A soft hiss left Graystripe's throat. You were a rogue on ThunderClan territory; as Clan deputy, it was Graystripe's job to defend that territory. The two of you circled each other, lips peeled back in matching snarls. “I don't want to hurt you,” Graystripe mewed slowly. His tail-tip flicked back and forth. “If you leave the territory now, I won't have to.”

His yellow eyes burn into your eyes. With every paw step, eight paws disturb the dirt; yours and his. Who will take the first swing?