No reviews? Shame. But, oh well. At least some people are reading this… I hope…
Whitepaw had forever prided herself on never, ever getting particularly upset about any one thing. It wasn't that she didn't care; she was just unexpectedly talented at always keeping calm.
Birchpaw had even dubbed her – with no small amount of envy – 'The Peaceful One.' It had become so common that some of the more distant warriors – the ones who couldn't bother keeping up with who was who – even addressed her as such. Therefore, it was, in some ways, ironically obvious that she would be the cat most shaken up by the events about to take place.
Her day had started out so ordinary that she opted to call it boring before it had even started. Birchpaw, a mischevious bracken-colored tom who also happened to be the only other apprentice, woke her at the crack of dawn to tell her that her mentor, Brackenfur, was waiting. Groaning, she remembered: training session today. And, for some reason that Whitepaw simply couldn't comprehend, he always held training sessions at a ridiculously time of the morning.
"The dawn patrol hasn't even left," she half groaned, prompting Birchpaw's unnecessary laughter. "Quiet," Whitepaw ordered, flicking her tail over his mouth, causing the light brown tabby to splutter. It was their usual morning interaction, and made even the beginning of the day seem awfully mundane.
She hit Birchpaw in the head one more time before leaving; it was never a very good idea to keep Brackenfur waiting.
Honestly, Whitepaw just sort of drifted through the training session. They were reviewing stalking, which, while she found fairly interesting, she had also mastered it moons ago. Whitepaw was by no means a star apprentice, but she learned quickly and did what she was told, and was confident in passing her assessments easily, if not with flying colors. So she felt confident enough to not dedicate all of her mind to the lessons… Especially one as boring as her current one. She just wanted a little spice in her seemingly flavorless life.
Now, she wasn't one of those sentimental dreamers she heard about in the queens' tales who wanted "more" out of their life. She wasn't about to go off into unknown territory in search of some grand adventure.
But still. Some sort of change would be nice – no one ever mentioned a clan cat's life being dull, but it sometimes was.
Oh, she would certainly realize the irony of her wish before the sun had even moved a mouse-length.
It started, she would later recall, when Brackenfur led her back to camp a bit after sunhigh.
Perhaps she should have noticed something was amiss when Brackenfur stopped so abruptly at the thorn barrier that she barely avoided a crash, but, as it was, she was oblivious until Brackenfur finally let her pass and enter the camp.
The first odd thing she noticed was the smell. She scented the milky aroma that always meant there were kits around first. That alone didn't mean anything; it was very possible that a group of tussling kits had rolled too close to the camp barrier, leaving a heavy blanket of their distinctive scent. Then she picked out another smell slightly under the first, which was obviously the cause of her mentor's previous shock. For, nearly blocked out by the familiar scent that always hung around the nursery, was another scent, a sharper one.
The smell of a fully-grown cat that wasn't from ThunderClan.
A scent, Whitepaw realized as she concentrated harder, that isn't from any of the clans.
No, it was plain and clear, suddenly, that there was a rogue or a loner in camp.
In other, simpler words, an intruder.
Brackenfur, obviously following her same train of thought, told her to stay put in a few muttered words, then hurried to Firestar's den, in what Whitepaw thought was uncalled-for urgency. After all, wasn't this exactly what she had been secretly hoping for all day (and quite a bit of time before that)? Besides, the chances of the intruder being dangerous and unguarded were slim; some cat had to have noticed.
When Brackenfur emerged from Firestar's den a few heartbeats after he arrived, he didn't turn in her direction like she expected, but instead made his way over to the nursery. When he didn't spare her a glance, she decided that she must have been overlooked in favor of his mate, the heavily pregnant Sorreltail. Not that Whitepaw minded, but she did want to know what was going on, and perhaps be part of any excitement currently happening.
It was with this purpose clearly in mind that she entered the camp fully and began scouting for answers. She didn't feel particularly guilty – yes, Brackenfur had told her to stay put, but that had been when the potential for danger was still very real. And, since he had apparently forgotten about her, there couldn't be anyone dangerous in the camp.
Maybe she would try the elders' den… They loved to gossip, and always seemed to make a point to know anything important that happens. But, as she neared the thick bush that made up the elders' home, she heard a very familiar voice muttering from inside.
Mousefur, the brown elder and the secret nightmare of the apprentices and young warriors, was, as usual, complaining about something or another. Whitepaw could only hope is wasn't the nests – she would have changed them yesterday, but she had stayed out late hunting and was too exhausted when she returned. She, like half the clan, dreaded the wiry she-cat's sharp tongue, especially when it was directed at her.
Leaning closer to hear and praying to the whole of StarClan that she wasn't the cause of Mousefur's ire, she only just managed to pick up on a few muttered strings of words.
"Worthless little kittypet…corrupting the clan! She'd better…and those bratty little kits!"
Whitepaw had heard enough to piece together what must be going on, almost the way she would shift fallen leaves and twigs to form a whole picture. Was the intruder some kittypet who had wandered into the clan, perhaps bringing a litter of kits with her? If so, that would explain why Brackenfur had made a beeline for the nursery; he had always wanted to be first to know what was going on in the clan.
Whitepaw, coming to this conclusion, hurriedly backed away from the elders' den. Sure, she had plenty of questions formed from this discovery, but whenever Mousefur felt particularly grumpy, she had learned to stay away.
Next, perhaps the warriors' den. None of the warriors were quite so unwelcoming as Mousefur, so she had little fear of being driven away. And, hopefully, the few warriors that scared her nearly as much as Mousefur would all be too busy discussing whatever had happened – strangely enough, the meaner warriors all seemed to have quite a penchant for gossip.
Her theory was proven correct when she tentatively entered the den, and was immediately confronted with chaos that made her ears flatten instinctively.
It wasn't the battle type of chaos, where cats fought cats and no one could distinguish a friend from a foe.
No, it was the type of chaos where every cat present spoke at once, and words and phrases blurred into each other in an undistinguishable muddle of sound. Where the same story was told twenty different times, and each story had slightly altered details. It was the type of chaos that Whitepaw herself had never experienced, having only Birchpaw as a companion in the near-empty apprentices' den.
So it was with great caution that Whitepaw picked her way around the outskirts of the huddled cats. As she had predicted, the senior warriors paid her no heed, and the younger ones acknowledged her with a mere nod or tail-flick. Finally, she spotted the distinctive ginger-and-white pelt of her mother near the back.
Brightheart wasn't filling the air with aimless gossip like the rest of them. Instead, she surveyed the scene before her with a knowing smile on her face.
"Brightheart?" Whitepaw's greeting brought her mother's attention.
"Yes, Whitepaw? Is there something you need?"
"Well…" Whitepaw suddenly wasn't all that sure how to begin. Would it sound too nosy to ask for information straight out?
After an awkward moment of silence, she supposed that she had to ask if she ever wanted answers. "What happened here? Is there an intruder? I heard the elders – well, Mousefur – complaining about a 'kittypet.' And I think she mentioned something about–"
"Hold on," Brightheart interjected, her voice tinted with amusement. "If you give me that many questions at once, you'll never get a response. Let's start from the beginning."
Whitepaw blinked, waiting for Brightheart to continue.
"Yes, there is someone new in the camp, though I wouldn't call her an 'imposter.' She was brought here by the dawn patrol, with her three kits. There was a clan meeting, where Firestar decided she would be allowed to stay in ThunderClan, provided she try to learn our ways. Mousefur, as you can guess, wasn't all that pleased, but there was an argument and Squirrelflight put her in her place. Daisy – that's the name of the she-cat – is in the nursery now, I think."
"Wait – so we have a new member of the clan?" All this had happened without her even knowing about it?
"Pretty much," her mother agreed, her voice lilting downwards with a small, barely-noticeable sigh.
"And…are you not happy about that?" Whitepaw wondered if that little sigh had been nothing more than her over-active imagination. After all, Brackenfur always scolded her (gently, of course) for daydreaming during training.
"Oh!" At first, Brightheart just seemed surprised at Whitepaw's observation. "Not exactly," she amended, after scrutinizing her daughter for another long moment. "It's nothing, I suppose. The clan needs new kits, with only Sorreltail and Ferncloud in the nursery. And she certainly seems nice enough, from what I've seen. It's just… It's just nothing, Whitepaw, thank you. Now, why don't you see if Birchpaw wants to share prey with you?"
Whitepaw blinked, attempting to follow the abrupt – was that a dismissal? From her sweet mother, Brightheart?
It was.
Brightheart had something she didn't want to talk about. Whitepaw was almost certain of it.
Except, then, Brightheart gave her a genuine grin, and Whitepaw wasn't anymore. Because she had never seen a worse liar than her mother – if Brightheart smiled, she was happy. If she wasn't, the smile would transform her face into a gruesome grimace, only made worse by her lack of a right eye and ear.
Put simply, Brightheart was being sincere. Whatever thought had been weighing on her mind had dissipated, for now.
But, if she hadn't been imagining things, it had been bothering her mother. And it could bother her again. So Whitepaw, being the caring daughter she was, was going to find out what it was, StarClan willing or not. And she would get rid of it.
Her only lead was that it had to do with the kittypet, Daisy.
I'll start by going to the nursery and talking to her. I'll start right now!
"Whitepaw? Where are you?"
Or, maybe I'll start after eating with Birchpaw.
"Here!" She called, in the general direction of where Birchpaw's voice was coming from.
After all, it was about the time when cats would begin eating, and, however loyal she may be to her family, she was still an apprentice, and therefore, cared about food quite a bit more than she should. Daisy could wait. She wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, not with kits to take care of.
She waved her tail in a goodbye to her mother, and left to find Birchpaw. The glossy brown apprentice was waiting near the fresh-kill pile with a squirrel in his jaws. When she neared, he dropped it at her paws. "I'd thought we'd share," he meowed with a tentative smile.
"Sure," she agreed easily. "So… What do you think of Daisy?" she asked, after swallowing a mouthful of tender meat.
Birchpaw thought for a moment, his ears twitching slightly in a way that she thought was cute. "I…I'm not sure. I mean, I haven't actually met her, or anything. But I definitely think that Firestar made the right decision. How could we leave her and her kits to starve?"
And then he grinned, and Whitepaw was reminded of his troublemaker side. "And…who knows? We might even have denmates, eventually!"
Whitepaw secretly shared his eagerness – sometimes it was nice to have so much space to herself, but whenever Birchpaw was out of camp, it got rather eerie, being the only cat in such a spacious den.
But, as she thought about it, the possibility slimmed. "Though," she reminded him. "We'll probably both become warriors in another couple of moons. So, unless her kits are nearly six moons already, it'd be unlikely that we'll end up sharing a den with them. Still, though. We can hope.
"Unless, of course," she added, suddenly feeling playful. "You end up doing something mouse-brained that delays our warrior ceremonies, like, say, taking all the prey out of camp and dumping it in the river!"
Birchpaw narrowed his eyes and lashed his tail into her flank. "Hey! That was a one-time thing! And it wasn't even my fault! How was I supposed to know that Squirrelflight was joking when she told me that all the fresh-kill had gotten green-cough and had to be purified by StarClan in the river?
Whitepaw stifled a laugh and responded, "Well, have you ever heard of prey getting green-cough? I mean, they can have maggots and they can become crow-food, but fresh prey? Really?"
"Well, it was the day after I became an apprentice. I didn't know – kits aren't told anything!"
"Still…" Whitepaw noticed that, somewhere in that conversation, they had finished off their squirrel. In that case… "Anyway, I'm going to visit the nursery now…" She flashed a final amused smirk at Birchpaw. "Don't get into too much trouble when I'm gone!" She stalked off smugly, proud to have the last word.
"What– Hey!" She grinned but didn't respond as his indignant shout followed her to the nursery.
Whitepaw wasn't actually sure what she was going to achieve by talking to Daisy, but it was possible that she'd talked to Brightheart or something and had some more information on her mother's behavior.
Or so she hoped. Because, if not, she'd better start praying to StarClan for answers.
A/N: Hi! Um… Well, I don't love this chapter, but I'd really appreciate it if whoever was reading would review. It's not that hard; just click the button! Anyone can do it!