If you're not someone from the Clan of Clouds or at least someone who has lurked there, I would recommend leaving, because this may be a bit confusing and there are probably better things to be doing with your time than reading terrible fiction like this, because yes, I'm lumping this work with the 90% in Sturgeon's Law, especially considering how it was rushed through and written in an hour with minimal editing. So, in short, there are plenty of better stories to be reading out there. They might be harder to find, but they're out there. Promise.

But I do recommend checking out the Clan of Clouds. It's a Warriors forum (the fourth-largest one at the moment) and a rather fun place. The settings presented in the story are based off of two of the roleplays on the forum.

Pathpaw could barely contain her excitement as she awoke that morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping – newleaf was coming, and she could hardly wait. After all, she was counting the days for an important time, and it was only a moon away – her birthday. The day she would finally become a warrior.

Stepping into the clearing, her eyes found themselves focused on the pale white tom that always seemed to be lying around the camp. At least he was outside. There were those annoying days where he just stayed inside the warrior's den in his spare time, just sleeping or ghosting or whatever he did in that time. She didn't really know.

"Hey, hey, hey," she began, sauntering up to the tom.

He sighed. "Yes?"

"Hey!" Pathpaw repeated. "How many more times do I have to tell you? Be friendlier. If you were trying to talk to me, you wouldn't want me just barely acknowledging you, right?" She paused for a moment, considering her prior word choice. I just said 'acknowledging', she realized. He's really been rubbing off on me too much. Why can't I just rub off on him?

"I wouldn't be talking to you in the first place," the tom grumbled.

"Oh for StarClan's sake," she responded, "not this again. You can't just act like we've never met before, Thawheart. It's been moons. Moons."

"Yes. Several particularly frustrating moons."

"Don't be like that," Pathpaw replied. "Don't you remember all the fun we've had? Like that time when we and Honeypaw went down to the lake –"

"I faintly remember you pushing me into the lake then," Thawheart noted.

"But you still swam," Pathpaw retorted. "Come on, you can't say that wasn't fun. I remember the look on your face –"

"But you still –"

"Excuse me, but I'm still –"

"Ankaa, what are you doing?"

"Simulation Paused," called out the cheerful voice of the automated artificial intelligence program that ran the simulation room. It was rather fancy technology – it seemed ripped straight from the heart and soul of Star Trek, which honestly, it kind of was.

Twinkle looked at the forest scene around her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you trying to characterize Pathpaw again?"

"Maybe," Ankaa replied, shutting down the program.

"Well, just to let you know," Twinkle began, "Eevee was looking for you – you haven't gone to play with her in a couple days and she's been a bit sad about it. Oh, and there was a bit of a gooey-dragon-thing problem earlier, but we took care of it."

"Any casualties?" Ankaa asked, choosing to ignore the first half of what she said.

"Just your computer."

"Great."

"But anyway," Twinkle began, "You're still not getting Pathpaw. Still too … you, I guess. I mean, this whole thing just feels like you rushed it out in half an hour. It's like, the words are there, but there's nothing behind them."

"Oh come on," Ankaa replied. "I think it's at least a little better than before. I mean, just think back to my first try – sure, the post-apocalyptic setting and attempted somber atmosphere didn't help very much at all, but you can't say that this isn't at least a little bit better?"

"A little, maybe," Twinkle stated. "Maaaaaaaaybe."

"But how much is a little?" Ankaa asked.

"A little."

"That's not an answer."

"That is an answer."

"We're not going to be having this debate again."

"Well, why not?" Twinkle asked. "It's not like there's anything more pressing going on –"

The screen suddenly flashed with bright red letters, accompanied by an annoying B flat hum that just underlined the sheer annoyance of what was happening.

"TWINKLE .EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING," Ankaa read aloud, frustrated. "SYSTEM HAS BEEN INFECTED BY AAAHAHSH 2.0. PLEASE AWAIT CURE." He lay back in his chair, mildly frustrated. "Well that's great," he commented. "You just have to break on me, don't you?"

He sighed. The Thorn Manor simulation wasn't entirely perfect, he would admit, but it was a useful tool nonetheless. The minds of each and every one of its inhabitants … it was fascinating, really. It was strange. He just couldn't understand them – sure, the feelings of sonder would take over every now and then and he'd think that maybe he could get a glimpse of understanding, but those were few and far between.

His mind returned again to the simulation that he had just been running, to the thoughts of Twinkle … that child was an interesting one, certainly. I just don't get it, he thought, collecting his own thoughts in his thoughts. I don't get her, or really any bubbly people, to be honest, but she in particular is just so … I don't know. It's like there's something in her that's not in me, or at the very least lies dormant and unawakened, waiting to come out. He shook his head. Everything he had tried was failing – it was a phenomenon he couldn't replicate. Well, phenomenon might not have been the best word to use there, but that was merely semantics. Merely saying that ignored the larger issue at hand.

He thought back to all of the time he'd spent with her … what was it that separated them? Raw enthusiasm, certainly, and a general aura of good nature, he supposed, but that couldn't be all of the core differences, could it? I mean, could it really? he considered. Yes, they're deep, fundamental differences, but is that really what I'm lacking? And if I am lacking them, how can I understand them?

Still, he supposed there was only one way to find out.

Standing from his desk, he opened the door to his room, staring out at the vast, grand hallways of the manor stretching far out into the distance. Stepping out, he looked around, trying to remember the way to the basement. He had been there enough times to ingrain the directions into his mind, or so he hoped. He stepped out and began walking down the long passageways, which remained luckily rather barren of life at the late hour. It offered him time to think.

She, and pretty much everyone else honestly, is definitely more enthusiastic, he thought, but what about that introduces that unpredictability? Enthusiasm can be somewhat quantified, and it can't be the only thing … I suppose spontaneity is definitely something else, but it's more of a result than anything else. There has to be a cause behind that spontaneity somewhere, but what is it? Enthusiasm, yes, but that can't account for all spontaneity. It just feels so deeply etched into her that it's hard to even look beyond it into the causes … could it be that there are simply no causes behind it? He sighed in frustration. This seemed to be the only thing he could immediately think of, though he felt that maybe his sleep-deprived mind wasn't exactly the best tool to be considering this chain of thought with.

A familiar door passed by on his right, and he continued walking for another few steps before he noticed. Backtracking, he saw the door to the basement loom before him, a faint light from beneath the door indicating that there were still people in it.

He knocked on the door. "Twinkle?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to talk."

"Then just come in, then!"

Again, apologies for the lack of quality. Still, happy February and hopefully this still gets accepted as a Weekly Challenge despite being technically submitted an hour or so late. :P