The lanky tom pushed through the entrance to the twoleg den, struggling to keep his fur flat as he ventured into unknown territory. Elmstrike held back a growl at the overwhelming scent of sickly sweet flowers, barely masking the scent of blood. Amber eyes widened in shock as a weak looking she-cat appeared, her words strong, but her voice and body weak and shaking. Giving a glance to Briarstep, Elmstrike pushed forward calmly, trying his best to not look like a threat.

"Hello there, my name is Elmstrike and this is my..." He paused, hesitating, "This is Briarstep, deputy of our clan. We're not here to hurt you. We're looking for something, and just have a few questions." The russet tom dipped his head respectfully, trying his best to look welcoming.

Elmstrike lifted his head slightly, noticing that, although this strange kittypet still seemed wary, she had calmed down somewhat. Stepping forward and giving her a thankful nod, Elmstrike entered a new area in the twoleg den, where the stench of blood grew stronger. Elmstrike realized the scent of blood was coming from a new feline, a siamese cat in a plush nest, with a shredded ear and a missing eye - both fresh. "Briarstep!" Elmstrike called, before turning back to the new cat.

As the tom was about to introduce himself, the siamese cat spoke.

"You're different, aren't you? I haven't smelled cats like you before. You smell of woodlands, earth and wild places. You're not like the rogues, whoever or whatever you are." Returning to her bed with a huff, Elmstrike realized how hard she tried to look threatening.

"The name is Leia, and whatever you want, I'm not helping." Her voice cracked with sorrow as she spoke."I've already lost an ear and an eye. I gave all I could and the rogues still took my kits from me. Make your request quickly. I have little patience, or energy, to entertain strangers in my home after everything that has happened."

Briarstep

Brairstep backed out of a low-hanging bush he had been inspecting, nearly bumping rump-first into his brother Elmstrike. He muttered a hasty apology. His heart still stinging from their last conversation at camp. He noted Elmstrike's lack of usual glibness and he grimaced, sensing the report was bad news.

"Old blood and stale scents. It's odd for a kittypet to leave home long enough for their scent to grow stale. Either they've abandoned their home, or they're too injured to make their usual rounds," Briarstep murmured. "I wonder if the blood belongs to the kittypet or their assailant. Their fate may not be a good one."

Briarstep trilled to the rest of the patrol, calling them together. "Elmstrike found evidence of a violent fight, and we'll need to investigate further. I don't smell the scent of decay or death, so it's likely the fight wasn't lethal. Perhaps Ken and Barbie's parents haven't wandered far, or are injured within." Briarstep mewed. "Let's venture inside, carefully. The scents of cats and twolegs are stale, and we may find more clues in the den." Briarstep gestured with a forepaw, indicating one patrol member ought to stay outside. "The rest of you come with me. We'll flee at the first sign of danger," he mewed before walking towards the flimsy catdoor flap and pushing his way inside.

Inside the Twoleg Den

The twoleg den was dark and quiet except for a vibrant bird's raucous cries, which flapped erratically around its cage as the patrol entered. Overwhelming floral scents wafted over the patrol, followed by the iron tang of old blood.

"Hello...?" a weak she-cat voice called from one of the rooms, toward the left. "Don't you come any closer you nasty cats! I-I'm no threat if you leave me and my family alone! But if you dare to touch anything I'll ... I'll show you! I'll fight you!" the unseen feline threatened, her voice shrill with panic. "Now, get out! Leave, or I'll take another chunk of cat pelt as a trophy!"

Talonperch

The Thunderclan Diva

Talonperch hung around near the front of the patrol, glad that Hawkstar was finally getting moving on getting these kits out of the camp. Some of them were going home to their families, but others... the tom just had a feeling that they might be gaining some new additions to the Thunderclan family.

As he pushed his way up the fence, his tail-fur snagged on a jutting splinter and he almost let out a yelp, his eyes watering as the fur snagged and stuck to the fence. Balancing himself atop the fence, his eyes widened at the sight of blood that Elmstrike had noticed. Oh, Starclan, they weren't looking for bodies now were they?!

Elmstrike huffed to himself at the back of the patrol, reluctant to be on a patrol of such a nature, but even less willing to kit-sit back at camp. Though, however, stressful kit-sitting could be, perhaps it would've been better than this tension. The russet tabby eyed his brother, Briarstep, from the back of the patrol, painfully aware of their last conversation having gone too far, unsheathing his claws unconsciously. It wasn't my fault, Elmstrike let out another huff at the thought, knowing full well it was his fault. Regardless, the lanky warrior's ego was far too large ever to admit that out loud, but leaving things unsaid had resulted in Elmstrike's obvious awkwardness around the deputy.

Waiting to hear back from the other side of the fence, the russet tom gracefully hopped onto the thin, ragged wood, before landing within its barriers. Listening to Briarstep's orders, Elmstrike gave him a tense nod, unable to bring himself to his usual mischievous behaviour, before turning and taking in a deep breath, allowing the scent of the two-leg place into his nose. From the corner of his eye, the warrior spotted scattered tufts of ginger fur, too small and disorderly to come from grooming, he decided. The familiar scent of blood rushed through his nostrils and Elmstrike followed the scent to the two-leg platform (patio) built in front of the den, where dried, dark red splotches of blood were revealed.

Lifting his head, Elmstrike was about to call the deputy's name when his eyes fell onto a small, flimsy, flap on the two-leg den, directly at his height. Carefully stalking forward, Elmstrike realized there was a faint kittypet smell coming from the flap, and a faint breeze that suggested it was an opening to the den, one specifically for a kittypet.

"Briarstep," Elmstrike grunted, just loud enough for his brother to hear. As the patrol approached, Elmstrike gestured towards the blood splotches, "There were tufts of ginger fur as well - obviously came from some sort of fight, and there's an entrance to the twoleg den with stale kittypet scent inside."