Featherpaw followed on behind Sootpaw, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Just why was he helping her? He had made it quite obvious that he disliked her. So, did that mean he had some sort of ulterior motive in mind? Was that it?

Featherpaw didn't know, and it frustrated her, too.

Just what was Sootpaw up to? Just what would he gain by helping her?

The idea of him helping her out of the goodness of his heart was completely laughable. Featherpaw hadn't known him for very long, but she concluded early on that Sootpaw was not a kind cat.

He wasn't kind like his brother, and he wasn't reassuring, either.

Featherpaw also found that the current apprentices- the ones that had already been there when she arrived in WindClan- held a special sort of respect for him. And he, in turn, respected them. It was a special kind of respect, though. A type of respect that Featherpaw couldn't bring herself to understand.

Sootpaw abruptly looked over his shoulder, his amber eyes harsh and dark against his smoky, grey-furred face. "Are you coming?" he mewed, "Because if you are, then you're going awfully slow. Are you WindClan or not?"

Not yet, Featherpaw thought, and she didn't dare say it out loud. I was once ThunderClan, and now I'm nothing. But I'll be WindClan, you'll see.

Out loud, she mewed, "I'm walking as fast as my paws will let me this early in the morning."

Sootpaw didn't sound remotely arrogant or conscending as he said, "Then you're weak."

"I am," Featherpaw agreed, and she wasn't the least bit offended. Because it was true. She was probably the weakest cat in WindClan with the exception of the untrained kits. "But I won't be soon, because I will get stronger and prove myself, and earn a place in this this Clan."

Sootpaw's eyes weren't warm, but nor were they cold. It was just mutual acceptance.

It seemed that they had an understanding of sorts.

But how long would it last?

Featherpaw didn't know, not even when Sootpaw said, "Prove yourself then. And earn this Clan's respect as well as mine."

"I will," she agreed, voice soft.

His gaze was intense and piercing, and it seemed to lay her bare; revealing every one of her secrets.

Featherpaw didn't like it. His gaze made her feel vulnerable, and when one was vulnerable, they tended to slip up and make mistakes.

"I see Scorchfoot," Sootpaw said suddenly, already turning away. "We should go."

Featherpaw frowned, but she complied and followed after him. And she thought that she must look quite the sight- her, the white and ginger she-cat with the twisted paws, and him, Darkpaw's regal, perfectionist brother.

They weren't allies, and nor were they friends, and now that Featherpaw thought about it, it was like that Sootpaw didn't have any friends. Yes, the apprentices respected him, and yes, Darkpaw most probably loved him, but wasn't…

Wasn't he lonely?

Sootpaw looked back when he seemed to realise that she wasn't at the same pace that he was, the expression on his face belying annoyance. "Are you coming or not?" he called irritably.

Featherpaw felt the tips of her ears burn in embarrassment, but she let his words wash over her, choosing to stalk after him with her head held high, and she quickened her pace by steadily padding on three paws instead of four.

When Sootpaw looked back again, presumably to check if she was still following, she was already at his side. She flashed him an almost smile that was nearly cheeky in the way her lips curled upwards, belying her immense amusement.

Sootpaw merely grumbled something incomprehensible and looked straight ahead. Featherpaw felt her smile die down into a similarly neutral expression, though she did keep her amusement loose deep inside her.

After a few more moments of silence, the pair arrived at a den that Featherpaw had never seen before- mostly due to the fact that she hadn't properly explored the camp.

She watched as Sootpaw poked his head in the entrance without hesitation.

"Scorchfoot," he mewed, his voice a little stiff, and she wondered why that was so. "Your apprentice has been wondering aimlessly around the entire camp searching for you. Frankly, it was starting to annoy me, so I led her here."

"Since when did I have an apprentice?" an unfamiliar voice mewed.

"Since yesterday," Sootpaw answered flatly. "Don't ask me why, either. Long story short, WindClan welcomed two… strangers, and one was tossed onto you. You are expected to train her in the ways and traditions of our Clan. But if they don't prove themselves in the next moon, then WindClan will send them away."

"And Morningstar allowed this?" Scorchfoot replied, sounding slightly outraged. "WindClan has too many mouths to feed as it is."

"Ah, but you forget," Sootpaw murmured, the slightest hint of a smirk curling at his lips, "that the Warrior Code states that a warrior can never leave a kit in a time of need. Too bad she really is a kit, else she'd have never come here."

Just as the apprentice stepped aside, a big, muscular grey tom appeared at the entrance, his eyes narrowed.

Featherpaw met his stare head on, and though it was a bit intimidating, she wasn't scared in the least. These cats were strangers, she had to constantly remind herself. They didn't know her. Not like the cats in ThunderClan.

Not like Snowfall and Cinderkit.

These cats didn't her hopes and fears, nor did they know her dreams.

They couldn't hurt her with pointless comments, because they simply didn't know her.

And Featherpaw liked that.

She liked that nobody really knew her, because it was better to be anonymous than to be noticed at all. To be noticed meant to be the centre of attention, and for Featherpaw, that was never a good thing.

Back in ThunderClan, when she had lived in the nursery in her corner, she had been mostly ignored, but sometimes, Cinderkit and his friend, Rowankit, would gang up on her, boxing her in her corner. They didn't attack her, oh no, they didn't.

What they did was far worse in her opinion.

They knew she didn't have any friends in ThunderClan, and so they said horrible things about her to her face. And they did the same thing to the other kits in the nursery, turning them against her. They were hurtful, spiteful insults, and Featherpaw had hated them for it.

And so she concluded that being noticed meant inflicting pain on herself.

Scorchfoot looked over her, and he grimaced slightly. "She's too skinny," he mewed, his voice a deep grumble. "Just what have you been living on, kit, for your ribs to be showing?"

Featherpaw lowered her head in embarrassment, because yes, she knew that she was skinny, and it didn't help that she was bigger than average and so needed more food than most to satisfy her body's urges.

"Mice," she admitted, not meeting his gaze.

She was embarrassed, yes, but there was also the fact that there had been a food shortage in ThunderClan- that is, hunting patrols hadn't been bringing as much prey as they had moons previously.

Scorchfoot didn't look convinced, but thankfully, he didn't press her case, merely saying shortly, "Follow me. Since you're my apprentice for the next moon, I suppose that I'll have to train you. But first, you need to know the layout of our territory and where the borders meet and end. I can show you this, but you to cooperate."

Featherpaw nodded. "I understand," she murmured softly.

"Don't you have battle training to get to, Sootpaw?" Scorchfoot asked, not looking back at the apprentice. His words were stern, too. "I'm sure Thornfur is waiting for you."

"She is," Sootpaw grumbled, "And I'm late, too. Well, I suppose I can tell her that I was helping an apprentice find their way around the camp. After all, I'm sure you know all too well how Thornfur gets when she's upset, Scorchfoot."

"Of course," Scorchfoot replied irritably, and he sternly added, "Go now, Sootpaw. I wouldn't want to hold you up."

"I was already leaving," Sootpaw responded, and true to his word, he had already turned around and padded the opposite way.

Scorchfoot sighed, and he turned to Featherpaw. "Have you eaten?" he asked brusquely.

"Yes," she replied, somewhat confused. After all, wasn't eating what cats did when they woke up?

"Good," he mewed. "Now, follow me."

Featherpaw stared at him for a second, before doing as he had instructed and following after him.

They traversed through the camp until they ultimately left it, and there was only the open land before them with the occasional bush or boulder standing alone.

"I recognise this area," Featherpaw piped up, glancing up at her mentor.

Scorchfoot grunted, then he seemed to realise something, for he said, with a stern undertone, "And just what were you doing here on your own, kit, and in WindClan territory no less?"

Featherpaw blinked. "I wasn't on my own," she mewed, "I was with my father."

Scorchfoot didn't even look back at her as he answered: "And who is your father, kit?"

"My name isn't kit, it's Featherpaw!" she spat, her hackles rising. "And my father is Flamestreak!"

Scorchfoot looked at her then, and his amber gaze was intense, so intense that it was almost like Sootpaw's in its intensity.

Could her mentor possibly be kin to Darkpaw and Sootpaw?

And now that Featherpaw thought about it, Darkpaw and his brother did look pretty similar to Scorchfoot. Like, Darkpaw's pelt was the same shade as her mentor's, and Sootpaw's eyes were the same.

She wondered who their mother was.

Did she have Darkpaw's lovely blue eyes? Or Sootpaw's smoky grey pelt?

"Hey, Scorchfoot," Featherpaw mewed, padding quickly to his side, "Are you kin to Darkpaw and Sootpaw?"

Scorchfoot didn't reply for a long time, but when he did, it was an incoherent grumble: "Sons," and he turned his head to her, his amber eyes appearing to black, so intense his displeasure was, "And I don't see how that is any of your business. You don't talk about your family, so you don't need to know mine."

Before she could feel shame bubble within her, Featherpaw blurted, "What happened to their mother?"

Scorchfoot didn't turn his face away, and his eyes darkened so much that they were as black as the night sky. "She's dead," he said coldly.

And that was when Featherpaw realised how lucky she was- while her own mother seemed to hate her, Snowfall was still alive, as was her brother. She also had a father who loved her with all his heart. A love which Featherpaw didn't know how to reciprocate.

Featherpaw didn't know how to love.

Her own mother had been so awful to her the entire six moons that she had lived in ThunderClan, denying her the love she needed- no, craved, and that had struck her later on in life.

Featherpaw had never been loved, so she didn't know how to love in return.

That was why she felt nothing significant for Flamestreak. She didn't know how to love him, but if someone showed her how- that is, showed her how to love, then she knew that she could at least try.

Featherpaw knew that she would like that.

She really would.

To her disappointment, the entire time that her mentor was showing her WindClan's territory, he wouldn't utter a single word to her. He was cold to her and he ignored her, and if he had to speak with her, then it was in short, curt sentences.

Featherpaw felt awkward.

Mostly due to the fact that she had caused this probably irreparable rift between them- and yes, it really was her fault.

Featherpaw shouldn't have delved into things that didn't concern her.

That is, Darkpaw and Sootpaw.

If they found out what she had done, what they even want to talk to her anymore?

Featherpaw could understand Sootpaw, mostly due to the fact that he hardly talked to anyone. It was only Darkpaw that she couldn't bear to lose.

Darkpaw knew her, and it didn't matter how little they knew each other, because Darkpaw was the one who found her.

The one that she had first opened up to.

She couldn't stand to lose him.

So Featherpaw would make things right.

She would.

. . .

The camp was mostly silent when they got back, the few cats that were there quietly conversing in groups over their shared meals.

When Scorchfoot dismissed her with a cold voice and equally cold eyes, Featherpaw bowed her head and, not meeting her would be Clanmates' eyes, trudged to the apprentices' den.

When she reached it, she padded inside and settled herself into the farthest corner, away from prying eyes. Nobody bothered her, and the only cat to wander inside was Swiftpaw.

He stumbled over his own paws in his haste to reach her. He peered down at her with concerned eyes, their amber shade light and bright; not dark black and cold like Scorchfoot's had been.

"Are you okay, Featherpaw?" he asked shyly, his gaze never leaving hers.

Featherpaw looked up then, and she felt something wrench inside her.

Darkpaw was standing at the entrance, looking at her and Swiftpaw in confusion.

"Featherpaw?" he mewed, padding toward them, "Are you okay?"

Swiftpaw pouted, and if Featherpaw weren't feeling so distraught and ashamed, then she would have thought the sight cute. But as it was, she wasn't in the mood for social interactions.

"Featherpaw?" he asked again.

His eyes were so blue, Featherpaw noticed dimly. They were so blue and so lovely.

Did his mother have blue eyes? Did Darkpaw miss his mother?

He down in front of her, peering down at her with those blue, blue eyes, and Featherpaw felt something snap inside her.

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, her voice near hysterical, "I'm so, so sorry!"