Featherpelt climbed out of the abandoned badger set, shivering as a cold breeze prickled her silver tabby pelt. The trees above her swayed against the wind, disposing a shower of leaves on the forest floor below. Featherpelt let out a hiss of annoyance as leaves and leaf bits fell on her pelt. Leaf-bare is coming. She thought with disgust.
Her stomach growled in reply.
After giving herself a quick grooming, she tasted the air, trying to pin point the different scents of prey. Her mouth watered as a whiff of mouse tickled her nostrils. She turned in the direction of its scent and groaned when she heard the tiny creature rustling in a patch of thorn bushes near a grassy clearing.
Prey is prey. her mentor Eagletail's voice echoed in her mind. She remembered him telling her that after complaining about catching a scrawny vole compared to Cloudpaw's plump rabbit. Eagletail – after scolding her for being ungrateful - reminded her that no matter how decrypted the prey appeared, fresh-kill was appreciated by all Clan members, especially during the hard season of leaf-bare.
Though the idea of ripping thorns out of her pelt for the rest of the day wasn't very appealing, Featherpelt dropped into a hunter's crouch and crept silently along the ground. As she neared the bush, a fat dormouse scrabbled into the clearing, oblivious to the predator in front of it. Licking her lips, she rocked back on her haunches and pounced on the tiny creature. It let a squeak of pain as her claws sunk into its soft, brown fur. She clasped her jaws around its neck, cutting off the noise.
"Breakfast," she purred, carrying her prize to a sunny spot in the chilling forest. She stretched out on a rock and began to eat her meal. As she chewed her food, memories of sharing meals with her friends flooded her mind. A sense of loneliness spread through her, making her lose her appetite.
I miss Thunderclan. she thought miserably, burying the mouse. She didn't want to attract foxes when it started to decompose. Then, to take her mind off her former home, she darted into the forest to freshen the scent markings of her territory.
Featherpelt had finished reinstating her borders by Sun High. She was about to return to her den when a warm wind brushed against her fur. "Just what I needed," she grumbled after smelling the sharp tang of rain. "A storm." Though the rogue wasn't hungry, she needed to hunt before the storm came. The last time a storm went through, it had lasted for three days. Though she had caught prey before in the rain, but it had poured constantly, making it impossible to find anything. She was starving by the time it cleared.
I won't be so foolish this time. She told herself. The chattering of a squirrel caught her attention. She stalked through the undergrowth until she spied the furry gray rodent, busily gnawing on an acorn. She was about to drop to her paws when her tail brushed against some low hanging ferns. The squirrel froze and glanced around the trees nervously. Featherpelt held her breath, silently cursing herself. Always keep your tail still, Eagletail had told her. The prey will hear you otherwise.
Fortunately, after a furtive glance around the trees, the squirrel returned to its nut. Featherpelt exhaled, then, resumed her hunt. As soon as it was within pouncing distance, she sprang into the air. The squirrel saw her too late. It tried to run, but the rogue was already on top of it. She snapped its neck, thanking Star Clan for her good luck. Then, she kicked dirt over her prey and sniffed the area for more potential prospects.
Her hunting proved to be a success. In addition to her squirrel, she managed to snag a plump pigeon and a scrawny vole. She shook her head at the vole as its appearance reminded her how close leaf-bare was.
Featherpelt collected her prey and began to transport the fresh-kill back to her den when a crack of lightning rippled across the now gray sky. She flinched as she had a flashback of that stormy day many seasons ago.
She and her sister Maplepaw were on a hunting assessment when they heard a clap of thunder. Featherpelt tried to warn her sister that they shouldn't be hunting near the trees with the upcoming storm, but Maplepaw retorted she wasn't her mentor and ran off to chase a squirrel up an aspen tree. Lightning struck that same tree. She remembered hearing a blood curdling scream and watched in horror as a Maplepaw tumbled out of the tree, dead. The squirrel was still clamped in her jaws.
Featherpelt recoiled at the memory and started to run back to the badger set. She didn't want to think about the thunder, Maplepaw, or the reason why she became a rogue in the first place. All she wanted to do was eat her fresh kill and sleep through this storm.
The sky darkened to where it was almost pitch black, and raindrops fell on her pelt. Mouse dung! She thought. The she cat increased her speed. In the process, she dropped her pigeon but didn't stop to get it. She hated to waste prey, but all she cared about was getting back to her den.
Featherpelt shivered as she raced through the forest. Freezing rain poured from the clouds, stinging her eyes and biting her fur. The wind picked up and pushed against her. She flew off the ground, forcing her to drop the remaining prey. The wind tossed her unceremoniously against a boulder, her head colliding with the stony surface. She rolled off the rock and crashed onto the forest floor. The spongy ground spun around her, making her feel dizzy and lightheaded. A warm sensation trickled down her head and into her eyes. Blood.
"Starclan, help me!" she cried while lying on the ground.
As if an answer, a voice yowled, "What are you doing out in the rain?"
Featherpelt turned her head weakly and squinted, trying to see through the hazy sheet of blood and rain. She made out the outline of a black tom looming over her.
"That's one wicked cut you got there," he mewed. Before she could reply, the stranger grabbed the scruff of her neck and dragged the she cat into a shallow cave located on the other side of the boulder.
The cave's interior was warm. The floor was lined in moss, giving it a cozy feeling. A stream ran along the backside of the cave, producing fresh, clean air. There was even a small fresh kill pile in the center of the cave. Featherpelt guessed this cat must have been part of a clan at some point.
The tom lowered her gently into a nest made of moss and feathers. It reminded her of the nest she had in the nursery back in Thunder Clan. "Thank you," she croaked.
The stranger dipped his head. "My pleasure. Get some rest. When you wake up, you can tell me what you were doing out in the rain," he remarked.
She managed a weak nod, for she was exhausted. "What's your name?"
He hesitated. "My name is…Night," the tom stated.
He's hiding something. she thought. Before she could call him out on it, she felt his tongue rasp against her cut. She flinched. "Stay still," he murmured. Featherpelt was about to protest, but the rhythmic licking lulled her into a deep sleep.
A clap of thunder startled Featherpelt into consciousness. She panicked at first when she didn't recognized her surroundings until she remembered yesterday's events. She sighed with relief and climbed out of the nest. Her head felt sticky and still throbbed in pain from squirmish with the wind, but it was more of a dull ache.
She shook fur out, getting rid of the feathers clinging to it. She sneezed as one floated onto her nose.
Movement rustled out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Night. "Morning," he greeted, licking a forepaw.
Featherpelt dipped her head to him in greeting. "Thanks for last night," she mewed.
"No problem," he said. "It's not every day I get visitors."
Featherpelt studied him. Night was a sturdy black tom with broad shoulders and powerful muscles. Gray hairs tinged Night's muzzle. Featherpelt figured if he had been a clan cat, he would be probably be close to joining the elders. His body was covered in scars, though his face remained unmarred. He must protect his face in battle. She thought. He doesn't even have a nicked ear. As she pondered this, he seemed vaguely familiar, though she had no recollection of ever meeting him.
Suddenly, her stomach growled. She groaned. Why didn't I eat that whole mouse yesterday?
Featherpelt glanced at Night, hoping he didn't hear that. Unfortunately, he did. "Would you like some fresh-kill?" he offered, nodding his head towards the fresh kill pile.
"Yes, please," she blurted.
Night's whiskers twitched as he padded over to the fresh kill pile and selected a rabbit. "Here." He laid it at her paws.
"Thanks," she said.
Before she could begin eating her rabbit, Night asked, "So, are you going to tell me why a Clan cat is traveling alone?"
Featherpelt's fur prickled with unease. "How – How did you know I came from the clans?"
"Your entire demeanor screams Clan cat," he declared. "Though I have to admit, you accepting a meal you haven't caught yourself threw me off. I thought you cats lived by some code that said you can't eat unless you've fed the clan or something."
"How do you know so much?" she demanded, though she already had an idea.
"My mother….she was….part of the clans at some point," he said quickly. "But that's not important. Will you tell me why you are out here alone?"
Featherpelt knew he was lying, but she didn't say anything about it. tShe really didn't want to explain why she became a rogue. To her, it was complicated, and he may kick her out if he knew the truth. On the other paw, she concluded, he would know something was wrong if she tried to change the subject. Either way, she was trapped.
She took a deep, shaky breath. "You really don't want to know," Featherpelt mewed. "You may throw me out if I told you."
Night's green eyes studied her. "Try me." When Featherpelt hesitated, the tom sighed in frustration. "I'll make you deal. If you tell me why you aren't part of the clans anymore, I'll – I'll tell you why I'm a rogue."
Featherpelt knew she wasn't getting out of this one. Worst case scenario, he'll throw me out in the rain. "Okay, I'll tell you. But get comfortable. The story is long."
"That's okay. We have plenty of time to talk," Night meowed, gesturing with bushy black tail to the rain outside.
Featherpelt padded back to her nest and settled in it. Night went the fresh kill pile, selected a plump pigeon, and laid down in his nest across hers.
"Alright, Clan Cat, why are you a rogue?" the tom inquired, taking a bite from the pigeon.
"Before I begin, let's get two things straight," she said, trying to keep the edge of annoyance out of her voice. "First, stop calling me 'Clan Cat'. My name is Featherpelt. Secondly, do not judge me until I'm finished with my story."
"Okay, Featherpelt, please begin."
Featherpelt bit into the rabbit and swallowed, savoring the bloody taste. "It all began the day my kits became apprentices….."