Aspenbark was dismayed when his claws did not draw blood – was he that weak? Certainly weak enough to not bother responding to Ripclaw’s comment. He rolled over. It was stupid to expose his belly, but he had to dodge Ripclaw’s blow. Quickly he flipped back over, crouching low. Slowly he began to see that Ripclaw didn’t intend to escape the tunnels; he’d have done it already if he wanted. Because I’m no obstacle, he thought bitterly. Ripclaw is just playing with me. Well, he wasn’t having that. He didn’t like to be played with.
He knew full well he was in danger of being killed by this tom, and danger always produces amazing results. In danger, you can do things you could never do out of it. Somehow Aspenbark felt his strength... it was there. At its lowest ebb, but there all the same. Determinedly he shot forward. If he was going to be killed now, he wanted to make sure Ripclaw had one last scar to remember him by. Raising his large paw, he aimed a good slash at Ripclaw’s head, and then darted in to grab his scruff.