The first snow that hits the ground was Stick's favorite part of leaf-bare. When the ground is untouched and pure. He often spent a lot of time watching the other animals in the woods, except for when he hunts. Just like his mother told him to three moons ago when she left him behind. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered how his mother told him to hunt her a robin, coming back to see her gone. The leaf-fall without her had been the loneliest part of his life. She taught him all about life as a rouge before she was gone. He was to only hunt if he needs to. If he catches the scent of another cat, run. He lived in a cave near Clan territory. His mother had mentioned that they lived near dangerous cats and that they were harsh to rouges.
The ginger tabby stretched himself as he made out of his den, leaving the half-eaten squirrel from last night's meal in his nest. He let out a yawn as he shook flakes of snow out of his fur and let the winter air wrap around him. He left soft paw prints as he took a small walk, padding over to the trees that led to the Clan territory. He could see the Thunderpath in the distance and felt fear flood him. Could his mother have been hit on there? He let himself get next to it, closer than he did before. He flinched as monsters ran by, spraying his fur with slush. His green eyes flashed with irritation as he waited for the Thunderpath to quiet down.
He placed a paw on the chilly surface and tried to ignore the nagging feeling that tugged at him. There were no bodies near the path, but many scents he didn't recognize. Did his mother run into the trees beside the Thunderpath ahead or behind him? Would she have be attacked for being a rouge too?
He was going to run back to his cave to keep from being seen, as he didn't want to be caught by any cat. But he froze when he saw a flash of eyes. There was a cat staring at him from the oak trees. The small silver tabby looked about his age. He couldn't look away from her golden eyes. Her head tilted as she didn't realize that he was there. Remembering his mother's warnings, he should have ran away. But she didn't look dangerous.
"Hello," he stepped off the Thunderpath and moved closer to the oak trees. The she-cat took a step back, her ears moving back.
"Stay back, rouge. What are you doing in our territory?" she hissed at him.
"You own the Thunderpath?" he snorted. "That's a whole lot of land for one cat."
"Surely you've heard about the four forest Clans," her tail lashed.
"I know they exist," Stick felt himself relax. "You must be one of those cats."
"ThunderClan. The best Clan," the she-cat loosened when she realized that he wasn't a threat. "You should probably go back to your territory. I won't harm you, but some other might."
"Thanks," he sighed. "May I get your name?"
"Maybe if I ever see you again, rouge."
"I'm Stick."
"Well, Stick, I hope you have a good trip home. But you better stay out of ThunderClan in the future or I won't be as friendly."
Before he could respond, the young she-cat disappeared back into her land. He felt something in him stir as he realized how much he had wanted to at least have another cat as company. Being a Clan cat couldn't be so bad. If he was given the chance to be born in a Clan, he wouldn't say no.
Stick couldn't sleep that night as the loneliness kept him up. And that she-cat's golden eyes. Especially her eyes. If he hangs out near the Thunderpath again, maybe he'd run into her again. He didn't mind having to deal with the monsters as he knew how to avoid them.
His head shot up as paw steps pounded outside of his den. Had that she-cat brought her Clan to attack him for being on their territory? But it wasn't a cat his nose caught. He got up as a furry orange form crashed into his home. A fox!
But to his horror, a second fox sped in while the first one had started growling at him.
"Get out!" Stick threw himself at the first fox, knowing that he didn't stand a chance against them, but he had to try anyways. He was thrown against the wall as it dodged, the second one coming in for the attack. He dug his claws into the fox's fur as he turned himself around with a yowl. The first bigger fox had dug it's teeth into his ear while he and the second fox tussled around the den.
The first fox was able to overpower him and held him down as the second one clawed him over and over. He thrashed in a torrent of fur and claws, trying to breathe as his heart beat hard in his ear. He ripped himself out of their hold, racing out of the cave with a pant. His head was fuzzy as he watched his blood turn the snow under him red. He didn't hesitate and soon found himself at the oak trees next to the Thunderpath. Not looking behind him, he dashed into that cat's territory, wanting to leave the foxes behind him. It wasn't until he stopped running to catch his breath to realize that the foxes weren't behind him.
He took a long breath, lucky to make it away from them alive. But he was in an unknown enemy territory and he lost his home. His wounds weren't deep, so he sat down to lick them. There was a nasty gash on his leg, but he had no herbs to help. Surely if he was gentle, he'd be fine.
Stick checked around the trees until he found a dead oak tree, a small space to squeeze into. He missed his old home, but those foxes had to invade. At night of all times.
