𐀔𐀔𐀔
“...scented them near the border again.”
“What are they still doing here? We made ourselves very clear: we don’t want them anywhere near Windclan territory, after what they did.”
Flutterpaw flattens her ears against the whispers of the returning dawn patrol, but her hearing is too sharp to drown them out. They make her stomach churn, and she noses unenthusiastically at her half-eaten rabbit, her appetite gone. She refuses to look up from her meal though, lest she make eye contact with Muddypatch: leader of that morning’s dawn patrol, and Daybriar’s first apprentice.
Flutterpaw hadn’t even been an apprentice for three moons before her life and routine had been torn away from her. She’d been nervous to begin her apprenticeship; her small stature, her clumsy paws, and her anxiety all seemed too great to bear on top of the responsibility of being an apprentice training to be a capable warrior. She’d strongly considered asking to train to be Windclan’s next medicine cat; she’d only discarded this idea when she’d realized just how self-sufficient a medicine cat had to be, and Flutterpaw was anything but.
But Daybriar had never been worried or upset by Flutterpaw’s shortcomings. Flutterpaw remembers well her first hunting lesson, how three failed pounces had left her empty-pawed. The other apprentices had snickered at Flutterpaw, and she’d bowed her head, curling into herself…
“Enough.” Daybriar’s voice had cut through the other apprentices’ giggling; not cold, exactly, but certainly not at all pleased with their behavior. The laughter had immediately ceased, but Daybriar’s attention had already shifted from them to Flutterpaw. They’d sat before their young apprentice and murmured a question, voice gentle:
“Who would you say is the best hunter in Windclan?”
Flutterpaw had blinked, confused by the seeming non sequitur - was this a trick question? - but she’d squeaked out: “Um, Hawkstrike…?”
Daybriar had nodded. “Most of the clan would agree with you, yes. How many failed attempts do you think it took before he caught his first prey?”
“Um…” Flutterpaw had shuffled her paws. “One?”
“Seven.”
Flutterpaw had gaped at her mentor. “Really?”
“Really,” Daybriar had purred, whiskers twitching with amusement. “We had our first hunting lesson together. I counted.”
“Then, um… what about you?”
“Not much better,” they had admitted. “It took me five tries to catch my first prey, and it was a rabbit that was already injured. Nothing very impressive.” They had brushed their tail along Flutterpaw’s small, skinny, shoulder. “The point is, just because you didn’t catch any prey today doesn’t mean you never will. You’re still young, still learning. Use what you learned from your failures today, and turn them into successes tomorrow.”
Daybriar’s kindness and encouragement - their belief - had stuck with Flutterpaw. Despite her misgivings, she’d thrown herself into her training. She was overjoyed to present her first catch to her mentor, and pleasantly surprised when Daybriar seemed doubly excited to celebrate it with her. She’d started to believe, under their mentorship, that she had true potential, that she could be a worthy warrior of Windclan after all.
And then the last time she’d seen her mentor was shell-shocked, covered in Hawkstrike’s blood, shrinking away from the angry yowls and jeers of the rest of Windclan.
Flutterpaw hadn’t slept that night, haunted by the image of her beloved mentor, head and tail drooping, padding out of the Windclan camp for the last time. She’d not been sure what to think, when Daybriar had stumbled into camp bearing their clanmate’s body, and so she’d remained completely silent, but the sun rose that morning on Flutterpaw’s certainty.
Daybriar’s exile had been a terrible mistake. But the rest of the clan didn’t see it that way.
𐀔𐀔𐀔
☼☼☼
Ordinarily, Daybriar wouldn’t mind being out in the open. They had always felt safe and secure on their territory, confident that they would be able to see any threats coming and have ample time to prepare and stand their ground. But that security had been shattered when Hawkstrike had attacked them, and their clanmates in turn had ousted them from their home. The stark, rolling moor feels different without Windclan’s borders surrounding them and their clanmates at their back. More like a threat to Daybriar’s safety, rather than a boon. So they keep each one of their senses sharp as they travel; not only for prey, but for potential predators as well.
They find the latter before the former.
A flash of movement catches Daybriar’s eye and, already on high alert, they crouch so they’re nearly flat to the ground, praying to Starclan that their dark tabby pelt will blend in with the long moor grasses. There’s a dark shape striding purposefully across the moor: another cat, Daybriar confirms with a longer look. They scent the air, and they’re more surprised than they probably should be, given where they are.
A Riverclan cat.
But wait - Daybriar hasn’t passed the border yet, they’re certain of it. They had been exceedingly cautious to make certain of that, aware that leaving their scent in or around Riverclan territory was liable to spark a skirmish between the two clans, putting their clanmates in danger. And anyway, they’re still surrounded by moor as far as the eye can see. What is a Riverclan warrior doing so far from their territory, alone?
Suspicion floods Daybriar’s mind, washing out their fear and hunger alike. They cautiously lift their tail, testing the direction of the breeze, before creeping around in an arc to place themself downwind of the Riverclan warrior. Once satisfied that they won’t be scented, Daybriar pulls themself forward, low like a snake and silent as an owl in the night. It’s necessary caution. Daybriar notices as they get closer the way the warrior’s ears are pricked, and their head swivels back and forth. They’re clearly on high alert.
Daybriar will have to be fast, to cover the last few fox-length between them. Good thing they’re a warrior of Windclan.
They launch into a leaping gait, their claws tearing up clumps of grass as they streak towards the warrior. Daybriar thinks the warrior might have noticed and started to turn about, but it doesn’t matter, because then Daybriar’s upon them and bowling them over with their superior weight.
Daybriar’s battle reflexes kick in, and they pin the warrior with ease, placing one paw on their chest and another over their exposed throat-
The blow that had taken Hawkstrike’s life was a merciless swipe of Daybriar’s claws across his throat. Daybriar had been shocked by how quickly and how copiously the blood had poured from the wound; for the short time he had remained alive, it had seemed like Hawkstrike was, too.
Daybriar shifts so that they’re pinning the warrior’s chest with both front paws, leaning their significant weight atop the other cat. Now that they’ve got the warrior pinned, struggling underpaw like a fish out of water, Daybriar realizes with a start that this isn’t just any old Riverclan warrior. It’s the deputy of Riverclan: Sunpool.
Daybriar doesn’t know Sunpool well at all, but they know of her: they’ve seen her at Gatherings for most of their lifetime. Sunpool had received her warrior name just a few moons before Daybriar had, so it had been a surprising and even controversial choice when she was named Riverclan’s deputy only a few seasons later. But Riverclan seemed to be prospering under Owlstar and Sunpool’s combined leadership; and, more importantly, they were leaving the other clans in peace. So Daybriar had no real issue with Sunpool - up until now.
They bring their face low, so that they’re eye-to-eye with Sunpool, and growl, “What in Starclan’s name do you think you’re doing here?”
☼☼☼
