emberpaw's eyes widened and she inched forward slightly, catching sight of a grey pelt and a blue-grey tail before the cats began to speak again.

    "It's not safe to speak of rebellions, even this far away from camp." Close enough to hear them now, Emberpaw identified the speaker as the one they called Smokie.

    "It's not safe to speak of anything," another spat. "One word and he slits your throat."

    "Quiet! I think I heard something."

    The apprentice froze, cursing silently. From her vantage point, she could now see the tense forms of three cats, their eyes searching the tall rocks for signs of movement. The tortoiseshell waited, heart racing. Slowly, the strange cats relaxed, exchanging relieved glances.

    Then, a screech cut through the air and the unmistakeable scent of blood rose up around Emberpaw. Shrinking back from the scene, she pressed herself against the rock, willing herself to become invisible as the sounds of battle became louder and louder.

    Claws sliced through fur, teeth ripped through flesh. One of the cats yowled in pain while another gurgled out their last breath. The last one pleaded, its voice unheard by their attacker.

    Finally, the fighting stopped and the only sound to be heard was that of laboured breathing. Wet earth squelched as someone moved, circling around the battlefield. The tortoiseshell waited with baited breath as the paws moved towards her hiding spot. She refused to tremble, but the growing sense of fear invaded her chest all the same.

    She shifted backwards, hoping to keep silent, but the rain-soaked earth made this impossible. The pacing paws stopped and she heard the attacker sniffing at the air. A growl escaped them soon after and she knew her time was up.

    Emberpaw pushed herself away from the rocks, paws pounding against the earth as she headed in the direction of the cliffs, hoping to reach the rest of the border patrol. Behind her, heavy footsteps followed, growing louder as she lost speed, the mud sucking at her paws and the rain in her longer fur slowing her down.

    She screeched as fangs caught her tail, the claws she dug into the earth doing nothing to stop herself from being pulled back. This cat was strong, maybe even stronger than Beartooth, and her heart pounded in terror. She turned around all the same.

    Before her stood a giant ginger tom, paws and muzzle stained red with blood, a crazed look in his amber eyes. He bared his teeth in a sort of grin as he approached her and she shrank back, the exciting idea of battle turning sour in her mind.

    A paw flashed out and the tortoiseshell jumped out of its way just in time, landing clumsily on the slippery ground. She lunged out with her own, missing his nose by a mouselength. The growls in his chest growing, he leaped, landing just behind the apprentice.

    She turned much too slowly and his unsheathed claws caught her on the ear, then the shoulder and chest. Hissing, she tried to parry his blows, but he was too fast, too strong, and much too dangerous. His claws seemed much longer than those of her Clanmates, his eyes alight with a bloodlust she had never seen before.

    Emberpaw found herself reaching out with her thoughts, trying to find out what the tom's next move would be. If she knew what he was thinking, she might be able to dodge his blows and escape, or at least hold him off until the patrol came looking for her.

    She hit a wall, much like she did whenever she tried to infiltrate her father's thoughts, and, distracted by her useless plan, failed to notice the claws coming at her. They cut into her shoulder, breaking through fur and flesh and leaving behind a dark, ugly groove.

    Yowling in pain, she staggered away from the tom, ears pressed back and fangs bared. She could feel her strength waning as blood ran from the wound, but she threw herself at the stranger anyway in one last desperate effort to overpower him.

    He flipped her over easily, paws on either side of her head and sharp fangs flashing before her eyes. Belatedly, she realized her belly was exposed. Emberpaw snarled, refusing to close her eyes as the tom raised his paw to deal the final blow. If she died today, she would die a fighter.

    A sudden blur of brown and white took the weight of the ginger tom off of her suddenly, and she found it was much easier to breathe with him gone. Coughing, she rolled onto her paws, legs buckling under her as she put weight on her injured shoulder.

    "Emberpaw!" Silverhawk cried, running over to her. The silver warrior's fur bristled and her eyes were filled with alarm. Emberpaw nodded in return, surprised by how fast her heart was beating.

    The scene before her unfolded, a flurry of claws and teeth and fur. The ginger tom's strength matched that of both RockClan warriors, but he was alone, defending on two fronts, while Beartooth and Palethorn attacked simultaneously. He twisted towards the brown tabby first, slashing his claws over the tom's nose before turning to Palethorn and burying his teeth in his shoulder.

    Unsettled, Emberpaw moved to join the fray, but a sharp pain in her shoulder reminded her that she would be of no use to warriors as experienced as Beartooth and Palethorn. Next to her, Silverhawk stood rigid with fear.

    Beartooth continued to slash at the ginger tom's flank while Palethorn kept the stranger's claws and teeth busy, moving back and forth as he dodged the blows. Emberpaw's racing heart began to slow when she noticed the tom's paw slip in the mud beneath him and, all of a sudden, he lay on his back, the two RockClan warriors standing over him.

    "What are you doing on RockClan territory?" Palethorn growled.

    Getting rid of vermin. Emberpaw jumped as the words entered her head, the voice low and deep.

    "I wasn't aware someone owned this territory," the same voice said out loud.

    "The scent markers are clear," Beartooth said. "My question is, what sort of cat attacks one half their size?" He dug his claws deeper into the trespasser's chest as the tom moved to rise.

    His amber eyes turned to Emberpaw and she shrank back from the bloodlust in them. Palethorn's eyes followed the stranger's, hardening as they took in the tortoiseshell's frightened state.

    "A cat who is so used to killing he doesn't give it a second thought," the ginger tom snarled, baring his teeth into a grin as he continued to stare at Emberpaw. She bristled, pulling her ears back.

    "Then perhaps you will the next time, remembering how we spared your life," Beartooth continued. Palethorn gave the tabby an incredulous look, but at one nod from the older warrior relinquished his hold on the intruder.

    The ginger tom seemed equally surprised, rising to his paws carefully. The mud caking his fur did nothing to hide the thousands of scars that seemed to criss-cross his body, or the red stains that seemed as much part of him as his tabby stripes.

    "Silverhawk, help Emberpaw back to camp. Palethorn and I will handle..." Beartooth drifted off, glancing at the tom uncertainly.

    "Fire," the stranger replied. "My name is Fire."

    Emberpaw shivered as his eyes settled on her once more, dangerous flames flickering within otherwise cold, unfeeling orbs.

<<>> <<>> <<>> <<>> <<>>

    The smell of the medicine den had never been one Emberpaw liked. She wrinkled her nose whenever Otterheart or Pebblepaw walked by, the sweet and tangy scents that accompanied them making her feel dizzy.

    She fell to the floor of the den all the same, too tired and weak to complain or move anywhere else. Silverhawk left as soon as Otterheart appeared, leaving with one last scared look in the tortoiseshell's direction.

    "Emberpaw, what happened?" Otterheart gasped when she caught sight of the cut in the apprentice's shoulder.

    "Battle," Emberpaw mumbled, though she thought the cause of such a wound to be obvious.

    "Wait right here, I'll have something to fix you up with in no time." Otterheart whisked herself off to the medicine storage, leaving the apprentice wondering where in StarClan's name she would ever move without being able to stand on her own.

    The answer came in the form of another, smaller tortoiseshell.

    "Emberpaw?" Kestrelpaw's voice was soft and high-pitched with fear. Before the injured she-cat had a chance to respond, the other apprentice's fur was pressed against her own. Looking over, she found Kestrelpaw's blind eyes stretched wide, nose twitching as she inhaled the scent of blood.

    Emberpaw flinched away as Kestrelpaw accidentally touched her nose to the wound, but bit back her sharp-tongued remark. Had it been anyone else, a tongue-lashing was certain, but the blind apprentice had enough to worry about without another insult to add to it.

    "Who attacked you?" the she-cat asked quietly.

    "Just a loner I found crossing the border," Emberpaw replied, flicking an ear back. The memory of the battle filled her with disdain, especially when she remembered the terror she'd felt. If Whitepaw found out, he would never let her forget it.

    "Well, I'm glad you made it out alive," Kestrelpaw continued, settling back down beside Emberpaw.

    The older apprentice snorted. "If this wound doesn't kill me, that is." She shifted away from her, uncomfortable by how close the other tortoiseshell sat.

    Kestrelpaw shook her head. "It's deep, but I don't think you'll be joining StarClan yet." The certainty in her words made Emberpaw look at the young she-cat suspiciously. Kestrelpaw acted so much older than she appeared sometimes, yet Emberpaw still felt like she was helpless. It was why she watched over her, making sure the other apprentices didn't pick on her and helping her when she seemed lost. She herself remembered being that small and powerless.

    Pebblepaw arrived just then, bringing with him smells Emberpaw couldn't stand. Sneezing, she cursed the fact that she couldn't move on her own and that her head seemed far too heavy to move anyway.

    The dizziness grew stronger, her head falling forward. The thoughts of being weak and helpless returned as Kestrelpaw shifted closer again, keeping Emberpaw from collapsing.

    "She's losing too much blood!" she faintly heard someone say, but by that point it was too late to keep her heavy eyelids from falling shut. The darkness she fell into flickered like flames.