I own nothing, and these characters just popped into my head. Please message me if you notice any similarties to this piece to anothers.
Wildheart had known since he was an apprentice that there was something wrong with him. Perhaps wrong was a timid, soft word choice for describing himself. He racked his brain for a better word, and his mind slowly wrapped itself around a set of letters. He had heard this word to describe him before, and with the very edges of a sick smile turning his lips he whispered it to himself. He wasn't wrong, kits were wrong when they stayed up too late, cats were wrong when they forget where they buried their prey. He was disgusting.
His dark, solid sandy pelt maintained the downy fluff of a kit, and his size not much larger than one either. He had been standing next to best friend, Bluepaw, a solid colored silver-blue tom . Best friends by chance, by repetition, both toms and both young. Spending six moons holed up in the caverns of the nursery produced strong bonds between kits; bonds that were forged with milk and imagination. Clan leaders had been slain and dogs had been gutted in the deep hollows that were their forest, their meadow and river. Wildpaw remembered these voyages vividly, and had tried to converse with Bluepaw about them before their vigil took place.
Bluepaw had merely shrugged and muttered something about how it was kit's stuff to pretend. Wildpaw frowned; he loved remembering their journeys, and for Bluepaw to just shrug it off was saddening. His intellect and imagination had always been the strongest amongst the two friends, but as such Bluepaw was usually the victor in the hundreds of mock fights that had taken place between the two. Wildpaw shook his head quickly to get in to focus. As newly appointed apprentices it was their task, their duty to protect all of cats in their clan, a duty that Wildpaw found both empowering and terrifying. Lives were his to watch, from the eldest elder to the tiniest kit.
He took a spot guarding the main entrance to the camp, and locked his joints into place. He was prepared for everything, from a dog attack to fires that fell from Starclan, enemy clan attacks or perhaps a monster from the Thunderpath would come thundering through suddenly. Wildpaw's gaze flickered around, from the nursery to the entrance to the elders den and back, the three main marking points of the camp and the most important areas to stand watch over. On the 47th passage of his eyes, he met two cats who had not been there on the 46th.
Instantly his tail began to fluff, not in fear or anger, but in anxiety, nervousness. Snowpaw and Redpaw, a moon older than Bluepaw and himself, were walking side by side towards the apprentice's den. Snowpaw was aptly named; her soft, silk fur was as white as snow itself, and her pale, stagnant blue eyes shone clearly even as darkness had started to weave its way through the forest. Almost every cat in the clan, of every age, had a common agreement about Snowpaw; she was very, very beautiful. Something about the way she prowled around camp, how she would never move her eyes. If you were to the side of her, she would turn her whole head to address you; Wildpaw had never seen her eyes even quiver before.
Bluepaw would always talk about how gorgeous she was, about the things he would do to her. When Wildpaw asked him what things, Bluepaw gave him a confused glance. "You know…things." Bluepaw had said, and Wildpaw tilted his head to the side. He didn't understand what things Bluepaw was talking about, but the way Bluepaw talked them up they must be very, very important things.
Wildheart curled up tighter, an even distance between himself and all the other warriors of the warrior's den around him. Bluestripe snored loudly and shuffled in his sleep, causing Wildheart to smile. He shuddered, and tried to curl into himself to keep the cold out. He let out a sigh of defeat eventually, and allowed himself to sink back into the memory of him seeing Redpaw on his vigil.
Wildpaw's gaze quickly went from Snowpaw to her brother, Redpaw. His tail fluffed up more, and his fur bristled ever so slightly. He observed the lean, powerful muscles of Redpaw move underneath his sleek red-orange pelt. Wildpaw was one of the few who couldn't understand the jaw-dropping that occurred whenever Snowpaw walked by, because to him, her brother was much better looking. He was a handsome tom, nearly twice the size of Wildpaw, with flickering emerald eyes that always froze Wildpaw into place whenever their gazes met.
Redpaw muttered something to his sister and she laughed, keeping her head straight, eyes locked dead ahead. The flame colored tom looked around, first at Bluepaw, and then directly at Wildpaw. Wildpaw could feel his breath catch, his body tighten up even more than he had been standing, a flush of blood rush to his face. He was nervous, excited, anxious, determined and curious all at the same time and yet he could feel each separate emotion.
Redpaw spent much longer looking at him then at Bluepaw, and Wildpaw felt as though he would pass out soon from lack of oxygen. He maintained the stare, and tried to determine the emotions swimming behind the red tom's eyes. Wildpaw thought that he saw a curiosity in there, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking. An eternity had passed since Redpaw looked at him, and Wildpaw was sure another would pass if Snowpaw had not called out to her brother, who had stopped walking. Redpaw broke the hypnotic gaze, and immediately Wildpaw gasped for air, allowing some slack to return to his muscles. He watched Redpaw jog over to Snowpaw and into the apprentice's den, and felt his heartbeat return to normal.
Wildpaw went deep into thought. He glanced over at Bluepaw, and decided that he would talk to his friend tomorrow about why he thought Snowpaw was more attractive than Redpaw. Even the image that formed in his head of the red tom caused Wildpaw to feel excited, and he was sure that soon he would be put on a patrol with Redpaw. Maybe then he could attempt to say something to the tom.
Wildheart closed his eyes tightly, trying to will his younger self to feeling short of breath whenever he saw Snowpaw, and to gaze of Redpaw with indifference. To not be disgusting.