Cranepaw didn't dream anymore.

He woke from the darkness well before his peers, while the world was still wrapped in soft silence. His muscles were sore from the day before, and his mouth was stained with the last of yesterday's kill, the bloody aftertaste thick on his tongue.

Still, his nest held no more warmth, so he got to his gangly legs and padded out into the vacant camp.

The stars were long gone, with the moon just opposite of him, eager to sink below the opposite banks and sleep. The shadows of trees and sky both held the same, dusky color, an off-black with only faint hints of brown. The birds, which usually swarmed the branches in the morning, were likely fast asleep as his clanmates.

Cranepaw padded to the freshkill pile, which lay not far from the warriors den in the center of camp. Remembering his mentor's warnings not to eat to excess (which meant a good meal, knowing her), he grabbed a small mouse and bit in. The flavor was poor, and the prey was little more than bones and stale, dry flesh.

He choked a few bites down, no more full than he had been before. His resolve gave way as he noticed a swollen squirrel stretched out in the middle of the pile, which he dragged out by the tail and dug into, the rich flavor running over his tongue with the lifeblood. He could almost imagine the nuts the squirrel had been feasting on, and he felt his belly warm with prey.

"Creekpaw."

The young tom turned in the dark, eyes wide and gaze haunted. "I didn't- it's just a little, I-" he stuttered, backing away from the freshkill, only to bump right into his sister.

"Relax. It's just me." Leapingpaw reassured him.

"You're up early." Cranepaw's ears perked and he regained his composure, licking the rest of his meal from his teeth.

Leapingpaw tilted her head. "You do realize I'm being assessed as well, don't you? For StarClan's sake, we're littermates."

"Right," Cranepaw said. "So, should they be up soon?"

"They? You mean the mentors and Dewstar? I think they're up already, Martenpaw claims he saw them head up the hill not long ago."

"Yes, and they're heading back this way now." Martenpaw stood to Leapingpaw's right, nudging the slim apprentice. "Are you ready?"

Leapingpaw dipped her head, trying to hide her excitement. "As much as I'll ever be. I know Cranepaw is, though. With all the training he's done, he must be itching for it by now."

Cranepaw was staring past them at the shadowy shapes up the hill. "Sure," he said, his heartbeat racing. The moment of truth was upon them now, there was no denying that.

The mentors entered camp with Ottersoul and Dewstar at the head in all their regal formality. The two stood before the apprentices, with the mentors fanning out into a full semicircle. Leapingpaw and Martenpaw exchanged brief, meaningful glances with Pikeshadow and Rowanscratch.

Creekrush's eyes were full of ice. Cranepaw dipped his head to her. "I won't disappoint you," he murmured beneath his breath.

He thought he caught a glimpse of warmth in her expression as she mewed, "I know." yet he could not shake a sense of dread.

Dewstar looked over all the assembled cats, flicking his tail for silence. "Cranepaw, Leapingpaw, Martenpaw... You three have proved your worth several times over. As such, I advise you not to worry. However, if you do slack off, we will have to delay your ceremony, so I still insist that you give it your all-"

"Do your best," interjected Ottersoul, with a sharp glance at Dewstar. "That's all he's trying to say."

Dewstar nodded briefly, trying to regain his dignity. "I suppose so. Now, you'd best be off. We'll send warriors to make sure you're on track. They won't be your mentors, so don't expect any help."

Creekrush was one of the only cats in the clan Cranepaw was sure he couldn't expect help from. She made sure to remind him with another furious sideways glance, as if she was more appalled at the notion of her apprentice cheating than the actual act.

"We also ask you three remain separate- this is not a team exercise, it is a test of individual prowess." Dewstar paused. "What are you waiting for, then? Go on! Best of luck to all three of you."

"I'm taking the area near the hill camp." Leapingpaw informed Martenpaw. "Just thought you should know. Cranepaw, where are you going?"

"River," he replied, after a brief moment of reflection. It was where he'd trained most, and a nod from Creekrush showed that she approved. Cranepaw's heart flooded with warmth and he went on his way, leaving the awakening camp behind and disappearing far into the shadows of the early morning.

His wiry fur blew up in the faint morning breezes as he trotted along the river bank, searching for the rich inlet where he'd been just days ago. The sky was now a glorious mix of pinks and golds, laid out before him from here to the other side of the river. It glinted off the rocks and the colors and scent of the river had turned almost fantastical, though he had no time to enjoy it.

His legs shook as he thought of his trial ahead, recalling Dewstar's suggestion to the lot of them not to worry. Maybe the other two were secure in their place, but he had more than a potential ceremony to worry about. He had to think about his position in his camp, his very right to stand alongside his mentor, his future-

The present fell behind him as he picked up the pace, stumbling down to the inlet that seemed to withdraw like an inwards breath before coming out not far ahead. The water was just deep enough for young fish, and already a few frogs were croaking their displeasure to the pastel sky above, unaware that their clamor would only hasten their immediate deaths.

Cranepaw pulled into a crouch with soundless grace, hunting more like an owl than his namesake bird. The prey would never know he was there until his teeth found flesh, and his streamlined pounces hadn't lost him a catch in a quarter moon.

"No, not like that. You need to be lower." snapped a voice above him.

"Like this?" A younger Cranepaw squatted down into a strange, splayed crouch, with his too-long legs sending him in every direction. He looked up at his new mentor with expectation in his eyes.

"Closer." Her mew was no kinder than her earlier rebuke. Cranepaw's ears flattened. "We'll go hunting tomorrow, though, and you'll see what I mean. The prey will not be forgiving as the leaf in front of you, do you understand?"
Cranepaw nodded. "Whatever I can do."

"Good attitude, though." Creekrush's bright eyes were upon him now, the gaze made him shiver. "We'll make something of you yet."

Cranepaw brushed the memories from his mind, seizing upon a frog and placing it in an indent in the clay not too far from the shore, just past the high tide line. He expected to see it buried by sunhigh, just around what he'd do in practice.

His soreness gnawed at him as he cleaned out the inlet, slapping fish and frogs onto the pile with quiet distaste in his eyes. It wasn't a bad day, by any means, but the fish were painfully small and the frogs, curled against each other and coated in slime, appeared unappetizing.

Back to work.

His muscles, fatigued or otherwise, shot into action and struck down the last of the prey foolish enough to stick around. It was simplicity itself, it was routine. Most of the wildlife had fled the area, save for him, which Creekrush had warned him about, but his legs trembled at the thought of exhausting his stamina on the hills with land prey.

The sun, sympathetic but on the whole unable to do much of anything, shone down on his nicked ear and the silvery scales of his mounting prey pile.

He had hungered for the first time about two moons in. The sun was soaring towards the other bank, well past sunhigh, and Cranepaw felt his stomach rumble for the third time that day.

Creekrush walked ahead, scanning the river with the intensity of a hawk. Her paws were caked in a thin layer of sand from burying the results of their last hunt.

Her gaze lifted to the other side of the river, and Cranepaw had the uneasy sensation she was thinking about sinking her claws into something more than prey. She had every reason to be upset, given her history, but he had never heard her mention RyeClan once.

"I-" Cranepaw said, hesitating.

"Yes?" Her hawk glare turned on him and his blood went cold.

"Will we be going back to camp for food?" He felt his resolve waver but managed to choke out the last few words.

"At sundown, yes."

"But I-"

It was so quick he hardly processed what had happened. One second she was there and the next second there was a flash of fur, a nick in his ear, and a bright stinging that seemed to go on forever, higher and higher. "You'll eat when I say you can eat." Creekrush turned in a circle about him and Cranepaw heard little but the ringing in his ears. He took a soft breath, steeled himself, and walked back to the riverside, legs still shaking. He hated the way his skinny body trembled. He felt himself seething to get out of his own skin, the only real sensation in the world the feel of blood trickling down his face.

They returned at sundown and he could barely eat anything.

"Where'd you get the dip in your ear?" asked Leapingpaw, eyes wide.

"A pike," lied Cranepaw.

"You fought a pike?!" asked Leapingpaw.

No, but Creekrush had. She still had the scars running up her side from the monster's teeth, where the bastard had gotten away.

That was not long before Cranepaw stopped talking to Leapingpaw. She asked too many questions.

Cranepaw looked the river, the inlet exhausted, then back at his freshkill pile. The fish began to stare up at him, mouths wide in dismay. His ear was ringing again, the pile was too small, his muscles ached, the pile was already petty... one bite couldn't hurt... he had to eat something before sundown. He was starving like a kit again.

"Are you going to let the river win? Cranepaw, we carved this land out in the aftermath of a bloody battle! If you want to amount to anything, you must fight. In life, in hunting, in your voyage upwards through this clan- I can make you a great warrior, but if you're not willing to lend me your full strength, then you're never going to get there. Do you understand? Do you understand?"

His mentor's voice rung in his ears as if she was still there. He found himself inches from the freshkill pile, their glinting scales like an invitation. He could sense Creekrush's presence, her scent, all about him in the air, and his breathing raised as panic rose inside of him.

"I'm trying!" Cranepaw sobbed aloud, embarrassment turning the mew into a high whine. "I'm trying, I'm trying, I swear I'm trying..."

The pile of dead fish stared back at him, baring an answer. There had to be something he could do to prove to the clan he was worth being a warrior, to prove his worthiness to her.

His stomach growled. Behind him, deep in the throes of the river, a distant splash caught his ears. There was a pike on the prowl, and it was hungry.

His nicked ear stung.

Cranepaw, trembling, threw a fish into the water, where it lay with dead eyes just inches from the trout, just within his reach.

For a second, even the birds ceased to speak.

The trout snapped and lunged for it, the water red with blood.

Cranepaw stepped out towards the river, sunset light wild in his eyes, and pulled back into that taut, perfect crouch. The pike was half done with its own meal when he lunged, a shrill cry of pain in his throat.

The pike swiped him away and Cranepaw stumbled in the water, paws reaching out for ground to find none. He was past the drop off, and the sharp current began to tug at his fur. The pike, satisfied with its meal, snapped a few times before deserting the apprentice, who struggled and thrashed to keep his head above water. The currents tugged at his back paws, furious at his insolence, and he felt himself go under.

He bore himself up only for his skimpy legs to fail him again as he tumbled about, unable to hold himself above the rapids. The darkness of the river took him again and he spat bubbles, calling out without a soul to hear him, and in his dizzy haze he could hear his mentor's voice crying out to him:

Get up! Get up! Get-

There was another splash and the desperate call of another cat. Someone had him by the scruff. A tabby cat pulled him up onto shore, a warrior Cranepaw was unfamiliar with.

"Why don't you know how to swim?!" Mackerelfang demanded, incredulous. "Why couldn't you swim?"

Cranepaw flinched, hardly able to shy away from the tom's anger. "I can!" he insisted, "Just not in the river. I had to go for the pike. I had to! I- I was so close- please, you can't mark me down." His breath was giving out again now, his words coming out in a slurred mumble. "I can't fail. I can't. I can't-"

Mackerelfang looked at him with an expression Cranepaw couldn't place, though whatever it was, it definitely wasn't anger. "I'll tell them you were diving for a fish and you got wet." He looked back over at Cranepaw's pile, which was now on the opposite side of the inlet from them. "Stars, they should have made you a warrior moons ago."

"I wasn't ready." Cranepaw insisted, voice a hoarse whisper.

"Says who? Surely no one with eyes." Mackerelfang continued, "You're not going to need to go to the medic- er, medicine den, will you?"

Cranepaw shook his head. He'd been held underwater before.

"Alright. We'd best get started then- it'll take us from now until the ceremony to get back all this prey."