RyeClan sent the messenger back with scratches.

Creekrush, who had been guarding the edge of camp while she ate, was one of the first to see him approach. She saw no need to have sent him, after all, all they had done was injure one of their less-capable warriors. Even then, the formality of announcing the battle was just a pretentious way of preserving their pride, one more way to spit in the other clan's eye by offering them fairness in the most backwards way possible. Creekrush had never seen the appeal in such a gesture, but if the two clans loved anything, it was to spit into the other's eye in the most polite way they could.

Already, there was a group amassing around Frogcall, who looked worse for wear for the journey. Every warrior on camp was on him and asking questions, with warriors yelling things like "Did you get into a fight?" or "What did they say? What did those foxhearts say?". Creekrush almost pitied him, the tom looked utterly overwhelmed.

"They plead guilty to almost everything I asked them about, but they say that our missing apprentices poisoned one of their clanmates moons prior, and have been stealing prey since." Frogcall said, unsteady on his paws. The dark warrior was sliced to shreds, skin visible in swathes across his flank, and though Bluepetal, half-recovered, stood at the ready, he stood his ground.

Drizzlemist cried, "It can't be true! They're saying this over Sleetpaw's bones. We ought to rip their coward hearts from their chests."

Dewstar stepped into the mob of cats who had crowded the young warrior. The group parted ways to let him in. His eyes hard as ice, he asked Frogcall, "Do they accept our call for a battle, to settle this?"

"Three day's time. At the river when the sun rises." repeated Frogcall. The words rang out, portentous in the ears of all who heard them.

Murmurs filled the clan, now mixed with cries of triumph, and Frogcall lifted his head before falling forwards into the dirt, his blood caking the earth. Several warriors helped rush him away, and the clan packed it in, together.

Several warriors crowded the outside, mainly the young. Creekrush was proud to find her apprentice was not among them, but his sister was. Leapingbranch sat next to Martentuft, concern in her eyes, while Mackerelfang watched the true beginnings of war with gritted teeth. Creekrush had never liked the lot of them, but division was a liability, which made them her problem. She skirted the edge and asked, "Are you all concerned about something?" and they scattered like birds.

Only Martentuft held his position. He was a few pawlengths taller than Creekrush, which irked her, and he spoke with a concerning lack of respect. "I am concerned about dying." he told her. "Given that we're all mortal here, I'd expect that you would be as well."

"Whoever dies for their clan never dies at all. Whoever lives against it has no life to speak of." She raised her voice, turning heads, and Martentuft shrunk away.

She could still see the fury turning in his eyes.

---

The cries of cats of both clans split the air, sending birds flying as they thundered over the banks. ds flying and stirring the water. They even shook the sun overhead, which rose and dyed the river red, its reflection shivering in the river as it loomed over the banks.

The two clans leapt forth from their banks, thrashing in the river as the first round of warriors closed on their foes' throats. Creekrush, one of the more adept swimmers, dove in ahead of her clanmates. A short, yellow tom flung himself at her, and she dodged to the side, letting him dash himself against the rocks, and swum for more promising prey.

While the others were just trying to enter the fray, her eyes locked with a ginger she-cat, and the two knew each other to be destined rivals at once. She surged through the water and flung herself upwards, and the two of them locked into perfect being at each other's sides. They pummeled each other into the water, rolling over and over each other, the she-cat's fur bright as the sun overhead as it shone beneath the water, glossy and short. Creekrush held her down, watching her jaws close and open in unspoken desperation, a bitter but necessary rush of adrenaline making its way up through both of their bodies. One of them felt the thrill of death, the other that of victory, and then the cat's paw knocked Creekrush aside.

Creekrush hit another wet body in the surf, standing on the rocks, and she contemplated dashing this stranger against the stones until her head split open. The she-cat had no plan to become the victim of such a crime and rose again, one eye half-closed and her body waterlogged, but nonetheless she soared through the air like a bird of prey. Creekrush watched with respectful envy as she slipped out of the way. The she-cat landed and turned, springing again, and flung up water just steps away from more battling cats, though their identities were irrelevant and their allegiance no longer meant a thing to either cat.

The she-cat swiped forwards, and Creekrush slammed her paw down in midair, the two of them properly fighting again, but Creekrush found herself forced back with every parry onto the shore. "My turf, now," the she-cat spit, and Creekrush's silver ears twitched. She remembered this cat, younger and bolder.

"It's you." snarled Creekrush. This was the she-cat who moons ago, in the waning days of the last war, she had fought and lost to on the border. Her underbelly burned, but an even deeper hunger arose when she remembered the last name she had heard of this ginger vixen- this was the cat who her brother had been taken by. "Oh, you're so lucky I don't tell your clanmates what you've done!"

Ramstrike's eyes widened with fear, confirming Creekrush's suspicions, and the she-cat flung her back in the water. The silver she-cat had expected such a move and held firm against the overwhelming might of her furious opponent, and the two of them sprung upwards, locking paws as they hissed and bit. They were a tangle of limbs, mixed loyalties and impure blood, and Creekrush found herself over the she-cat again. She had grown soft, the older warrior mused.

Ramstrike braced herself for death as Creekrush stared over her, eyes wild with vengeance and anticipation.

"I won't tell a soul," she promised. "Maybe then, they'll honor you as a hero in death."

Creekrush's stomach blazed with pain. The she-cat had forgotten to pin down her opponent's back paws, and Ramstrike had once again dug them into her underbelly. Creekrush cried out with pain, blood dripping from her as Ramstrike struggled to right herself in the surf, but the silver warrior was thrown aside again, this time by her own brother.

Lilystep's eyes, soft and wide, gleamed with pain as he cried, "Don't kill her!"

Creekrush threw him over, spitting out blood, and looked around for her missing adversary. She caught a glimpse of red fur by the trees, another ginger pelt by the water, but the second cat was most assuredly a tom. Once again, the battle had ended in a draw. Creekrush glared at her brother. "You worthless traitor!"

"Warriors don't kill," he whined.

"She does, for one thing." she spat. "For another, who taught you that?"

Lilystep lowered his ears and sprung back away. Creekrush darted through the battles, searching for another familiar face, and found her apprentice locked in combat with two RyeClan cats. They were giving him a time of it, prancing around him with grace as he swung blindly in their direction with nowhere near his usual efficiency in hunting or battle. The two cats were different in form, one much leggier and the other thick-set, and their silver and brown pelts were sodden down to the point they could hardly be distinguished from ShallowClan. It was an embarrassing show, but Creekrush was glad to end it. She swung a claw and hit the more slender apprentice, who tripped in the water, and her companion raced away as soon as he saw the older warrior. Cranewing batted at the other cat, who followed, and soon it was the two of them in a field of slowly receding RyeClan cats.

"I hate this." Cranewing said, his mouth filled with blood. "I hate this, I hate this, I hate this."

"You were born for it." responded Creekrush, closer to his ear than any warrior who had crossed him yet had been, and she saw his fur rise.

As if he had swallowed bitter freshkill, on the verge of rotting into crowfood, his expression shifted to that of discomfort, even agony. "I'll make you proud." he promised. "I'll- I'll do better."

"That's the spirit," she told him. "They're retreating. Make them flee like fish."

She followed him a ways off, searching for others, but her clan had most of the assailants handled. There were a few bodies lying facedown in the water, one more on the ShallowClan shore, but perhaps through the roar of blood in her ears she had heard no wails of grief.

She looked about and saw two cats not far from her, Mackerelfang and a striped tabby who looked near identical to him. Mackerelfang cried out with panic, but when he had an opening, did not even bother to fight back. In fact, it was hardly a battle at all. Creekrush's muscles ached to launch herself into this incompetent kit's battle, but she was interrupted by a loud, hearty voice cutting through the air.

"Retreat, RyeClan!" cried Owlstar, "We've won the day. Fall back!"

The ShallowClan warriors did not follow, but instead sat cheering on the banks. They formed a broken family, faces coated in old blood, and Mackerelfang broke from his aggressor, eyes full of fear. Creekrush caught a mutter pass between them and watched both toms run off before going to join Mackerelfang. "Do you know him?" she asked.

Mackerelfang looked ahead, vacant. This generation's inability to respect authority was going to become somewhat of a problem.

"Do you know him?!"

Mackerelfang's teeth grit. "No." he responded.

Creekrush flicked her tail, water flying from her pelt, and joined her clanmates up on the bank. She caught her trembling brother and her heart filled with hatred, though she said nothing, instead electing to look ahead towards the fleeing warriors of the other clan, who were going back for their dead.

"We won this one," Ottersoul said, incredulous. "We won, Dewstar."

There was no answer from the tom, who was nowhere to be found. One last body bobbed in the water, caught between rocks.

"Dewstar?"