Tornpaw woke from a dreamless sleep just before sunhigh. Her tail had been trodden on by two apprentices as they staggered noisily into the den, without apparent cares about the other two apprentices already in the den. She lifted her head, glaring with her one eye, until it was clear that they were intent on ignoring her. She usually never showed annoyance, but she was not a morning person. Especially not when she was woken up by two blundering idiots - something she'd never say out loud to anyone, really.
She turned her head and poked her nose under her tail, closing her eye in an attempt to try and get some more sleep before her mentor would come looking for her. Brightblaze sometimes let her sleep in, especially if she'd gotten a good catch or defeated another apprentice in battle training the day before. And she had - just last night, she had dodged past Drypaw's defenses and knocked him to the ground. It hadn't been too hard, considering the fact that Drypaw was much smaller and slower than her, being only six moons.
Lucky Drypaw, she thought bitterly. She usually didn't have negative thoughts, but she could be jealous of Drypaw and his sister, Buzzardpaw. They were six moons, and the worst thing that had ever happened to them was being beaten at battle training by a more experienced apprentice. Tornpaw, at six moons old, had her name, her vision, and her life, all taken from her. By a tree. I wish I could at least be Nettlepaw again. She'd never liked her name, but it was better than Tornpaw.
After a moment of trying to beckon sleep, she was woken yet again, this time by Rustpaw when he sat up in his fern nest. Tornpaw blinked open her eye to see Drypaw and Buzzardpaw sound asleep. So she had slept, at least a little, and not noticed, since no cat could fall into such a deep sleep as soon as they entered a den. Even the notoriously lazy Buzzardpaw.
She turned her head, about to say, "Good morning," to Rustpaw, when he stood and left without saying anything. At first she was taken aback, then realised that he probably hadn't wanted to wake Drypaw or Buzzardpaw. Trying to be as silent as Rustpaw, Tornpaw followed him out of the den and found him standing by the fresh-kill pile, his eyes flicking across the camp, from one cluster of cats to the next. Tornpaw grinned mentally. She'd gotten to know Rustpaw, since they were together the two cats no one liked talking to, so she knew that now he was taking note of all the little details and figuring out where every single cat was at the moment. She had had time to get used to his freakish intelligence.
She padded over to him, and her gaze fell on the fresh-kill pile. She wondered if Rustpaw was hungry. Tornpaw worked a pigeon out of the pile with her teeth, and turned to Rustpaw. "Good morning," she managed with a mouth full of feathers, her voice distorted by the pigeon. She'd always tried, in various ways, to hide the strange twist in her meow that was caused by the odd angle of her jaw and muzzle, yet another fault the smack-across-the-face-from-a-tree-branch had given her. "Do you want some?"
Rustpaw shook his head calmly, his expression suggesting he was done noticing and had started thinking hard. "I'm not hungry. Why don't we give it to Briarheart? She could use it." Tornpaw noticed he hadn't asked if she was hungry, and realised that he probably could tell that she wasn't. I wish I could figure things out about cats like that, she mused, without resent.
"Good idea."