Here is another update!
As the last of FoxClan and WindClan departed from the now-gloomy camp, Fogpaw shouldered his way between the honeysuckle fronds of the den, chewing on the inside of his cheek. I can't believe I sheltered in the elders' den during the battle.
He turned to cast one final forlorn glance at Thornclaw, Spiderleg, and Millie. The three elders were curled close together, murmuring quietly to each other. Now Fogpaw felt that he knew their complete life stories— they'd spent the entire fight informing the silver tom about Spiderleg's breathing problems and how it worried the black tom into thinking he'd have a fate like Sorreltail's, for example. I just wanted to watch the action… but no, it was "too fierce" for my "young eyes".
And after the entire exhausting day, Fogpaw was finding it difficult to realize that it was still his first day as an apprentice.
He padded farther away from the den, away from Lilyfern, Seedspeck, and Brackenfur grieving over Sorreltail's body, away from Cinderheart and Poppyfrost, who were padding closer to their mother.
Fogpaw scanned the damage done to the camp, and really the worst of it was the dark red patches staining the earth. With each new blood puddle he passed, another melancholy shadow settled over him. But this wasn't like a comforting patch of shade in the dead of greenleaf; it was a cold, hollowing dread that made his belly feel empty and sick.
"Oh, Fogpaw, thank StarClan!"
He whirled around, only to meet a face-ful of his mother's wispy silver-and-white fur. The young apprentice grunted as they collided, while Ivypool fell back. She returned to her paws with a warm but slightly surprised laugh. "It's like you've gotten an extra padding of muscle in just a day!"
Fogpaw rolled his eyes and shuffled his paws humbly. "Nah, you're just saying that 'cause you're my mother. I spent the entire battle in the elders' den with Thornclaw and his crew."
Ivypool dipped her head to meet her gaze with his, and the only fresh injury Fogpaw could see on her was a swollen scratch under one eye, along with maybe a couple fresh nicks in her ears besides the tears already there. "As you should've— it's only your first day as an apprentice, after all. I'm sure they kept you entertained, anyway. Cats of all ages love their stories." She lifted her neck again and raked her dark eyes over the clearing. "I suppose Lakepaw wasn't in there with you?" she asked, gesturing to the honeysuckle bush where Millie's high-pitched voice could be heard, admonishing Spiderleg for StarClan knew what.
"No," Fogpaw sighed, frowning as he wondered where Lakepaw could've possibly gotten off to. He'd last seen his brother just after FoxClan's ambush, and right before he fled to the elders' bush. "I bet he tried to fight."
Ivypool gritted her teeth and began to walk in the direction of the warriors' and apprentices' dens, her tail lashing to and fro. As Fogpaw took up pace beside her, he noticed a long, thin scratch down her flank. The wound was covered with a meager layer of cobwebs, but there were still fresh scarlet droplets welling at either end of the scratch. "He better not have. If that rascal laid a single claw on a single fox, I'll…" She shook herself and trailed off as Amberear stepped out of the apprentices' den, shaking out her own ashen pelt.
The she-cat glanced up as Ivypool and Fogpaw approached; she then ducked her head and meowed, "If you're looking for Lakepaw, he's right in there. He went back to practicing a move we're working on, so don't be surprised if he… jumps on you like you're a ShadowClan intruder." Fogpaw narrowed his eyes as she passed: her ears and nose were a deep shade of red, and she seemed a bit flushed. She intentionally shrunk away from Fogpaw when she walked by him, as if his pelt was decorated with poison ivy leaves.
Ivypool didn't seem to notice this, however, and immediately bounded into the den. Fogpaw trailed her.
Sure enough, they entered just in time to see Lakepaw take a flying leap onto a crumbled ball of mass. He captured the bedding and pummeled it, and this fondly reminded Fogpaw of the few times he would submit to Lakekit's begs for play-fighting.
"Hey there, my little warrior," Ivypool purred. She stepped forward to nuzzle her son, but Lakepaw startled, growled, and rolled smoothly away from her. When he straightened up again a few tail-lengths away from her, a scrap of moss clinging to his whiskers, he scowled at her. Ivypool looked taken aback. "What is it?"
"Last time I checked, you didn't care about me and Fogpaw much," Lakepaw murmured. "You left us when we were four moons so you could mentor Stonepaw."
Ivypool arched her brow. "Why have you waited this long to tell me how you're feeling?" she mewed tenderly. She moved forward until she could rest his tail on his shoulders. He tried to shrug her off, but she kept her tail firmly there.
Lakepaw didn't answer her question.
Ivypool sighed, and brushed her cheek against the black-and-white tom's. "The reason I went ahead and left my position is because I believed you and your brother were old enough and mature enough to fend for yourselves for the remaining two moons in the nursery. Besides, you especially were pleading me for a nest of your own, and every morning you'd be itching to go out and play, with or without Fogkit. I just thought you were turning into my independent toms—"
Her meow, which was becoming more pained with each word, was cut off by Beepaw and Morningpaw barging into the den, roughly pushing past Fogpaw, who had been loitering awkwardly at the entrance.
Ivypool stood, touched her muzzle to Lakepaw and Fogpaw individually one last time, and then exited, leaving the four apprentices alone. The tension was so thick, Fogpaw could barely breathe.
Fogpaw's lip twitched in irritation toward his kin, and he plopped down in his nest with an audible sigh before grumbling, "Who put mouse bile in your fresh-kill?"
Beepaw was already curled in her nest with her eyes closed, and her sister was dragging her nest, which had been pushed aside for Lakepaw's mini training session, back next to the gray tabby's. They ignored him.
Lakepaw wrinkled his muzzle and embedded his claws in his moss-ball mouse decoy. "Well?" he demanded. "You haven't gone deaf. You heard him."
Morningpaw groaned and whirled on them. "It really is not any of your business, to be honest. Just leave us be. We're all exhausted; let's go to sleep because I have no doubt our mentors will be waking us up at the first birdcall."
Fogpaw expected his brother to argue, but to his surprise, Lakepaw folded his legs beneath him and settled into his bed with his chin hanging over the rim. Almost disappointed that was it, Fogpaw twisted his head and settled it on his paws, gazing out at the clearing. By the time all of the older apprentices were filing in, he was already fast asleep, exhaustion taking a toll on his consciousness.
OoOoO
The next time Fogpaw opened his eyes, it was well past sunhigh. He jolted awake, rolled his shoulders and neck, and finally came to his senses.
Blinding sunlight was flowing into the den, bright as a golden pelt. He winced and inclined his head to see who was still in the den. Honeypaw and Flintpaw were still knocked out in their nests, and Morningpaw was just rousing herself. The rest of the nests were deserted. Fogpaw registered a prickle of annoyance that Lakepaw hadn't woken him up. I finally thought we were clicking last night, but now we're right back where we started.
He stole one more glance toward the rear of the den; Morningpaw was now gathering up the bedding for her nest as well as Beepaw's. She rolled up the musty moss into a bundle and shuffled over to add Lakepaw's scattered bedding to the pile. Her neck cracked as she whipped her head to look in his direction, and jumped a little when she saw he was already staring at her.
"Forgive me. I wasn't staring at you for too long," he assured her. He shook out his pelt, then smoothed his ruffled fur. "Still surprised I've slept in this late."
She nodded, whether in acknowledgement or agreement, Fogpaw didn't know. Morningpaw nodded again, this time at his bedding. "I can take that for you," she murmured in a raspy voice not unlike Spiderleg's.
"Of course. Thank you." Fogpaw rolled his moss over to her before hesitantly padding out.
The fresh air was a huge relief to his lungs— he'd forgotten how stuffy it was in there. He skimmed over the clearing, and spotted his mentor Snowtail sitting with Dewclaw by the fresh-kill pile. Larchpaw was limping into the elders' den with a lump of mouse bile on one outstretched paw. Besides them, the clearing was empty. Fogpaw chose to avoid the stinky tom and instead headed toward the brothers.
"Hey," the silver cat called out, and simultaneously Snowtail and Dewclaw glanced over.
"Hi, Fogpaw!" They both said this at the exact same time, and Fogpaw felt a second prick, though this time it was envy. If only Lakepaw and I had a relationship like that, where we could think the exact same thing, and then say it aloud. Or finish each other's sentences, like Lilyfern and Seedspeck sometimes do.
Fogpaw took a seat next to Snowtail. "It's so quiet. I must admit I kind of miss Millie's yapping. Where is everyone?"
The friendly mood vanished in an instant. Dewclaw narrowed sharp amber eyes at him. "Mind you, most of the cats went out with the elders to lay Sorreltail to rest. Well, every elder went to the burial except for Thornclaw, since he was complaining of a tick behind his left ear— he made sure every cat in the camp knew it. Molefoot set Larchpaw to that task."
Fogpaw shrunk under Dewclaw's fiery gaze, and he lowered his head like a submissive dog. Might as well roll onto my back and expose my belly, he thought with a suppressed sigh. You idiot! He went on to silently scold himself.
"Y- yeah," he mumbled, not wanting to leave things at a tense silence. "I saw Honeypaw, Flintpaw, and Morningpaw were still in our den." As he spoke, Morningpaw emerged from the apprentices' sleeping quarters. She barely glanced around at the abandoned clearing, just trudged over to where the two warriors and Fogpaw sat.
"May I leave camp quickly to change the bedding?"
Her rickety mew didn't seem to faze Snowtail, and he wanly smiled his consent. At the last heartbeat, Fogpaw decided to ask his mentor if he could go with Morningpaw. When he was granted permission, he hurtled after the silvery she-cat, who had picked up the pace once she was through the thorny tunnel.
He caught up with her ten fox-lengths out of camp. He was so winded he could hardly speak, but managed to choke out, "H- here… let me help… help you with that." Before she could object, he tugged roughly half of the stinking moss out of her jaws.
She grunted her thanks.
Fogpaw lifted his chin to keep the moss off the ground so that he wouldn't stumble over it. When they reached the oak tree with its roots covered by a blanket of moss, they tossed the dirty bedding to the side and proceeded to tear away fresh moss from the roots. Fogpaw cleared his throat, then finally settled on saying, "So when did you become so fast? It's like there's WindClan blood in you."
Morningpaw rolled her eyes, and spoke quietly. "These days, with all the forbidden relationships, there's probably some WindClan in there somewhere. I know I have kittypet blood, so that explains Beepaw's laziness." Within moments, she had all of her moss clustered together, and sat patiently waiting for Fogpaw to finish digging up his and Lakepaw's fresh bedding.
Fogpaw's backbreaking project was sidetracked for a heartbeat when a moth fluttered in the corner of his eye, but Morningpaw's waving tail in his face snapped him back.
"I also don't mess around," she mewed teasingly.
Daw. Cousin cuteness.
Soooo there were allegiances released for the sixth series, and needless to say, Snowpaw's warrior name is just beautiful.
Not Snowtree. Not Snowtwig. Not Snowstick.
Snowbush. Snowbush.