Rustpaw shifted in his sleep, curled up on the moss and ferns against the far wall of the den. He was slumbering as far as possible from the rest of the apprentices, and it bothered him a small amount, in the day, how the "proper" warrior apprentices all distanced themselves from him without saying much about it. But it wasn't bothering him now. Because now, while wisps of dreams still drifted through his mind, evading the rising golden light of sunrise, Rustpaw felt as free as possible.
In his sleep, Rustpaw ran and leapt, weaving through sparse misty forests and splashing through streams, just as he did when he was awake - except, in his sleep, it was much different. As he ran through his dreams, breathing the fresh air, he could - and did - take in every detail. The sharp scent of pine trees - even though there were no pine trees in DappleClan territory, he had seen the trees in BoulderClan territory from the border enough times to construct his fantasy pine forest - the smell that blended so perfectly with the dark colours and soft sounds of the forest. The scent of prey - mice and squirrels - that made Rustpaw's mouth water. And it almost made the joy of his dreams fade when he realised that when he woke up, it would be gone.
He could feel the dream slipping away, and the light of day filtering through his thoughts. He reached out for it, reached out for the last traces of pine scent, but it was gone, slipping through his claws. He fell awake.
Rustpaw blinked open his eyes, disappointment weighing him down. Most of the apprentices were already gone. It was sun-high, though, which most likely meant his mentor had gone hunting without him or not bothered to wake him up. Swiftsong often avoided Rustpaw. He could remember last night, when all the other apprentices had gone out, battle training, and Rustpaw had gone to her to see if they could go too. He was answered with a curt, "No, I don't think so, today. You have elder's den duties today. Go gather moss." Except Swiftsong had gone with him to gather moss, as though he might be incapable of differing between moss and thorns.
When he woke up now, there were only three other apprentices in the den. Two of them, Buzzardpaw and Drypaw, were snoring away at the other end of the den. The two tabby littermates were curled next to each other, and at first Rustpaw thought they hadn't been woken up yet either, until he noticed that their pelts were wet with sparkling morning dew. They'd gone on dawn patrol.
The third apprentice was also the only apprentice who would associate with Rustpaw - Tornpaw. Who, as her name suggested, was a nobody just like him, with a hideous scar that mangled her ear and went down her face, blinding her in one eye, twisting her jaw, which she'd gotten from a tree branch during a flood when she was six moons old. The same flood that had killed that queen and her kits, Rustpaw remembered - Archwing, Firekit and Thistlekit - leaving only one survivor in the litter, even though the kit's tail had been paralysed. Rustpaw had still been a five-moon old kit at the time - it was seven moons since the awful flood, and the camp was well-rebuilt.
Rustpaw opened his mouth, considering a greeting to Tornpaw, then thought better of it. Without saying a word, and very silently, so as to not wake Buzzardpaw or Drypaw, he slipped out of the den and into the camp.
From a quick glance around the camp, he couldn't find Swiftsong anywhere. She's gone hunting, and didn't think I was up to the challenge. Or maybe she just forgot I existed. A flicker of anger passed through him, then disappeared. He usually wasn't a very angry cat.
He ignored the dismissive glances of the cats around him, and padded over to the fresh-kill pile. Rustpaw had always wondered why he was the outcast. There was another cat in the Clan, an apprentice, with an "imperfection", just like Rustpaw - Rapidpaw, whose tail was paralysed. But no one dismissed her; although, perhaps it was because she was medicine cat apprentice. And anyways, Rustpaw found it hard to be resentful of her; she was always so happy and cheerful, it was hard not to like the excitable apprentice. It didn't say much for her intelligence, though.
Another quick glance around the camp and the cats who were awake told him that a hunting patrol had been gathered just before he'd woken up - he noticed most of the apprentices and quite a few warriors missing - which meant that Swiftsong probably wasn't going to be back for while. Rainwillow had gotten himself hurt, probably by stepping on a thorn - he wasn't in the camp, but Rustpaw pricked his ears and noticed the murmur of voices within the medicine den, and the uneven pawprints leading to it, where Dustwhisker and his apprentice, Rapidpaw, would be. Rainwillow wasn't a very likely cat to have been sent out on morning patrol, considering the injury he had gotten in the last battle.
Briarheart was sitting by the nursery, her eyes shining brightly as she watched her kits. Foxkit was hopping around like an overexcited rabbit, her paws scrabbling for a ball of moss, her bushy tail thrashing; Jaggedkit wasn't taking part in the game, instead just sitting off by himself with his gaze on the clouds; Skykit was pouncing, and landed on Jaggedkit. The two kits tumbled over in the dust until Jaggedkit was struggling under his larger brother. Rustpaw turned his eyes away from the kits. That kit would get himself hurt, one of these days, Rustpaw thought, always jumping in headfirst.
Pawsteps behind him made him turn around, and he instantly felt better when he saw his friend. Tornpaw stopped to pull a pigeon out of the fresh-kill pile, and meowed, "Good morning," her voice distorted both by the pigeon and by the slant of her jaw.
Rustpaw smiled. He liked being around Tornpaw; for some reason, the prickly tabby perked up in his presence. As if his happiness rubbed off on her.