The stillness at the Graywash didn’t last. A sudden gust tore through the reeds, bending the grass low as if something large had just passed through the air above them. Pebblepad froze mid-step, ears snapping upward, while Ashpad immediately shifted closer to him, tension tightening in his stance as the river’s surface rippled harder than before. From the far bank, movement flickered between the stones—too quick to be prey, too controlled to be wind. Fogtail appeared through the reeds moments later, breath slightly uneven from following them, her eyes locking instantly onto the opposite side of the Graywash. “Get back,” she ordered sharply, voice low but urgent. Pebblepad bristled, still trying to see. “What is it?” (Pebblepad) Ashpad didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the far bank, where shapes were beginning to gather just out of full sight—watching, waiting. “Someone’s there…” (Ashpad) Fogtail stepped closer, placing herself between the apprentices and the water. “Not someone. Multiple.” (Fogtail) A beat of silence followed—then a voice carried faintly across the rushing water. “You’ve been letting your borders slip, MistFen.” (unknown voice) Fogtail’s fur lifted instantly. “Show yourself!” (Fogtail) For a moment, nothing moved. Then, slowly, a figure stepped into view on the opposite bank—followed by another, and another behind them. Not MistFen-Vow. Not EmberFang-Pact. Not BrambleFell-Kin. Not GaleCrest-Sworn. Pebblepad’s ears flicked back as he realized what he was seeing. “Those aren’t clan cats…” (Pebblepad) Ashpad’s voice dropped. “Rogues…” (Ashpad) Fogtail’s expression hardened. “No.” (Fogtail) A final figure emerged behind the rogues, higher on the rocks, watching everything without a word—silent, still, unmistakably calculating. Far above, unseen by most, IronWrath had stopped merely watching. They were closer now.
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