The positive feedback is awesome, thanks.
Breezepelt was really bored, all there was to do was sit around drinking hard liquor and hate his Thunderclan half siblings. It was also an extremely cold day on the moorland so Breezepelt curled up tightly in his nest trying to fight off the cold. Finding that he could not get any sleep Breezepelt heaved himself out of his nest, padding out of the Warriors den Breezepelt fluffed up his pelt shivering at the cold as he skulked silently over to a patch of heather, leaning into the heather he carefully flicked some snow and broken heather stocks aside with his forepaw. Breezepelt looked around cautiously to make sure no one was looking then he leaned his head into the heather again and he grasped a small flask in his teeth, he carefully carried it to a secluded area of the camp. Sitting Breezepelt proceeded to unscrew the cap off of the flask, breathing deeply he inhaled the scent of whisky. Breezepelt then tilted the flask back and took a swig. Breezepelt felt his ear tips warm as the burning liquid slid smoothly down his throat. Satisfied he padded through the snow over too his friend Heathertail that was sitting next to a patch of gorse eating a rabbit. Looking up she greeted him cheerfully.
"Merry Christmas Breezepelt I'm glad to see you're out of the warriors den."
Plopping down next to Heathertail he simply grunted.
She suddenly gave Breezepelt a good sniff and she wrinkled her nose. "You've been in the whisky again" she meowed sounding annoyed.
"Only one little swig" Breezepelt exclaimed twitching his tail nervously.
"That stuff isn't even good for you" she hissed angrily snatching the flask from him she then proceeded to empty it out into the snow.
"Hey, I'm just trying to enjoy Christmas cheer in a masculine way, there is nothing wrong with a little whisky, it's like eggnog" he exclaimed.
Heathertail simply rolled her eyes and stalked off leaving Breezepelt alone. He heaved himself to his paws and padded towards the fresh kill pile, selecting a robin he padded back to his spot by the patch of gorse. He started plucking away the feathers with his teeth.
There was voices coming from the camp entrance as the scent of the dawn patrol returning but there also was another scent, it was the scent of Thunderclan. The dawn petrol descended through the entrance into the shallow dip that made the Windclan camp. Then Breezepelt felt sudden dread as he heard an all too familiar sarcastic voice yowl "Merry Christmas cats of Rabbitclan."