Emberfall sat at the edge of the training hollow, her ginger pelt glowing like fire under the blazing sun. The air thrummed with cicadas, and the scent of dried oak leaves clung to the forest floor. A shadow rippled across her paws moments before Ivypool's voice cut through the stillness.

"Daydreaming again?"

The young apprentice startled, her fur bristling as she whipped around to face her mentor. "StarClan's whiskers, Ivypool! You move like a ghost!" She hastily smoothed her ruffled chest fur, her ears burning with embarrassment.

Ivypool's blue eyes glinted with mischief, her sleek silver-and-black pelt shimmering in the dappled light. "A ShadowClan scout wouldn't announce themselves with a yowl," she chided, though her tone softened. "But come—Ironheart and Oaksong are waiting at the thorn tunnel. WindClan's been sniffing near the border."

Emberfall's tail drooped. Her brother, Ironheart, would undoubtedly mock her for flinching, and her father, Oaksong, would fix her with that quiet, disappointed stare. Still, she rose and followed Ivypool through the camp, past the fresh-kill pile where Bumblestripe regaled the elders with tales of his latest catch.

Oaksong stood rigid by the tunnel, his broad shoulders flecked with scars from countless battles. Beside him, Ironheart paced, his dark tabby fur twitching with restless energy. "Finally," he huffed. "We'll be hunting crows by moonrise at this rate."

"Enough," Oaksong rumbled, silencing his son with a flick of his tail-tip. His gaze lingered on Emberfall, assessing. "Stay sharp. WindClan's left fresh scent markers near the stream."

As the patrol slipped into the forest, Emberfall glanced back at the sunlit camp one last time. Ivypool fell into step beside her, murmuring low enough for only her apprentice to hear: "Watch how Oaksong tests the wind. A true warrior smells trouble before it bites."

Emberfall nodded, her claws unsheathing as the thorn tunnel closed behind them. Somewhere ahead, the border—and whatever waited there—loomed.

SCENEBREAK

The WindClan border stretched before them, the moorland grasses swaying in the breeze like waves on a restless sea. Ivypool's sharp gaze swept the terrain, her silver-striped pelt rippling with tension. "Find anything?" she asked, her voice clipped but not unkind.

Emberfall shook her head, her jaw empty and her amber eyes narrowed in frustration. Beside her, Ironheart mirrored the motion, his dark tabby fur bristling. "I can't smell a thing thanks to that stench of that rogue," he muttered, his tone bitter as crow-food.

Oaksong, his broad shoulders and grizzled muzzle marking him as a seasoned warrior, flicked an ear in irritation. "Well, then you did smell something, fool," he retorted, padding over to the bushes where Ironheart had been sniffing. He leaned in, his nose twitching as he inhaled deeply. "Yes, this is a rogue, all right," he confirmed, his voice grim. "Though I can't place the scent."

Ivypool and Emberfall exchanged a glance, the unspoken weight of their shared concern passing between them. A rogue on ThunderClan territory—this wasn't just a nuisance. It was a threat.

Ironheart, however, looked distinctly uncomfortable. His ears flattened, and he shuffled his paws, his usual confidence replaced by something akin to guilt. Emberfall sidled up to him, her voice dropping to a whisper so the older cats wouldn't overhear. "Why do you look like someone clawed your ears off?"

Ironheart winced, his gaze darting to the ground. "I... might've let a cat in yesterday," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "She said she'd only speak to Bramblestar and then leave, but she's not here anymore."

Emberfall's eyes widened, her tail lashing once in disbelief. "You what?" she hissed, keeping her voice low but no less sharp. "You let a rogue into camp without telling anyone?"

Ironheart's guilt was palpable, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow. "She seemed... different," he defended weakly. "Not like the others. She said it was urgent."

Emberfall's gaze softened slightly, though her frustration remained. "Different or not, you should've told someone. What if she's working with Ravenscar?"

Ironheart's ears twitched, but he said nothing, his silence speaking volumes.

Ivypool's sharp voice cut through the tension. "Emberfall, Ironheart—stop gossiping like kits and help me track this scent. If there's a rogue on our territory, we need to find them. Now."

Emberfall shot Ironheart one last look—a mix of exasperation and concern—before turning to join Ivypool. The older warrior was already crouched low, her nose to the ground as she followed the faint trail.

Ironheart hesitated for a moment, his guilt warring with his determination. Then, with a quiet sigh, he followed, his paws moving swiftly to catch up.

The scent led them deeper into the forest, the shadows thickening as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The rogue's trail was faint, but it was there—a thread of danger woven into the fabric of their territory.

As they moved, Emberfall couldn't shake the unease coiling in her chest. A rogue in their camp. A rogue who'd spoken to Ironheart. A rogue who was now gone.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with the weight of secrets and the promise of trouble.