song: Jackrabbit — San Fermin
Rabbitkit had never made a friend. She'd never been able to give even a cheerful hello to another kit without them giving a shaky, scared one back, and they never stuck around to speak with her — they only made some excuse about having to back to their mothers for a nap or a wash before rushing away. She'd never been able to knock or trip into a warrior or apprentice without being met with a snarl from even the most reserved and friendly of cats, who treated the other kits just fine when they came into the nursery to visit or do their chores.
The black-as-night kit curled up in her cold, secluded corner of the nursery. Having never met her real mother (she'd died giving birth to her, everyone said when she asked, then quickly sent her away before she could ask anything else), she'd been kicked out of any other queen's nest as soon as she could eat solid prey at a moon old. It was cold and lonely nest, but it was a warm and friendly den; even if her corner of it was anything but friendly. Her Clan hated her and she knew it, but she didn't know why, and it bothered her. It was a constant question ringing through her mind, over and over again like an echo, even as her green eyes peeked out from dark fur to watch as a pair of kits played happily just outside the nursery. Rabbitkit could catch glimpses of them from time to time, but their voices were clearer.
She didn't make any moves to join them. In her little corner of the nursery, she wasn't judged by anyone, and she didn't want that to change.
"Ridgekit," a voice complained — it came from a pretty, pure white she-kit with blue eyes that positively glittered in the sunlight, "that hurt."
"Sorry, Snowkit," a brown tomkit with a white chest, hindlegs, and forepaws mewed, but Rabbitkit didn't think that he sounded very sorry. She would have been, but she didn't think on that for too long, either. Both of them were a moon older than Rabbitkit, and neither of them had spoken to her unless she tried to speak to them first, and those conversations always ended with them running off to seek shelter from their mother.
Rabbitkit wondered what would happen if someday, by some miracle given to her by StarClan, she was invited to play with the other two kits. Maybe they would need an extra kit for a game, or they'd decide that a game wasn't as fun with just two playing, and they'd decide to invite her — Snowkit would do the inviting, of course. Rabbitkit would be surprised, of course, and that might make Snowkit tease her, and she could feel her ears warming at the thought of that. She put it down to imagining just how much fun she would be having in whatever game she would have been invited to play.
She was snapped out of her daydream by a sharp screech, her head snapping up from where it rested on her paws, and she blinked at the entrance of the nursery with wide eyes. It looked like Ridgekit had accidentally ripped out a chunk of his littermate's pretty pelt (Rabbitkit mourned for it). In less than a heartbeat, their mother, a beautiful bicolor brown tabby-and-white she-cat with blazing, dark amber eyes was standing in the entrance of the nursery, her eyes searching all over camp. The black she-kit could remember her commenting to another queen that she was eager to sunbathe that day, but she looked anything but eager now.
"Where's Rabbitkit?!" she yowled. The kit in questioned stiffened, not even daring to breathe and wishing that the nursery walls would swallow her whole. It didn't. Instead, a russet-furred apprentice appeared at the queen's side while she cooed over her daughter, his eyes landing on the cowering Rabbitkit. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then two, before he padded over and invaded her corner of the nursery and picked her up by the scruff. He quickly made his way back to the entrance of the den, and the queen was on the two in an instant, not even waiting for the apprentice to set the she-kit down before starting in on her, snarling, "What did you do to Snowkit?"
"Nothing!" Rabbitkit squeaked out, voice soft as it always was. Her fur fluffed with her fear, making her appear larger than she actually was.
"Don't give me that!" the she-cat growled back.
"She didn't," a voice chimed in. All cats present turned to look at a large, intimidating tom. He was bicolor, like the queen, but was black and white and his fur looked as fluffy as the clouds with eyes as blue was the sky above their heads — but they held none of the warmth.
"Whitethorn, if you're going to accuse somebody, make sure it's the right cat." His eyes narrowed at the queen, and his tail flicked once, quick and sharp, behind him. "Prejudice and history are not guilt."
Whitethorn stiffened. For a few moments it seemed like she was scrambling for words, but it quickly passed and she dipped her head with a shaky, "Yes, Skystar."
"Your culprit is Ridgekit, but the crime is no more than temporary pain. Redpaw, put Rabbitkit down." The apprentice obeyed quickly, and Rabbitkit was gently set on the ground. "I believe you have training."
"Yes, o-of course," Redpaw stuttered. He dipped his head to his leader, then turned and hurried towards the entrance of camp.
After one last, long-lasting glare at Rabbitkit, Whitethorn moved away to rejoin her kits. A moment longer, and Skystar left too, once again leaving Rabbitkit alone. She retreated to her corner of the nursery, but it didn't feel as safe anymore.
A moon passed in much the same way — Rabbitkit staying alone. Ridgekit and Snowkit had moved to the apprentices' den, earning mentors and rejoining other kits that had become apprentices and making new friends there, peers and young warriors alike. There were other kits in the nursery with her, still, but she didn't daydream of playing with them like she had with Ridgepaw and Snowpaw; instead, she watched Snowpaw from afar and wished she was six moons already so that she could start her own training. Some things did make for good changes, though: a queen named Blossompetal, a pretty fawn-colored she-cat with fur so long and soft looking that Rabbitkit thought it could have served as a perfectly good nest, had recently given birth to kits. Blossompetal was known for her episodes of confusion after she'd had a bad blow to her head, and that raised the question of whether or not she would be a good mother, but a few former queens spoke about how maternal instincts reign over memory. And since her episodes weren't violent, the medicine cat saw no issue with her being a queen.
("How'd she hurt herself, anyways?" Ridgepaw had asked Whitethorn once, when he and his sister were still kits. Rabbitkit had paused in her grooming and looked up, unashamed in her eavesdropping, because she was curious about the answer, too.
"That's not for me to tell you," Whitethorn had responded, disappointing both of her kits, but her gaze had drifted to Rabbitkit and hardened and made her go tense.)
When she entered the nursery to finally get some sleep, she'd expected the queen to be sleeping — she'd been doing that a lot, recently, because giving birth was apparently a tiring ordeal as every experienced queen had been saying, and she had no reason to be awake if her kits hadn't even opened their eyes yet. Blossompetal was awake, though, staring at her kits with love in her eyes; she looked drowsy, like she could fall asleep at any moment, but she was fighting the urge. Rabbitkit stiffened when Blossompetal turned her gaze to her. Confusion filled the queen's green eyes for a heartbeat, then it was wiped away.
"You don't need to be jumpy," Blossompetal told her, smiling — that in itself threw her off. "Would you like to meet them?" Rabbitkit's ears perked, her eyes widened. Her whole stance reeked of surprise, just because she was being nice to her, and it only served to make the queen purr. "Come on," she invited, beckoning her with her tail. Slowly, Rabbitkit padded in front of the nest, looking down at the three small bundles of fur. One was a fawn colored tom, another was a darker brown (but still plenty pale) she-kit, and the last was a fawn-and-black ticked tabby tom.
"These are Dustkit," she gestured to the fawn tom with a nod of her head, "Flintkit," the she-kit, "and Gingerkit," the ticked tabby.
One of Rabbitkit's ears folded backwards in confusion. "But he's not ginger," she pointed out before she could stop herself.
Blossompetal let out another purr, her whiskers twitching in amusement. "Look at you, questioning me," she teased — which really didn't help. "Just like when we were apprentices, right, Meadow..." she trailed off, confusion falling over her own expression. "I'm sorry, what was your name again? ...And when did you get so small?"
"What's her name?" A squeaky voice asked, breaking her away from her train of thought. She turned her head to look at Flintkit, who had just opened a pair of bright green eyes. "I wanna know who she is!"
Blossompetal turned her head to look at Rabbitkit, and not seeming to care that she was well within earshot, she answered, "Her name is Rabbitkit, and I'd like you and your littermates to stay away from her."
It was something she'd grown to expect, but it still felt like a kick in the chest coming from Blossompetal. She'd introduced her to those kits, and now... now she was telling them to stay away from her.
"Why?" Flintkit asked.
Blossompetal blinked slowly at Rabbitkit. "Cats worry about what she might become."
Is that all it is? Rabbitkit wondered, watching as the fawn-colored queen herded her daughter back into the nursery. That's it?
She shook herself and took in a deep breath. She'd gotten used to being alone when she'd shared the den with Ridgepaw and Snowpaw. She'd gotten used to being completely alone when they left. She could get used to being alone around Blossompetal's litter.
Her last moon in the nursery passed differently from her other five. When she was with Ridgepaw and Snowpaw, they ignored her. Blossompetal's litter, though, seemed determined to get to know her, despite the fact that they'd get in trouble every time they tried. At first, cats blamed Rabbitkit and she would be punished, too, but then it started happening so often that they knew it must have been the younger three knowing their time crunch.
"Rabbitkit!" At the sound of her name, she turned her head to look at Gingerkit, who was padding happily towards her with his tail high in the air. "Do you wanna play with us?"
Rabbitkit had taken them up on their offer once, after a long moment of hesitation. Their punishment had been to be confined to the nursery for multiple days, and she didn't want that to happen to them again, so she shook her head. "You'll get in trouble."
"But we wanna play with you!" Gingerkit complained. "Maybe you can teach us some cool battle moves that the apprentices teached you?"
"It's taught," Rabbitkit corrected, "and they haven't shown me anything."
The closest interaction she'd ever had with an apprentice had been when Redpaw had picked her up by the scruff when Whitethorn accused her of tearing off a piece of Snowpaw's pelt. Since then, there'd been times where he looked over at her like he wanted to speak with her, but he was always called away before he could come to a decision on his own.
"Gingerkit!" a voice called. Both of them turned to look at Blossompetal, who didn't seem surprised in the least to see them together. "Come here."
"Coming!" He turned and headed towards his mother, but looked over his shoulder at the older kit and called, "See you later, Rabbitkit!"
All of their attempts remained fruitless, until the day of her apprentice ceremony when they offered to help wash her fur. She paused, her paw still hanging in front of her muzzle, and waited a few heartbeats to ask, "What?"
"We want to help wash your fur!" Dustkit told her.
Rabbitkit tilted her head at them. "Why?"
"'Cause you shouldn't have to do it alone!" Flintkit added, ending her statement with a drawn-out please that her brothers quickly joined in on. Occasionally, one would sto pto take breaths before continuing on, and Rabbitkit found her whiskers twitching in amusement.
"Will you stop that if I say yes?" Rabbitkit asked.
Flintkit paused in her please to mew, "Yes!", then continued.
"Then yes."
The three broke into a cheer before they pounced on her, furiously leaking at any fur that they could reach. It wasn't long before they deemed themselves finished; the fur itself was clean, but it stuck out in all directions in a few places (most notable in places she'd already groomed). She supposed that she couldn't look any better for a bunch of kits grooming her pelt, though, and nodded her thanks to the three who scampered off happily. Once they were gone, she smoothed down all the fur she could reach before she padded towards a building crowd. She made her way through the throng and sat in front of a fallen tree — the only one on their valley territory, she'd heard cats say — looked up at the branches, and waited.
Skystar appeared on a thick branch not too long after, easily balancing on it with an ease only practice could give. His deputy, a russet-and-black tabby she-cat, appeared a few branches under him and sat with her tail curled neatly around her paws. The tom didn't bother calling the Clan together — Rabbitkit guessed that it was because a lot of cats just didn't want to come to her ceremony. Most of the cats here probably just wanted to see who her mentor would be; among the crowd, though, she'd spotted Redpaw, Snowpaw, and Blossompetal and her litter.
"Rabbitkit," Skystar began, "you have reached the age of six moons and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this moment on and until you earn your warrior name, you will be known as Rabbitpaw. Ravenlake," Rabbitpaw's surprised went through her like ice flowing through her veins, freezing her in place, "I believe that you are the best suited and the best hope for training Rabbitpaw. I entrust her training to you."
The deputy dipped her head to her leader, rising to her paws and leaping off of her branch and landing with an easy grace on the ground below. Rabbitpaw could hear furious whispering going on in the small crowd behind her, but Ravenlake ignored it, padding over to her new apprentice and dipping her head to touch noses with her. Tentatively, Ravenpaw returned the gesture, hardly believing that the cat in front of her was her mentor: she was getting the deputy of all cats? Her? What had she done to get an honor like that?
There was no cheering. Rather, there was an attempt at cheering — three, squeaky voices that were quickly muffled by some other cat, but it made Rabbitpaw feel warm all the same.
"Follow me," Ravenlake ordered, turning and padding towards the camp's entrance. "I'll be showing you the territory, today."
Rabbitpaw hadn't felt this happy in a long time.
Training — especially training with Ravenlake — was hard. Her mentor held no reservations on what would normally be considered too hard or too much for a beginner apprentice. She would wake just before the sun began to rise, and come back to camp well after it had set. She'd eat a well-deserved meal, then stumble into her nest and fall asleep as soon as her fur touched the moss. Quickly, though, her body became used to the new sleeping schedule, and she wasn't as tired. She was constantly sore, but while in the beginning she could barely walk across the territory without getting tired, now she could easily spend her day running around it. While before she could barely get a single blow in on Ravenlake, now she could land quite a few — some of them were even effective in getting close to winning before the deputy beat her. Her hunting had improved from when she was missing catches constantly, as she rarely missed a piece of prey now.
The fact that she'd only been training for three moons should have been a testament to Ravenlake's harsh, yet effective education.
"Rabbitpaw," Ravenlake meowed, her tail curled neatly over her paws. The black she-cat lifted her head, pausing practicing the battle moves that the deputy — she wasn't allowed to refer to the scarily-competent she-cat as her mentor, even though she wanted to — had shown her. "I need to tell you something. Sit." Rabbitpaw didn't hesitate to listen to the command. She's learned early on in her time as an apprentice that a harder-than-normal cuff 'round the ear wasn't out of the question from the she-cat. This time she was eager to listen, though; Ravenlake never had to tell anyone anything, because she was Ravenlake. Cats had to tell her things, that's just the way it was, due to her position in the Clan and because of how she acted.
When she sat, she did her best to look as put-together as the cat in front of her always was. "It's about your parents," the deputy began.
Rabbitpaw's eyes widened. "Why are you telling me now?"
Ravenlake narrowed her eyes at her — she didn't like to be interrupted. Rabbitpaw felt a bit like shrinking in on herself, but she didn't like it when she cowered, either, so she repressed the urge. "Skystar's decided that it's time you know," she answered. She paused for a moment, looking at her, then continued, "Your mother's name was Meadowrain. Your father was Beaverwater."
The memory of the night in the nursery, when Blossompetal introduced her to her newborn kits came to mind.
"I know you get mad if I interrupt," Rabbitpaw meowed quickly, "but was Meadowrain close with Blossompetal?"
Ravenlake's hazel eyes narrowed some more, and her ears flicked back against her skull. "How did you know that?"
"She called me Meadow before when she was confused, but she didn't remember the rest of the name."
Slowly, the deputy's ears rose and her eyes opened. "Yes, they were close," she told her, then asked with sarcasm dripping from her voice, "May I continue?"
Rabbitpaw's ears drooped low on her head, and she glanced down at her paws. Ravenlake seemed to take it as enough of an answer.
"Your mother and father were the greatest bane ValleyClan have ever encountered since the time of legends." Rabbitpaw's head snapped up, and she stared at Ravenlake with wide green eyes. "Beaverwater used to escape to other group of cats, convincing them to attack us for favors in return — he wanted to become leader, you understand. Almost all of the groups accepted, but at the time we didn't know that it was him. Meadowrain made sure that all the herbs from the territory were destroyed and wouldn't grow back — the cats that didn't die from the battles were at a high risk of infection, and plenty of cats died from it. It wasn't until we caught Meadowrain and Beaverwater plotting with a leader of a rogue group to take us over, kill Skystar, make us their servants and make a new ValleyClan that we realized it was them and held them prisoner. Blossompetal was part of the patrol that found them, and Meadowrain slammed her head into a rock.
"The rogues attacked us anyway, because they wanted to get at Beaverwater for not giving them what he promised them. He was killed in the battle, but Meadowrain was already pregnant." Ravenlake gave Rabbitpaw a piercing glare. "And you know what happened to her."
Rabbitpaw swallowed thickly, mind reeling. "I killed her," she mewed, soft voice coming out weak.
"You and your littermate." Rabbitpaw blinked at her — she had a littermate? "He was a stillborn, but he was named Moorkit. After you were born, Meadowrain died."
Rabbitpaw sat there, soaking in all the information, but she didn't have time to take in everything before Ravenlake spoke again with her tail lashing angrily behind her and her hackles raised.
"You're going to be like them," she growled harshly. "I know it, the whole Clan knows it. They're grown up, dead, and gone, and you're young and growing, but you will be just like them. Maybe it wouldn't have happened if the Clan and stepped up and realized that you had freed us from battle after battle and draining resources, but now that they've avoided you for so long there's no chance at redemption for you."
Rabbitpaw swallowed again, listening to the deputy speak, feeling like claws were digging into her heart and trying to rip it to shreds with every word. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. "Do you have a suggestion?" she asked weakly, looking at her paws, because she didn't want to be like her parents if they really were such horrible cats who'd betray not only their Clan, but their friends, too — things that she'd never even gotten a chance to have because of what they'd done.
"Run for the hills and don't look back." The she-cat stood, flicking her tail, then started to pad away. Without looking back, she called, "I want that move perfected by tomorrow — if you're not gone by then."
Days went on.
Rabbitpaw learned.
She thought about leaving.
She thought about staying.
If she left, there'd be no mare glares and no more snarls. No more harsh training from Ravenlake; a cat that she knew hated her, a mentor that she wasn't allowed to call a mentor, a cat who thought that she was just waiting to betray her Clan. No more having to stay away from Dustkit, Flintkit, and Gingerkit for their own sakes, because she wouldn't be around for them to get in trouble anymore. No more hatred aimed her way for history that wasn't hers. The argument for leaving looked better everyday — her mind chanted for her to run for hills, run for the hills, run.
What would she get if she stayed, anyway? The kits only spoke to her because they were being rebellious. Cats said that the Clan was about companionship — the more of you that there were, the more prey that there would be and if you had to fight then every cat would be on your side, no matter if they agreed with you, or even if they liked you. Rabbitpaw wasn't sure that any cat from ValleyClan would fight with her. The training from Ravenlake was useful, but that wasn't something she could just leave behind; it was something she'd take with her no matter where she went. Once, she'd sparred against Snowpaw, and despite the fact that the pretty apprentice had been training for longer than her Rabbitpaw had come out on top. She couldn't believe the result, and neither could the other apprentices, but the warriors had just nodded, meowing about how they would expect nothing less from an apprentice of the deputy.
Every time she tried to leave, though, something stopped her. Once, it was Blossompetal's kits asking her if she could play, and she let out a sigh, telling them she had to go train. She decided she'd stay just a bit longer, for them.
The next time, Ravenlake snapped at her that she was late for training, and she thought that maybe she could prove herself to the deputy — that would prove herself to the Clan, right? Those thoughts always died down quickly, but they always made her stay just a bit longer.
After that was the beginning of leaffall, the chill of the season making her shiver constantly. Her pelt wasn't as long or as thick as others' were, and it put her at a distinct disadvantage for the colder half of the year. Redpaw — who had been renamed Redlight — had pressed himself against her during a hunting patrol to end her shivering, and she considered that if he was willing to be so close to her without growling or snarling at her, then maybe she had hope with the rest of the Clan too, and decided to stay a bit longer still.
Finally, though, another time arose when she decided to leave. She was tired of everything — the snarling and growling, having to prove herself when everyone else was born worthy, the false promise of companionship — she just wanted to be free of it all. She waited until it was nighttime, and slid quietly out of her den. Her ears perked as she heard quiet voices of familiar, four-moon-old kits. Not again, not again, she thought, but she padded towards them on silent paws anyways, wondering what they were up to. The three were hiding in a corner of camp (not even a seculded one), whispering urgently to each other.
"What are you doing?" Rabbitpaw asked quietly.
The three jumped, looking up at her with wide eyes.
"Uh... hi, Rabbitpaw!" Gingerkit whisper-yelled t her. "Just... talking!"
"Yeah! Just talking!" Flintkit added.
"You're trying to sneak out of camp, aren't you?"
The three looked surprised for a moment, then nodded.
"You're gonna send us back to mom," Dustkit complained.
Rabbitpaw thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I don't think I am — but you have to follow me and stay silent." Instantly, the three nodded, excited expressions on their faces. Rabbitpaw turned on her heel, making her way to the dirtplace and slipping inside, sliding in through the entrance in the wall there. She could hear the kits following her let out sounds of disgust, but they slipped out of camp after her all the same. It was only after they were a fair distance from camp before Rabbitpaw spoke again.
"You see that stone over there?" she gestured to a large boulder with her tail, and the kits nodded. "When you see that, you'll know how to get back to camp. Moss grows on one side of it — you want to head in the direction that doesn't have moss."
Flintkit laughed. "You're talking like you're not coming back with us."
The muscles in Rabbitpaw's shoulders tensed, and she didn't so much as flick an ear.
Dustkit's eyes widened. "You're not coming back with us."
"No," Rabbitpaw agreed.
"You're leaving the Clan?!" Gingerkit squeaked loudly, sounding affronted at the very notion. The black-furred apprentice hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding. "Why?!"
"You've seen how they treat me — I'm tired of it." Before they could speak again with any type of protest, she cut in with something that she knew they wouldn't refuse. "You kept asking me to play, and the only reason I didn't was because you would have gotten in trouble. But if I'm leaving, I wouldn't mind showing you around the territory."
She smiled down at the them as they brightened, and Flintkit cheered, "Let's do it! Let's do it!" and Rabbitpaw set off. She showed them the training area that she'd become intimately familiar with, where the grass and weeds and flowers with no medical uses had been flattened by mentors and their apprentices when they trained, and Rabbitpaw watched as the kits rolled around and got blades of grass tuck in their kit-fluff. She showed them the Mother Tree, the largest tree in the territory, that was supposedly so big and old that every other tree was born from this one. She showed them a stream full of cool, rushing and gurgling water that they got their paws wet in (and that Rabbitpaw refused to admit she had fallen into) and a steep slope that all three of them almost fell down. When they asked why it was there and it was a traitor to all cats trying to stand, she told them that was the point — it was only used during battle, Ravenlake had explained to her. The only way to get down was to run down before you fell, and the only way to get up was to leap.
Finally, Rabbitpaw stopped. "The sun's going to rise soon," she meowed. "You can follow your scents back to camp."
Sadness fell on the kits' expressions. "Do we have to?" Gingerkit asked.
"If you don't want to get caught," Rabbitpaw told them.
Flintkit rushed up to her and licked her chest, and her brothers quickly followed after.
"Bye, Rabbitpaw!" Flintkit mewed. The black-furred she-cat could tell she was forcing cheer.
"May StarClan light your path!" Dustkit added, sounding proud as he did so — Rabbitpaw bet that it was because he remembered the phrase.
Gingerkit simply knocked his head into her chest, then retreated.
"I'm not going to forget you, you know," Rabbitpaw told them. She dipped her head to them in goodbye, and watched as they turned and made their way across the grassy landscape. It was only once they'd disappeared amongst the tall stalks that she turned and started running.
The sun was starting to rise when she crossed the scent line, which she thought didn't bode well for Blossompetal's litter, but she pushed the thought down. She ran up and beyond the hills until she found a river, which she thought of as a suitable sleeping place, so she curled up on the bank and quickly fell asleep.
She was woken up by a paw shaking her shoulder. When she blinked open her green eyes, she was met with the face of a russet-colored she-cat. For a heartbeat she thought that it was Ravenlake and she stiffened at the thought, but then she realized that this cat was far shorter and had a wider muzzle than the deputy did and her eyes were golden where Ravenlake's were hazel.
"What's a molly like you doin' sleeping next to the river?" the she-cat asked with a bit of an accent.
Rabbitpaw blinked at her. "Molly?" she asked. She sat up and took a closer look at the she-cat — for all that she was short, she could have been a daughter of Ravenlake, or maybe a sibling of Redlight's. She had the same russet coloring as they did, but she had black ticked tabby markings that reminded her of Gingerkit, too. Her fur was clean and well-kempt, and her eyes glittered happily.
"Yeah, a molly," she mewed with a nod. "Female cat?"
"You mean a she-cat?"
"Sure, if that's what you call it," she meowed, then repeated, "But what're you doin' sleeping by the river?"
"I was walking all night," Rabbitpaw told her.
She tilted her head at her, blinking at her with confusion on her features. "Why were you doin' that?"
"I had to get away."
"Away from where? Oh, Gods, you weren't hurt by some cat, were you?"
Quickly, Rabbitpaw shook her head, tucking her paws in a bit closer to herself. "No, I wasn't."
She nodded. "Good, good — oh, I'm Howler, by the way. What's your name?"
"Rabbitpaw."
"That's a weird name," Howler commented, folding an ear back. "I mean, havin' to be called that your whole life?"
"Howler's a weird name to me," Rabbitpaw argued. "I've never met a loner before."
"I'm not a loner," Howler meowed, good-natured. "We just move around a lot, but I'm on my own for now." Her head snapped upwards. "Hey, you could come with me!"
Rabbitpaw narrowed her eyes at her. "What?"
"Yeah, you could come with! See, there's this tradition where I'm from? Once cats reach a certain age we've gotta leave and travel by ourselves for a while. But we're allowed to bring cats back, broaden the bloodlines and experiences and the group, y'know?" Howler rambled. "So, what'd'ya say?"
Rabbitpaw awkwardly cleared her throat, not wanting to join another group so fast — but Howler seemed like decent company, and she wouldn't be opposed to staying with her for a while. "...Maybe."
"Then come with me, then you can decide!" Howler meowed. She turned and padded away from the river, leaving Rabbitpaw to hurry after her. Once the taller she-cat had caught up, she looked her up and down, the inspection making her face go warm under her fur. "You know, you kind of remind me of a rabbit.
"Because of my name?" Rabbitpaw asked dryly.
"No, no," Howler mewed with a shake of her head, "I dunno what it is, you just do."
Rex rabbit, Howler had tried once, along with beveren, hare, satin, and silver fox (which had almost been given approval, but was ultimately discounted).
"We're almost there, you know," Howler told her one day.
"Where?"
"Home." The russet-and-black tabby looked back at Rabbitpaw. "D'ya know if you wanna join or not, yet?"
Rabbitpaw thought for a moment. "If all of them are like you, sure."
"What's that mean?"
Nice, Rabbitpaw thought, and sweet, but instead she mewed, "maybe they'll all just list off animals around me."
"Hey!" Howler complained, but there was laughter in her tone. Rabbitpaw just purred at her.
It took two moons for them to reach the group of cats, but Howler told her that she'd been on her own for one more. The both of them were standing on top of a tall, steep hill, looking down at a group of cats whose size seemed to rival ValleyClan, and Rabbitpaw could feel nerves dancing through her. Howler seemed to be waiting for something, but she turned her head to look at her and offered her a bright smile — one that rivaled the sun and made her heart skip a beat.
"I've got it!" she chirped. "Jackrabbit — that's what I'm calling you from now on. Jackrabbit." With that, she raced down the hill, leaving the black she-cat to chase after her.
rewritten on february 15th, 2020.