Hiya to whomever wandered onto this page. I'm not actually in this fanfic - has anybody seen my agent?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway, all joking aside, my first and previous fanfic, Silver and Black, has had absolutely no reviews thus far. I hope that this piece will make up for it.

I do not own the Warriors series; the three Erin Hunters do. I do, however, own the basic concept of ReedClan, as well as the names and designs of all the characters. Curledtail, Flintpaw, and Daybreeze belong to Mike A., Russell M., and Tess H., respectively. Please do not sue.

"Come on, you blundering badger!"

Flintpaw climbed carefully over a fallen tree and limped over to his waiting mentor. Curledtail looked over his shoulder at the young tabby, green eyes narrowed to slits.

"Pathetic..." he growled.

"Hey! Have you ever been through this? It hurts!" Flintpaw winced as he put weight on his bleeding front-left paw.

"It can't be all that bad," Curledtail shrugged. "Now stop complaining and step it up so we can get back to camp before you bleed to death."

"Daybreeze!" Curledtail called, pushing through the bramble thicket to the medicine den. The ginger she-cat looked up from the herbs she had been sorting just as Flintpaw limped in.

"What happened?" she asked, eyeing the blood that dripped from the apprentice's paw.

"He got a...thorn," Curledtail admitted with a sigh.

"It huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurts!" Flintpaw howled.

"You're almost a warrior, Flintpaw," the black tom scolded, flicking his long, folded tail back and forth, "and yet here you are, whining like a kit!"

"A thorn in the paw can make even the strongest, toughest warrior 'whine like a kit,'" Daybreeze pointed out. "But what would you know, Curledtail? You don't have an iota of kit left in you!"

"Some of our she-cats do."

"Okay, that was uncalled for."

Curledtail shrugged. "I know. Now can you salvage my dignity and take that damn thorn out, please?"

"I can handle the thorn, but I'm afraid it's far too late for your dignity," Daybreeze deadpanned.

Curledtail glared daggers at her, then at her patient, who had settled down on the den floor. "Stop twitching your whiskers, Flintkit, or by StarClan, that thorn is going straight in your throat when she's done with you!"

Flintpaw sobered, rested his head on his paws, and sighed. "Yes, Curledstar."

And that's all, folks. Please review!