The pine-scented air of the training hollow hung heavy as twilight bled into the forest. Ironheart crouched low, paws sinking into the damp earth, his muscles coiled like a spring beneath his ash-gray pelt. Ivypool circled him, her silver-striped fur rippling like moonlight on water, her amber eyes sharp enough to pierce stone.

"Faster!" she hissed, a shadow blurring into motion. Her claws flashed, slicing so close to his ear that he felt the wind of their passing. Ironheart twisted, kicking up mud and dead leaves as he scrambled sideways, but her paw hooked his hind leg, sending him sprawling. The forest floor rushed up to meet him, the taste of soil bitter on his tongue.

"Pathetic," Ivypool spat, though her voice lacked true malice. It was colder, harder—the voice of a warrior who'd danced with shadows in the Dark Forest and survived. "Warrior training may be behind you, but Ravenscar's rogues won't care about your ceremonies or your pride. They'll gut you where you stand if you move like a lumbering badger."

Ironheart hauled himself upright, his chest burning. The scar along his flank—a gift from a rogue's claws moons ago—itched like fire. Stealth, she'd said. As if he hadn't spent countless sunrises practicing stalking techniques until his paws bled. But Ivypool's gaze pinned him like a thrush beneath a hawk's talon. "You think like a warrior," she growled, her tail lashing. "But Ravenscar? He thinks like a monster. You must become the forest itself—the whisper in the bracken, the ripple in the stream."

A breeze stirred the ferns, carrying the distant reek of crow-food and rogues. Ironheart's throat tightened. Ravenscar's name alone was a storm cloud looming over ThunderClan, his rogues a blight on the territories. Ivypool's ears flicked toward the scent, her muzzle wrinkling. "Again," she ordered, her voice softer now, edged with something almost like regret. "And this time, breathe with the wind. Let it hide you."

Ironheart closed his eyes, letting the murmur of the pines seep into his bones. His paws shifted soundlessly, each step a ghost's touch, until even the beetles crawling through the moss stilled. Ivypool's whiskers twitched—approval, or merely surprise? He didn't dare hope.

"Better," she conceded at last, though her tone still carried the weight of leaf-bare frost. "But dawn comes soon. Ravenscar won't wait for you to be better."

Ironheart's claws unsheathed, digging into the soil. No, he thought, the memory of his shattered clanmates' cries echoing in his mind. And neither will I.

SCENEBREAK

The path back to camp blurred beneath my paws, the forest floor shifting like shadows as the last dregs of sunlight seeped through the pine canopy. My limbs ached as though I'd dragged a boulder from the Moonpool, each step heavier than the last. When I stumbled through the thorn tunnel, my tail caught on a claw of brambles, yanking me backward with a hiss. StarClan, even the forest fights me now.

Emberfall's broad shoulders snapped toward me first, his fiery pelt glowing like embers in the dimming light. Beside him, Shadowpaw—small but sharp-eyed as a sparrowhawk—pricked his ears, his gaze darting over my mud-streaked fur. "You okay?" he asked, his voice still carrying the high pitch of youth, though his tone was all warrior.

I forced my trembling legs to still. "Yeah," I rasped, flicking a clump of moss from my flank. "Just thorns and pride bruised." My attempt at a smile felt as thin as ice on a lateleaf puddle.

Emberfall's amber eyes narrowed, seeing through the lie as easily as sunlight through birch leaves. Without a word, he padded closer, the warmth of his pelt radiating like a hearth. I sagged, my bravado crumbling. "Wanna cuddle?" I muttered, the plea slipping out before I could swallow it. "I need someone to... y'know. Wash the wounds. Properly."

A rumble shook Emberfall's chest, deep and rich as thunder rolling over the moors. "Of course, little brother," he purred, nudging my forehead with his muzzle. His tongue rasped over the gash on my shoulder, rough but gentle, as if smoothing the edges of a storm. "But next time," he added between licks, "try not to duel the brambles and your common sense."

Shadowpaw snorted, though his worry lingered in the twitch of his tail. "I'll fetch marigold," he chirped, darting toward the medicine den.

I leaned into Emberfall's steady rhythm, the sting of Ivypool's words, the ache of Ravenscar's looming shadow, softening beneath his care. The camp breathed around us—the murmur of the elder's tales, the crackle of fresh-kill in the pile—and for a heartbeat, the world felt less like a claw at my throat.

But as dusk settled, thick with the scent of pine and impending frost, Ravenscar's snarl echoed in my mind. Not yet, I thought, claws flexing. But soon.