First day with Fogstorm; not so great of a start.

I know he hates me because of the incident with Sleetstar. But that was completely fine with me. I hated him as well.

He tried to show me how to hunt, but I wasn't interested at all. Sooner or later, I'll learn, and I'd rather it later than sooner. I mean, the worst thing that can possibly happen is my warrior ceremony being postponed. Not that I care.

Stupid warriors. Stupid warrior code. Stupid StarClan.

Then, I forced myself to watch as Fogstorm stalked a squirrel. It squeaked, noticing the fat, pale gray and dappled tom, and scurried away.

I couldn't suppress a wry giggle.

He turned around, angered. I knew I should be scared, but I wasn't. "Go on, show me more!"

Fogstorm grunted. He hadn't said a word to me all day, I realized.

He motioned with his tail for me to follow him as he stalked into a large clearing. A vole.

Quickly, my mentor got into the hunter's crouch. His abnormally large behind was facing me, and as he crept forward, I could see the two halves of his butt moving.

At that point, I pretty much couldn't help myself, but give his rear a massive punch. Believe me, when your fat mentor is mooning you, there's not much else you can do.

So then he tumbled, and I laughed mockingly.

The vole scurried away.

Right then and there, I burst into laughter. His face was as red as Firepaw's fur.

"Oh, so that's how you hunt," I sneered, doing a hunter's crouch and creeping forward. Then, mimicking my mentor's fall, I pretended to tumble, and giggled as the imaginary vole scurried away.

Fogstorm hissed furiously, and opened his mouth to talk to me for the first time in my life. "Streampaw, if you don't behave yourself, you better watch out. You don't want to get on Sleetstar's bad side..."

I grinned. "No, of course not. Not like he'd do anything."

"... or my bad side." Fogstorm finished, eyes narrowed.

"You don't wanna get onto mine," I mocked him.

And then he lunged towards me.

Everything went back.

"Bah!" I spat out water, shaking my head vigorously. My head hurt more than words can describe, but yet I can somehow ignore it.

I got up, still shaken, and spied my mentor immediately.

"Sorry," he said, his voice trembling.

"Sorry catches no prey," I spat, and stood on my paws. "Let's see how you're gonna explain this to Sleetstar."

"You're gonna tell him?" Fogstorm said, his voice panicking.

"Like you said, you don't want to get on his bad..." I cackled.

"...side." I finished, and punched him in the face. As I'm telling you this story, I still regret horribly that I haven't used an unsheathed claw, but we won't get into that.

To my shock and pleasure, he disappeared. Somehow, I hadn't noticed that we were on the edge of a cliff.

"Oops," I giggled.

What now? Just go back and tell every cat Fogstorm died? That was laughable. No cat would believe me.

As I ponder about what I should say, I started heading back towards camp. I didn't care. I was walking super-slow, like returning to camp after a trip to the Fourtrees.

It was all for the best. The sooner my mentor died, the better.

Unfortunately, the last person I wanted to see was at the camp entrance.

"Where's Fogstorm?" the Clan leader asked, when he saw that no muscular butt accompanied me.

"Oh, Fogstorm!" I meowed.

"Yes?"

"I think he died, kind of," I answered. The "kind of" part was just thrown in there, to make it sound less severe. I yawned and began to lick my fur.

Sleetstar gave a purr of amusement. "No, really, Streampaw." He turned his gaze towards me, expecting a more believable answer.

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "Kits will be kits, eh?"

I was just about to impatiently remind him that I was an apprentice, but he stalked away before a word would come out.

What do I do now? I asked myself. Sleetstar wouldn't believe me. If he doesn't, no cat will. Maybe I should just leave him to his death. After all, he's quite literally a big butt in my life.

Then a miraculous idea started forming in my mind. I could rescue him myself – if he was still alive. That would certainly impress Sleetstar.

But did I care? Do I care at all about Fogstorm? I was shocked when I found that the answer was yes. I did care about him. The rude, sassy, self-centered Streampaw actually cared about her mentor. Not a lot. Not, I-like-it-when-you're-alive kind of care. More like, I-don't-want-you-dead kind of care.

I headed out of camp, back towards where I sort of killed Fogstorm. Then I bumped into some cat. The cat whose face I hate and whose behind I resent.

Fogstorm was soaking wet. He didn't say anything to me, just narrowed his eyes and growled. He padded back to camp, and I followed because I had nothing better to do.

"I hate you, Streampaw," Fogstorm hissed at one point, still shaking off droplets of water.

"That's okay," I replied. "I hate you too."

When we arrived at camp, Fogstorm headed straight to the medicine cat's den.

Of course, Sleetstar was shocked when he heard what happened. He couldn't believe I was actually capable of telling the truth. Neither could Maplefur, who kept hissing at me and glaring at me.

Whenever Sleetstar was within earshot distance, he always told me something along the lines of, "Don't worry. Mistakes happen. Just be nice to your mentor."

And whenever he wasn't, the brown-faced tom would growl, "If I were leader, you'd be dead by now."

And of course, my only response was a sneer. Maplefur couldn't do anything to me. If it weren't for Sleetstar, he wouldn't even be alive, let alone a warrior and deputy.

Before leaving to go hunting with Dappleleaf and Firepaw that afternoon, I bid Fogstorm a sarcastic farewell. When I say farewell, it was quite literally a farewell. Farewell, Fogstorm. Remember me when you go to StarClan.

But I didn't exactly look forward to this hunting session, either. Dappleleaf? Firepaw? Oh, great StarClan. Well, I guess it's kind of my fault. Nothing I can do about it.

By moonrise, I had caught a sad little mouse. Dappleleaf and Firepaw had each caught more than three pieces of prey. I could see the Clan cats laughing at me, but I didn't care.

So instead of bringing the mouse to the fresh-kill pile when I arrived at camp, I thought for a while and decided to bring it to Sleetstar. I didn't know why.

Prey in my jaws, I headed into Sleetstar's den. I dropped it beside the leader.

"What's this?" Sleetstar asked.

"A mouse, you mouse-brain. Are you blind?"

Then, and I don't know why, I muttered, "Sorry. I just thought I'd bring dinner for you." I blushed, knowing I just embarrassed myself uberly. I've never been so red in my life. Redder than Firepaw?

Sleetstar looked down at the incredibly puny mouse. "Thank you, Streampaw."

"I caught it myself," I told him before I could stop myself. The words were just spilling out. It wasn't even voluntary. It was like I had no control over speech.

"That's nice," came the hesitant reply.

It was a pretty awkward moment, and both of us knew it.

"Well," Sleetstar meowed when no cat said anything, "I think you should eat it yourself. You caught it."

"No, I'm fine," I answered, blushing. "Bye!" And with that I rushed out of the den.

I was panting by the time I arrived at the fresh-kill pile to get my own dinner.

After a while, a black tom arrived. "What's wrong?" He asked me when he saw my troubled expression.

"Shut up, and go away, Tree-pawed fool," I told Forestpaw. "You think you're worthy enough to talk to me?"

He lowered his head and walked away.

"Well, you're wrong!" I replied to his imaginary answer.

I retrieved a vole from the pile of fresh-kill. You know, I never eat birds. They have two much feathers to eat properly and they remind me too much of Featherpaw. I was about to take a bite from the vole when I recognized the scent. Firepaw.

Thankfully, before I could upchuck all over the camp ground, I dragged it back to the pile and took a long time to pick out a squirrel with Rainclaw's scent on it.

I sat down all alone. At one time, Snowpaw came to join me with a disgusting-looking chaffinch, and I spat insults at her and told her how ugly she was. Then she went away after making my ears bleed.

When I was finished, I dragged myself to the medicine cat's den. Bluefeather was there, trying to warm up a shivering Fogstorm. I looked inside.

"How are you?" I asked Fogstorm in a fake concerned voice.

"Fine," he replied, suspicion in his gaze. He seemed to recognize the sarcasm in my voice.

"I hope you die," I told him, and then left.

At this point, I was terribly bored. I hope I get to go to the Gathering tomorrow and see some decent cats. Yawning, I stretched out on my nest, as far away as possible from that feathered-brain apprentice.

I fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of five bloody slashes and a stormy weather with sleet.

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