When he became a warrior, Dustheart didn't expect this level of monotony. Nothing was happening, just getting up, going on patrol or going hunting, eating, and going to sleep. Every day. Nothing . . . happened.

When Dustheart had been an apprentice, which was only half a moon ago, now that he thought about it, he thought that being a warrior would be exciting, filled with danger and threats to face. He thought that as a kit as well.

But did he want to do? He had just wanted to be a warrior, but now that he was one, he didn't know what he wanted to pursue next.

Did Dustheart want to have kits? No, not yet anyway. He didn't hate them, but he certainly wasn't good around them either. Besides, there was no she-cat he really had feelings for.

Did he want to become leader? No, he wasn't good at leading. When faced with talking to a large number of cats, he found that he stammered and jumped at the smallest noise. He didn't even know how to lead.

Did he just want to live his life? No. He had a thirst for adventure, but it didn't seem to live in the warrior life.

Maybe he would find that place for him sooner or later. Or maybe he wouldn't.

For now, Dustheart just picked at his vole. He liked vole, but right now there was too much on his mind. Or not enough? He wasn't sure.

"Dustheart!" Oh, it was Silverlightning. A warrior just a moon older then him who decided that they were friends.

"Yes?"

"How are you doing, pal?" Silverlightning was never one for small talk, however. "Your brother wants you."

Dustheart licked his paw. "What were you doing, talking to my brother?"

Silverlightning looked nervous, if for a moment. "Why not?"

Dustheart walked over to the medicine cat den, mentioning over his shoulder: "You have an interesting sense of humor, pal."

Upon walking into the den, he closed his eyes immediately. There was a pool of water that the sunlight just had to bounce off of onto Dustheart's eyes.

"Yes, Shadowpaw?" Only silence answered his call. "Silverlightning told me that you wanted to talk."

Shadowpaw poked his head out of a gap in the rock. "Yes. Come over here, I don't want you to get blinded."

Walking into the shadows, he turned to Shadowpaw. "So, what is it?"

"Have you noticed Moonwatcher?"

Dustheart's face morphed into one of confusion and slight worry. "Why are we talking about Moonwatcher?"

"She's been acting weird."

"I haven't noticed anything. Listen, if this was all that you called me in for, I'm going to leave now."

Shadowpaw glared. "Stay here." He sighed. "No, she's been coughing more, and refuses herbs, she has a fever, I'm sure, but no, she hasn't asked for anything . . ." Soon, he had divulged into a garbled mess of semi-coherent words and hisses.

"I haven't noticed anything, like I said . . . listen, Shadowpaw, this is a medicine cat's problem. No other cat has noticed anything, at least, from what I can tell. If you want to figure out what's going on with her, you're going to have to figure it out yourself." He turned and left the den, not looking back at his brother's face.

Looking up, Dustheart saw that the sun had nearly set. Time to head to the den.

The den was stuffy, filled the breathing bodies of nearly ten cats. Shuffling over to his nest, he tried his best not to step on any cat. How fortunate for his nest to be at the exact opposite of the entrance.

Nuzzling into his nest, he looked around. Even with just ten cats, the den was stuffy and air had gone through several other cats. They should expand it, but so far, the idea had gone nowhere. Breezestar was worried more about the kits and the queens, rather than his warriors. Which was somewhat understandable, he had kits in the nursery after all, but it seemed rather callous to have sixteen full-grown cats shoved together in a space the size of the nursery, when all the warriors were in there.

Tossing and turning, the sounds of the breathing cats to his shoulders, head, and tail was finally too much, and he slipped out of the den.

The night was cool and crisp, with the wind blowing across his face. It wiped away the heat that filled him, making Dustheart feel rejuvenated. It was nice.

Clouds drifted across the night sky, hiding the moon. Dustheart felt like the Clans were at his paws, if for a moment.

Would he ever feel the same ever again? Or would this be the last time? Was he jumping to conclusions? No, he would feel this way again. Would he? How could he know? What did he know?

Nothing, he told himself. Absolutely nothing.