Recap: Sunfeather is knocked up, Cariad must do his best to Act Normal (whatever passes for that in PureClan anyway) and NOW he's been spotted looking a little too cozy as a warrior by his scandalized sister. *shocked audience gasp* *that one guy in the audience makes that really weird sound*

For a moment all Cariad's delusions come to life.

He lifts his head, takes a surreptitious look at the trees all around him. The other warriors are still moving - sleekly, with that inborn malign grace Voletooth has yet to master - confident in their own abilities. They scoured every inch of this forest. Of course nothing is afoot - nothing here, without their permission, will so much as twitch now. But he swears there was something…. a sound, a presence. StarClan. He'll be as mad as Strongclaw before these cats are through with him.

It's only Rhydderch, he knows. The appearance of that foolish old tom has shaken him, stirring feelings he had left behind long ago in the city. It's something old in him, a part of him he needed in the city, but not here. Never here.

Cariad squares up his shoulders and moves along. He is being tested, quite thoroughly, and it won't do to fall down this far through the race. The Clan cats will notice a single hair out of place. If it's not something to them, well, then it must be nothing to him.

Still, he can't help but glance at Ru beside him. His steps are tender, corralled, but he's no worse for wear. For the moment. But there's a cell waiting for him the next forest over, and hungry apprentices, and a Clan of butchers. Ru has to know that. And he had to know he was too close to danger, so far from the city. And the city, Cariad thinks. He's confused. Of all the faces he might expect to see, marched right up to PureClan's doorstep, Ru's is the least of them. The hell is he doing so far from home? Dropping by for a conjugal visit? Cariad can't make sense of it (but he'd never been a stellar detective, and he'd left it to Khia to decode movements and motives).

He itches to beg Ru for answers; the army, his friends, Khia. Are they alive, are they still fighting? The insurgence could have collapsed, and Cariad wouldn't hear so much as one word about it.

Cariad looks again at Ru. The other tom stares straight ahead, nothing in his eyes, and won't meet his gaze. He is, as Cariad's never known him to be, silent.

Is he plotting escape?

The other warriors are unwary, confident of their supremacy over these two pitiful conquests, but they won't be lenient. Cariad is especially leery of Nettlecloud, who strides along at the head of the group with determined purpose. He had watched her take down the brown rogue with automated efficiency. Voletooth hadn't moved a muscle, hadn't even unsheathed his claws, before she had him cowed on the ground. That's not to say the others aren't threats; Thornstreak has the marks of a soldier, even though his muzzle is grey and his eyes are tired. Littlefrost is small, meek - likeable, even, and that's a rare trait for a Clanner - but he is a warrior, and that means he has killed.

Even as he watches, the Clanners begin to banter. This trip is routine for them.

Well, not routine, he considers. That would be a quick trip to city with half the Clan to maraud and murder as they will.

"Of course, Voletooth, you'll find that out," Thornstreak says. He has an unusually soft voice. "When my daughter kits."

Cariad feels his ears burning. Of course, on top of not really listening to the conversation, he had forgotten he was walking with Sunfeather's father. And her brother.

He says, "Err, yes," and hopes that will be enough.

Ahead, Nettlecloud looks disgruntled. "You should all be ankle-deep in litters by now. Where do you expect the next generation to spring from? Who will defend our ways when you're elders. Littlefrost?"

The little tabby, shuffling alongside the Tainted, looks unnerved. "Flutterwing isn't.. I mean, she doesn't-"

"I know," Nettlecloud says. "I had very little hope for her when I mentored her. I thought she would be the one to choke in her test… but she surprised me, for once. But the rest of you. The fact that we're repopulating with a Tainted, of all things."

And she throws a backward glance at Cariad, a little challenge in her eyes.

"Leave the boy alone. The rate at which your lot multiplied is, frankly, concerning," Thornstreak grumbles.

"You're just annoyed you have to remember the names of your many grandchildren," Nettlecloud replies. "You do, don't you?"

That shuts the old tom up.

Littlefrost glances over at Cariad, abjectly relieved the conversation seems to be over. Cariad shrugs. It is ironic that he, the bought-and-paid-for rebel, has turned to repopulating the ranks of his former enemy. And he's one of the few even attempting the fact.

Perhaps Nettlecloud's irritation is founded.

Nettlecloud gestures to the Tainted in their midst. "Well, at least this should shut up Dawnshadow's nasty little circle."

"I suppose," agrees Voletooth. They're not often on his mind, aside from the occasions when he consciously, laboriously avoids them in camp. He finds Nettlecloud looking back at him again. Perhaps she enjoys the riddle of the Tainted she cannot kill.

"I'll give you full credit for these two," she offers. There's nothing generous about her as she says it and refusal is slow to come to his lips.

"Well, if you'd like," Voletooth says. "Though I'm sure Thornstreak might object."

He just grunts.

The group crests a small hill, finding the forest thinning around them. They will cross the open plains, hurry through the pine forest and across the river, and finally make their way to the meadow. They will, if luck is on their side, be back well before dark.

"No one listens to Thornstreak," Nettlecloud says, leading them straight as an arrow towards home. "Not anymore."

They're all weary as they set foot in the meadow. The Tainted droop, exhausted by both their journey and their surging terror. Cariad has been tired by a day spent maintaining the constant facade of Voletooth - the loyal warrior, the one with questions or qualms.

But their fear is a collective: they all feel it, walking across the meadow, as they spy Morningstar waiting for them. It is so easy to be on edge around her now. She has instilled fear in them like a habit, and even the strangers they shepherd along can sense it.

Morningstar smiles with a wide and empty mouth.

"A success," she says loudly. "Why, I don't believe it."

"We're your servants," Nettlecloud replies, dipping her head. It is the politest thing Cariad has heard her say all day.

"Yes, Nettlecloud. You always do what you're told, don't you?" Morningstar says, with a cryptic expression that has become altogether too familiar on her face. "Even as you hate me for it."

Nettlecloud says nothing.

Morningstar seems to grow bored in an instant; her attention moves to the Tainted.

"Do you look familiar?" Morningstar asks Ru, "or is it just me?"

Cariad almost flinches. He'd been hoping Rhydderch might skate by, keep himself small and anonymous, miss the leader's attentions entirely, with any luck.

"You might be thinking of my relatives," Ru says cooly. "I have a few."

Only Cariad, standing right by him, seems to recognise his fear in the telling twitch of his jaw.

The leader laughs, lowly. "One of those. I might have known. You do have the Bayard's look."

Ru tries hard to mask his surprise, but Cariad must try harder. The name of that mercantile monster, emerging from Morningstar's mouth? His skin pricks uneasily. It's safe to assume that pair have done business before.

"Of course you've met my father. You're just his type." Rhydderch is speaking, still smooth, that silver tongue in perfect working order. Cariad is merely surprised he hadn't equipped it sooner, trying to talk his way out of a very certain life sentence.

Morningstar smirks. Whatever's been done to her, her ego has not sustained irreparable damage. "You talk well for a little city savage. Of course, you'll die soon."

Just as before, with Nettlecloud, Morningstar moves on. Cariad would be thankful for the shortness of her attention span, if she did not immediately zero in on him.

"You… Voletooth," she says, and ushers him aside. She forces him to walk a step ahead of her: he feels her eyes on his back like a weight, a twin set of burning coals. She brings him to the dusky shadows of the forest, stopping just short of its threshold. The others mill in the meadow, and the Tainted, unaware they should be savouring their last moments of fresh air, just look miserable.

Cariad looks up to meet her eyes. She is already staring at him.

"You're from the city," she begins. It's about as dumb a thing as Cariad has ever heard from her mouth.

"I was," he says quickly. "But I am a warrior now."

She narrows her eyes. "Useless. I don't need another warrior. I need someone with information. I want knowledge - not another dull brute taking up space in a den running out of room."

"I'm… not sure-"

"Voletooth," Morningstar snaps. There's more confidence uttered in his name now, as though she struggled to recall just the right one, and the fact that his has appeared to her in its totality is a relief.

He considers her, very carefully - there's no difference in her, only a slight softness around her edges that seems to blur as he looks, a thing that might be just the trick of the light. But he had seen her sitting, deathly still and unseeing, on the hill as the storm wove tangled threads of lighting through the sky. Morningstar is not unchanged, nor is she vulnerable, a thing now to be beaten. Cariad will have to conduct himself more carefully than ever, and elusivity is a thing that escapes him, most days.

"You came from the city. Perhaps not originally, but you have spent time there. Voletooth."

"I did…" he says, feeling the entrapment settle around him from all sides. "I don't know what you want to know. You've been there often enough yourself."

"Yes," she says, "but my head isn't warped by pretty little ideas of insurrection."

His mouth is quite dry. Still, he says, "You made me a warrior. So now consider me a warrior."

Morningstar eyes him: nothing is pleased in the quirk of her mouth or the twitch of her dismissive ear. "Too few do, certainly. But I will overlook the facts I know, quite damning things, really, if you can prove yourself loyal now. What do you know?" she croons.

"Nothing," he protests. He hears the wavering in his sincerity. She will have him, in a moment.

Morningstar sits, raises one paw, and flexes her claws as she begins to count. "You were first caught, quite literally, attempting to kidnap one of my own. A poor choice on your part. Your nasty companion made off an apprentice, whom I am quite happy to consider dead, but nevertheless I could have used the little germ in my plans. You fought a little too well in the assignment… almost as if you'd had more training than Volepaw. And my prized deputy ran away moons prior, you might know. Could that have something to do with it? Why, no, you wouldn't know.

"And… you're so close with my daughter. Delightful. Well, if you had seen what I did to my traitor son for the same crime, you might hesitate to look at her the way you do." She laughs, a small and dark sound. "Oh, I had forgotten who I was talking to. I can laugh a little at irony, even if it's misplaced."

He is bewildered, but more than that - afraid. He has never spoken the language of subjugation and extortion, but he recognises well its melody. And Morningstar has begun to move against his pair and their unborn children.

Morningstar lowers her paw, but they are still there, gleaming in the low light. A perfect, full set of claws, as wicked a sight as Cariad has ever seen.

But she begins smiling again. "Voletooth - that's a warrior's name, isn't it?"

"Yes. You did give it to me."

"While I wasn't there, all accounts suggested you were absent while the rogue mutiny was dispatched in camp. And that's your sacred duty, as a warrior. Dealing death to the unrepentant."

"I was away," he replies, with gritted teeth.

She turns her face from him. His unease grows when he realizes he is blind to her expressions, her microcosmic tells that give him the barest hint of an edge.

"Quite a litany. And I only really need one of those things to sanction your execution."

"I can't decide," Cariad says, electing to be bold, "if you're threatening me or Sunfeather."

The leader laughs again. He hates the sound. "Oh, Voletooth. One is much the same as the other, so long as you'll tell me what I ask of you. But if it matters, I suppose, I really have my sight set on your kits."

The move is too quick to register. Even Cariad, who passes himself off as a competent fighter, can't track her. She is a golden blur, gone in the passing of an instant, and the next sees her standing over him, claws sharp against his throat. He seems to be on the ground. He doesn't even remember falling.

"What'll it be, Voletooth?" she asks. "A little treachery, or a little death?"

He makes his mind up swiftly, with a speed most unusual to him.

"It's dead," he gasps. He sounds afraid; he really is. "What do you think the city could muster against you? I know you have grand schemes of rebellion in your head, and see scores of soldiers marching for your head, but how stupid you do think city cats really are? A little patch of sacrifice here and there - hell, it might even purge that neighbour you always hated - or one grand doomed gesture ten times more painful? And you weren't even here to see it fall."

"What do you mean?" For the first time, there is something slow and reluctant in her voice.

"That little rogue group you captured? That was it. Ten cats, twelve? It doesn't matter. They were the only ones mad enough to try it. Your Clan put it down, just like they were supposed to."

"But… Iceface," she says uncertainly.

He scoffs. Voletooth, it is decided, certainly doesn't lack for bravado. "Hah. You really think Dawnshadow wouldn't hide his body from you? She wants you afraid, on edge. You know that. She is your daughter. She'd never give up such an advantage to you."

Morningstar's claws finally fall away.

Cariad sits up. He brushes dirt from his pelt, trying hard not to look overly relieved. It must be on his face, anyway. "There you have it. Your rebellion."

"Such a small thing," she muses. Her gaze is turned quite away.

He can't say anything more; he can only wait for her to accept his facts or decry him. Either option may be equally likely.

The golden queen looks back to him at least. She seems contemplative, and Cariad can no longer read lines of violence in her eyes. Her thoughts have turned beyond him - she will decide for herself if he is right. But (and he knows it will be this way, that it was decided long ago) when the army comes calling… he will perhaps be the first corpse.

For now, though, his family is safe, and the ones he left behind might now have a chance.

It was the best he could do.

Abruptly, Morningstar turns back to the meadow. She returns quickly to the rest of the group and their paltry catch, while Cariad trots along at her heels like a thing leashed. The Tainted have already been subjected to the cave: they are gone from sight entirely, and Voletooth worries for Ru until he reminds himself, forcefully, that he has a use. From what he's gleaned, the Clan's supply of wretches and rogues has waned dramatically in the last year. Every ounce of blood will be measured, each act of cruelty checked against necessity. Ru might have it easier than most if he can weather the starvation.

"Watch the cave," Morningstar orders him. "The posted guard will be along shortly."

When she leaves, the others follow her uncertainly. Not Voletooth. He is quite alone in the meadow, except for the yawning cave mouth before him and its fresh new inhabitants.

Another test.

And this time it is one Cariad might fail.

He peers into the gloom. Anxiety spikes in him, memories rising unconsciously to the fore. He had been a captive here, once. Likely he is one still.

"Rhydderch," he hisses. He takes one step into the dark, but taking another feels too close to wrong, like brushing up against a danger he has already met and fled. He is quite unsure how he can wrangle Ru from their gasp, now, here, in the heart of PureClan, but perhaps he can give him some tools to try for himself.

And Ru's face appears in the darkness before him. A little ruffled, flustered on a slightly visible level, but fine. Mostly unharmed. That passes for lucky around PureClan.

"So you do know my name," he says. He sounds neither warm nor paternal, but Cariad can't fault him when some blame does lie with him. "I was beginning to wonder."

"What are you doing here?" Cariad exclaims. "So close to PureClan? So far from the city? What, have you gone mad?"

Ru ignores the jibe. "You've grown, Cariad. Can I still call you that? I suppose you have a new name now, a new identity, a new level of indoctrination in your head. Voletooth - wasn't that the particular mouthful you answered to?"

"It's still me," Cariad breathes back. "The same kit you took in, raised up, sold to the cause."

Ru looks down. "I did. I did do that."

"What's going on, Ru? Did something happen in the city?"

Perhaps he hadn't lied to Morningstar - perhaps he had told the truth without seeing it for what it was.

Rhydderch sticks him with a cool and level gaze. "You should get out of here, kid. Run if you can."

Unbidden, some small war of hope and fear stirs within him. Hope: the army. Fear: the army.

He glances over his shoulder. No guard yet, but his time grows shorter with every second that drags by.

"Are you gonna help me, or what?" Ru asks with a wry smile. "I could just slip by, no one would be the wiser."

"Wait, wait-" Cariad says, thinking about it. He could. He really could. "I have to know why you're here. Where's Khia? Etch, and the cousins? How could you leave them behind with the Bayard?"

"Etch… that wasn't me. That was Khia. She couldn't help herself anymore than she could others."

His heart beats faster at the thought of his sister, at knowing here stands before him someone who has seen her, heard her. But then his words take hold.

"Speak plainly," he snaps.

"And she would not accept the responsibility," Ru says. "Of Etch's death. In a puerile, twisted way, I think she laid the blame with me."

Cariad is silent. Whatever Khia has done, he is inclined to agree with her. Ru barters; he sells and trades, and he smiles and says drole things. He has never been good at heart, only self-serving. And the careful way he watched over Khia was always guided by some old threat that had been levied against him. If there's blame to be had, for all of them, Ru might deserve the lion's share.

"Please, Cariad," Ru says finally. "Just step aside. Let me out. You want me to take word back to the city? Talk to your friends, your girl? I can do it for you, Cariad, you know I will."

And now, for the first time, Cariad has leverage against him. Something Ru might want, the prize he has always valued above all else, even for one so adept at putting prices to faces. He always did hold his own life in high esteem.

But there's something Ru will tell him first.

"My sister." And he plants himself more firmly before the exit. The light goes from Ru's face as the shadow of Cariad falls heavy across him.

The older tom has the tinge of defeat about him. He has always caved to the higher power. That's just in his nature.

"What do you want to hear?" There is the barest strain in his voice, but Cariad hears it. "That I let her go? I let her be brave and stupid and reckless, like she always wanted? That I LET HER DIE?"

"And did you?" He doesn't feel the words leave his mouth. He is all cold.

"YES!"

In him, now, is the chill, in the space where he might rage and scream and grieve. A pain that is all numb and cutting - but the blade is so sharp he does not feel its touch. He might bleed to death, in this way, without even the sensation of blood spilled.

"Please, Cariad, don't leave me here to die, don't let them have me! They will kill me, Cariad, they'll hurt me - I don't want that, please, I don't want to die!"

He is sobbing; ugly sounds, cowardly sounds.

"I'm scared, please, please!"

"I'll kill you myself," he says.

And still, he doesn't. The new guard has come striding across the meadow like deliverance. Voletooth has passed his test. It doesn't matter who slits Ru's throat, only that it will be done, and soon.

Voletooth turns his back, clears his mind, and leaves.