Cherryhawk
I went about my duties like all of the other cats, doing everything I could to be a good warrior, to earn my place in my Clan. Being a good cat was necessary. Being proper was life. The cats that blended in and did as they were told were the cats that survived. The majority of those that strived for power or change were the ones that got killed. The ones that blended in and were forgotten could be totally ignored.
Sometimes the other cats asked me why I was the way I was. It never really seemed to be scornful, except that one time when Featherpelt had asked me why I was a freak. I only told them that that was how rogues were. They never seemed to believe me. They had met other rogues, different rogues- rogues who would fight for anything at the drop of a whisker. I could never be one of those rogues. Sure, they ate better, but they also got stomped into the ground more often. I was alive. Many of them weren't.
Often, when I was lying in my den, I thought about my old life. I longed for the years when I was a young kit, knowing nothing of the hardships that were life. I had just played in the grass and tried to catch butterflies. My heart yearned for my mother, who had done so much to preserve my innocence. She knew I could take care of myself when she left, but I wish she had underestimated me. I wished she was still with me, ever unwilling to leave behind her kit. I needed a standing stone or I would slip, I would stand up, I would be destroyed like so many others. All of the wars cats being crushed one step out of line and he'll kill you kill you The thoughts kept racing through my mind and I shuddered.
A yowl sounded from outside my den. I had two options. I could go out and fight for my Clanmates, protecting what I was supposed to do. Or I could pretend to be asleep, never being noticed. My black pelt would blend in nicely with the night. I opted for the later option. Nobody would know that I was just pretending; they couldn't prove anything. I lay in my den silently, hearing the caterwauls from outside but unsure of what was happening. Fighting for somebody else was too dangerous.
When I finally worked up the courage to go outside, finally certain that all of the other cats were gone, I was met by a mess. Nearly all of my Clanmates had been slain in battle. My cowardice struck my conscience, but I knew that pain would fade. I would rather be a scoundrel than be dead. My main problem wasn't that I had abandoned my Clanmates, though. Now that they had died, I was all alone. I was out of line. I had become the minority, the one that needed to be crushed. And I was surrounded by enemies all throughout the forest.