It seemed like the she-cat had become a formidable force in just a few short moons, strong enough to rival even her own 'mother' perhaps. And indeed, Fia Cendrillon was strong, terrifyingly strong, it seemed at times. The she-cat was a fiery one, born of pain and suffering, rescued by a demon and taught by the trials she was forced to endure in her youth, both before her captors' unfortunate deaths, and after she was thrust into a clan so different from everything else she knew. But she had adapted well, for the most part. Even so, she was a cat who one might desire to tiptoe around. Though she'd spent the majority of her life in DayClan as of now, she'd never quite shaken her tendencies for violence. As such, a poor loner, not too much older than herself, had fallen victim to her claws. They weren't dead, at least not yet, but they weren't in particularly good shape. The tom's golden fur was matted with blood, clawmarks trailing what seemed like every inch of his body, another one causing him to cry out every few moments for mercy, yet Fia showed no signs of stopping her torture. What purpose was there for it? Was there even any? Who knew, as the apprentice hardly spoke a word, instead listening to the tom's pain without so much as a twitch of the ears, her blazing eyes focused on the task at hand.