His grin quickly turned into yawns as Nightpaw and Flamepaw began their training. Every second night they would meet at the forest training hollow at moonhigh, escaping the camp through a small hole in the brambles of the apprentice den and skirting the edge of High Rocks until they got to open ground.

    To Nightpaw's surprise, Flamepaw turned out to be a patient, if over-bearing, mentor. He was very picky, calling the truth-teller's apprentice out on the smallest of mistakes: a paw out of place here, out of place tail there. Nightpaw struggled to keep his exasperation under control, stopping often to take deep breathes as Flamepaw pushed him harder and harder.

    By the third midnight training session, Nightpaw could keep himself balanced at all times, quick dodges and blows doing little to knock him off of his paws. The sixth session brought with it his first victory over Flamepaw, where he pinned him to the ground with a - perhaps not perfectly - executed leap-and-hold.

    A half moon into the training, the two toms could spend the entire night sparring, getting through twenty or thirty mock battles by the time the sun came up. Flamepaw still won more than two-thirds of their rounds, but Nightpaw slowly felt more and more confident - especially when he could finally defeat some of the other apprentices in training.

    "Well done," he heard Pigeonfang say as he let Wrenpaw up. The tabby apprentice licked her chest fur flat and shot him a knowing look.

    "You must have been practicing," Lionmask said approvingly. Nightpaw nodded, his eyes meeting Flamepaw's across the clearing.

    While Nightpaw's techniques now matched those of the other apprentices, Flamepaw's were nearing perfect. The ginger tom had grown in size and strength over the past half moon, attracting the attention of, first, the guardians and then of Dawnstar herself. Nightpaw saw the pale tortoiseshell watching his littermate often, a pride he found hard to place shining off of her. She even approached Flamepaw once or twice, which the tom made sure to boast about in the apprentice den.

    The other apprentices knew little of the two toms' escapades. Once or twice, Nightpaw caught Cinderpaw stirring as they left the den, but she never asked where they disappeared to. Both Shadepaw and Bramblepaw slept like rocks. Only Wrenpaw, who pushed Nightpaw to gain Flamepaw's help in the first place, knew of their extra training.

    "You two seem to be getting along much better," she commented as she padded through the undergrowth, Nightpaw in tow. After seeing Nightpaw's advances in battle, the mentors decided to pair him with Wrenpaw, the best hunter, to see if he could brush up on his hunting techniques. Both of the apprentices were delighted to hear the news, but made sure not to show it.

    "We spend every second night together," Nightpaw replied.

    She brushed her tail over his nose, causing him to sneeze. "You and I spend most days together hunting and we don't seem to get along any better."

    The tom purred. "That's because we already get along."

    "Do we really?" she said, amusement tinging her voice. "I hadn't noticed." Nightpaw, used to the she-cat's teasing, only flicked an ear.

    The two fell into a comfortable silence as they hunted, Wrenpaw's ears perked for any sign of prey. Nightpaw watched her, copying her actions, but could never beat her to pointing out a mouse or bird hiding in the snow-covered undergrowth. She let him practice his hunting crouch, cheering him up when the prey got away.

    They found themselves by the river, still coated in ice. The sun grew warmer every day, though snow still littered the earth and, on occasion, still fell from the skies. Nightpaw didn't like the feeling of dampness it brought, nor the way it made the earth underpaw soggy.

    Nightpaw stopped suddenly when the two reached the pool of water where the river ended. Looking out over the Deathwaters, he remembered his first time here with Hailwatcher. The waters of the pond remained free of ice; a rather unusual sight for leafbare.

    "Is that really what I look like?" The tom looked over at Wrenpaw, who sat at the pool's edge, peering into the water. Her copper eyes were round with wonder as she tilted her head this way and that, admiring her reflection.

    Nightpaw glanced at Wrenpaw's distortion in the pool's waves - a lithe brown tabby with long legs and tail, ears and eyes slightly too large for her face. She looked older all of a sudden, much more so than he remembered.

    Curiosity piqued, he stepped forward to stand beside her and saw his own shadow fall upon the water. His white-rimmed eyes stared back at him and he blinked as he realized he looked much more like Spiderthorn now. The training with Flamepaw had built up some muscle on his lean body and his shoulders were broader than he remembered.

    Wrenpaw leaned her head against his shoulder. "We look good together."

    His reflection blinked back at him. "We do."

    Another comfortable silence spread between them as they watched the waves mar their image.

    "What is this place, anyway?" Wrenpaw asked suddenly, moving to touch the water with her forepaw.

    "Deathwaters," Nightpaw replied and she withdrew her paw quickly.

    "Deathwaters?" she repeated, eyes growing wide.

    He nodded. "It used to be Moonwaters, back in the Old Life. The medicine cats would come here to speak with StarClan, and the leaders, too, when they received their nine lives."

    "Why does StarClan come to you in your dreams, then?"

    The question gave him pause. "I suppose it's because they've lost too much power. They've faded and no longer have the strength to make contact through the waters."

    "Have they visited you recently?" she asked in a hushed voice.

    "No."

    Hearing himself admit it out loud made the thought even more uncomfortable.

    //

    Worry at Sootstar's absence followed him like a cloud for the rest of the day. Was StarClan angry with him that they refused to make contact? Or had they faded to the point where contact was no longer possible? The thought made him curse himself for not having acted faster.

    After spending the entire afternoon pacing, Nightpaw decided to visit Cedarheart. It stood to reason that the healer, the equivalent of the Old Life's medicine cat here in DarkClan, might be able to give him advice and calm his racing mind. Maybe even Mothpaw would be able to help him.

    When he entered the medicine den, his hopes shattered.

    Spiderthorn turned his head and flicked an ear in greeting. At his paws lay the remains of the bird he just finished eating. Nightpaw dipped his head respectfully, noting that the healers' scents appeared stale.

    "What brings you to the healer?" the deputy asked. His flank and throat were still covered in cobwebs, the wounds of the deputy race not yet completely healed.

    "I think I may have pulled a muscle during training," Nightpaw replied smoothly.

    Spiderthorn cocked his head. "You certainly look like you've been doing more training."

    Nightpaw felt his pelt burn slightly at the recognition. "You look like you might be back to training soon."

    The older tom nodded, stretching his paws in front of him. "I certainly hope so."

    A silence descended upon them and Nightpaw shifted uncomfortably. He did not know what to say to his father, even though he had a thousand questions; the foremost featured his mother.

    "I think I'll come back when Cedarheart or Mothpaw are in," Nightpaw said, shaking the thoughts out of his head. "I hope you can get back to your duties soon."

    "That prisoner was quite the opponent." Spiderthorn shook his head at the memory, a wistfulness tugging at the corners of his jaws.

    The apprentice faltered, hit by the peculiarity of his father's statement. "I know," he replied. "I chose him."

    Unable to stand the tension any longer, he exited the den, leaving his usually calm and collected father absolutely flabbergasted.

    //

    Within the next quarter moon, Spiderthorn was back on his paws. Though many in the Clan were still bitter about his appointment as deputy, they followed his orders without complaint.

    A couple days later, it became apparent to Nightpaw why Dawnstar jumped in to save Spiderthorn. Sitting at the entrance to the nursery, he watched the pale tortoiseshell wrap her tail around four squirming bundles, pressing them closer to her. On the other side of the den, Thistleshade lay sleeping, belly ready to burst with her own kits.

    "Have you named them?" Hailwatcher asked. His tone carried impatience and Nightpaw noticed the coldness with which Dawnstar returned his question.

    "I have not. I'm waiting for Spiderthorn to return from his patrol."

    Hailwatcher gave the leader a skeptical look, but remained silent. Nightpaw shuffled his paws uncomfortably, increasingly aware of the fact that the kits at Dawnstar's belly were his half-littermates.

    He looked away, instead observing the caretakers as they went about their day. He realized he had never stopped to wonder what their duties included. Cherrypool seemed resigned as she went about clearing out the old moss, while Snowdapple kept her head down as she brought in freshkill for the two queens. Nightpaw caught the briefest of hateful glances directed at Dawnstar as the caretaker dropped a mouse before her.

    Spiderthorn arrived moments later, much to Nightpaw's relief, still limping slightly.

    "Finally," Dawnstar said, a hint of excitement in her voice. Spiderthorn settled beside her, gazing down at the squirming kits.

    "I thought we could name the grey tom Stormkit," Dawnstar began, brushing her tail lightly over the tom's back. Stormkit mewed loudly in protest.

    Spiderthorn nodded. "Beetlekit for the black she-kit." The pale tortoiseshell accepted the name with a flick of her tail and, seemingly eager to get the naming over with, the deputy added, "And Yewkit for the cream tom."

    Dawnstar purred. "What about the pale tortoiseshell?"

    All eyes turned to the little she-cat. She was the lastborn, and also the smallest, of the litter. For some reason, Nightpaw found it hard to look away from the kit.

    "I'm not sure," Spiderthorn said.

    All cats waited as the two new parents searched for a name.

    Spiderthorn spoke first, voice tentative. "How about Morningkit?"

    Nightpaw jumped back as Dawnstar's paw flashed through the air, aimed at Spiderthorn's shoulder. The tom, still sore from the deputy race, just managed to dodge her blow.

    "How dare you?!" she screeched. Nightpaw felt that the only thing keeping the DarkClan leader from launching herself at her deputy were the kits at her belly.

    Hailwatcher stepped between the two of them, as if shielding Spiderthorn from Dawnstar's crazed gaze. Nightpaw's eyes flicked between the three of them, mind completely clouded by confusion.

    "Lightkit," Dawnstar hissed finally. "Her name will be Lightkit." She glared at Spiderthorn, as if challenging him to disagree with her.

    "Lightkit it is," he said calmly.

    The blue and cream she-kit cried out as her father left the den and, once more, Nightpaw felt something draw him to her.

    //

    That night, as the truth-teller's apprentice tossed and turned in his nest, the echoing cries of Lightkit keeping him awake, a sudden commotion stirred the entire camp.

    Getting shakily to his paws, the tom wandered into the centre of camp, where half of DarkClan had already gathered. In their midst, to Nightpaw's surprise, stood a crazed Smoketalon, his right ear torn and blood dripping from gouges in his shoulder.

    "The prisoners," he gasped, sides heaving. "A group of rogues came and started attacking me as I guarded it. Lionmask's still there, holding them off, I need a patrol to fight them off."

    Nightpaw's heart pumped quickly as he remembered Roxanne's weight over his on the moors. Had she finally put her plan into action?

    Spiderthorn stepped up immediately. "I'll go. Rowanstorm, Newtfang, Shadowpelt, Flintmask, Oakshade, Pigeonfang, and Blackstrike with me." He rattled off the names quickly, picking out the Clan's best fighters.

    "And Flamepaw and Bramblepaw," he added as an afterthought. "Let's go."

    Nightpaw watched the patrol depart, Smoketalon moving to follow them. As the grey tom stumbled towards the entrance, he stepped before him.

    "Not you," the truth-teller's apprentice said. "You need to go see Cedarheart about those wounds. Spiderthorn and his patrol will take care of it."

    Smoketalon's eyes flashed but he did as the apprentice told him. Nightpaw felt a surge of power drift through him and he narrowed his eyes at the newest guardian's retreating form. Ever since replacing Spiderthorn as a guardian of truth, the tom had grown even more arrogant.

    "You'll be a fine truth-teller one day." Swallowstorm's soft voice pulled his attention away from Smoketalon. The black and white she-cat dipped her head to him before continuing. "Perhaps you could even change the Clan."

    Nightpaw heard the thinly veiled question behind her words and realized he had not spoken to the she-cat since the day he told her of StarClan's existence. She waited patiently for his response as he tried to find words that would mask his true meaning.

    "I haven't seen any signs that point to that day coming soon," he replied. "But, eventually, it will happen."

    She nodded, leaving him on his own in the centre of camp, awaiting the return of the battle patrol. He felt he had to, even as the rest of the Clan returned to their nests.

    The sun lit the High Rocks with an orange glow as dawn came. Nightpaw's eyelids drooped, but he held his place in the clearing. The sun was well over the horizon by the time the patrol returned, their tails drooping and fur matted with blood.

    Nightpaw stepped forward, suddenly fully awake, to receive Spiderthorn's report. Curiosity burned in his chest at the outcome of the battle; with a twinge of guilt, the apprentice realized he didn't know which side he was rooting for.

    "We chased them away," Spiderthorn said as cats swarmed the clearing. Hailwatcher settled beside Nightpaw to receive the news, while Dawnstar watched with narrowed eyes from the nursery.

    "They only managed to take one of the prisoners," Lionmask continued, breathing heavily. Nightpaw's felt his heart rise into his mouth. Roxanne's littermate.

    "But she wouldn't have been good fun in a race or execution anyway," Blackstrike added. "Just a small brown scrap of fur."

    His heart returned to his chest, but the guilt that replaced it weighed heavily.

    "And the rest of the prisoners?" he asked.

    "Safely contained," Lionmask said. "Those rogues won't be back for a while. We killed a number of them, though they got one of our own."

    The bloodied patrol parted to reveal the body of Flintmask, his grey fur soaked in red. Nightpaw blinked a couple of times, not sure whether he believed the scene. The same tom he saw defeat an opponent in three moves now lay dead before him.

    "Even the great fall," Hailwatcher said so quietly only Nightpaw could hear.

    For some reason, Nightpaw knew he didn't refer solely to the dead warrior.

// Lots happening in this chapter! Hailwatcher being cryptic, as always. I believe Dawnstar's past motives may be a little bit more clear now. Spiderthorn seems a little bit shaky, though, doesn't he? Flamepaw and Nightpaw seem to be getting along quite well. And Nightpaw and Wrenpaw's relationship is just blossoming.

Oh, and Flintmask is dead and Roxanne's littermate is still imprisoned. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyways, if you haven't had enough of DarkClan yet, I've entered the Clan into TwistedRealitySpace's Warrior Football League. If you haven't heard already, you create a team name and pick 10 cats (5 defense, 5 offense), with your leader as. team coach, and once there are 8 teams the game starts! So why not go check it out so we can have ourselves some friendly competition? (;

In addition to this, Blazestorm, ChronaLilly and I are taking part in WarriorsOfTheCentury's tournament! Follow the events and come cheer us on in their tournament book!