…CHIRP, CHIRP!
The sound of birdsong filled the den, and slowly, Crimsonmoon's eyes fluttered open. Fatigue still weighed on him, his body aching as the warmth of morning bathed him. He inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of the wilderness filling his lungs—a welcome change from the harsher scents of his old territory. For a fleeting moment, the comfort nearly lulled him back to sleep, but his eyes snapped open again, forcing him back to alertness. His large frame shifted as he rose to his paws, his joints cracking with each movement. Everything felt tight—his muscles, his tendons. It was as if he had been battling all day yesterday, and his body was paying the price for it now. He grimaced at the thought, wishing Mudvine were there to tend to his wounds with her expert knowledge of herbs. Herbs… Of course, he wasn't a medicine cat, but he'd observed her enough to know how to patch himself up in a pinch. It wouldn't be perfect. In fact, it'd be sloppy work, but it'd keep him on his feet.
The specific herbs he needed... What were their names again? Cheraval or Horseytail? Or something close to that. He couldn't quite recall. Crimsonmoon wasn't familiar with this new territory, but he did remember Mudvine mentioning during his time in her medicine den that those herbs grew in wooded areas. He figured he could find them here, assuming this forest was similar. The only problem was he'd have to stay alert. Just because he didn't know how the clans here behaved didn't mean he could afford to be careless. One wrong move, and he'd end up as crowfood.
Crimsonmoon had already gotten a second chance at life somehow, and he wasn't going to waste it. He parted his jaws in a wide yawn, the sound echoing through the fox den before fading into silence. Afterward, he worked out the stiffness in his limbs, popping his joints one by one. He planted his paws in front of him and stretched out his spine, savoring the satisfying release of tension. It felt good—better than he expected—especially after how tight his joints had been.
His paws slowly carried him up the slope, out of the fox den, and he was greeted by something breathtaking: nature in all its glory. Everywhere he looked, life brimmed around him, vibrant and rich. He couldn't help but admire it. His old Thunderclan territory had never been like this. As the memories surfaced, he recalled the days before he ended up in this strange place. His Thunderclan had been a clan of hungry, desperate cats. Their forest had been scorched by lightning, leaving them in constant starvation, even after countless seasons had passed.
Crimsonmoon remembered how hard he pushed himself back then, always striving to prove his worth. He'd hunt endlessly, searching for prey to bring back to his clan. A small chuckle slipped from his throat as he thought of the time he'd fallen headfirst into a vole's burrow. Those were tough times, but there had been good moments, too—moments like that one, where even in hardship, he could laugh.
A soft smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded. The thought that he might never return to that place again left an ache in his chest. Even though his clan had abandoned him, even though they had exiled him, Crimsonmoon could never bring himself to hate them. He still held them close in his heart, even now, as a rogue.
As he pressed forward, his gaze drifted toward the dense forest ahead. The metallic scent of blood still clung to his wounds, and he knew that pushing himself too hard could easily tear them open again. He'd have to be cautious. Yes, he was confident he could hold his own in a fight, but bleeding all over this unfamiliar territory was a surefire way to get caught. His resting spot could be discovered if he wasn't careful.
Think this through, Crimsonmoon…
A frustrated sigh left his mouth as he settled on his course of action. He'd have to take things slow. No running, no quick movements—just walking. That was the safest way. He could probably find that Cheraval herb in Thunderclan's territory, likely growing near some rocks.
The forest's shadow gradually enveloped him as he ventured deeper into its heart. The chatter of woodland creatures—chirps and rustles—filled the air, going about their usual business. Crimsonmoon felt the warmth of the day still lingering, the breeze gentle against his fur. He pressed on, his gaze sweeping across the undergrowth, alert to any movement. In truth, he only knew one place in this unfamiliar territory—the spot where he had first encountered the blind apprentice, Jaypaw. He would meet him there come nightfall, just as promised. But for now, he had to tend to his own troubles.
He drew in a deep breath, absorbing the array of scents around him. He could detect the faint aroma of animals, the earthy smell of leaves, and, of course, the pervasive scent of wood. Naturally, he was surrounded by a forest, and a thriving one at that. Crimsonmoon moved forward, his gaze searching for any area with rocks. From what he recalled from Mudvine, herbs sometimes grew near large stones, and occasionally even smaller ones if luck was on their side. He just needed to ensure he was proceeding carefully, and he would. Abruptly, he halted. Turning his head, he noticed a rock. It wasn't enormous, but it was substantial enough. It could be just the right size…
"It could be, possibly," he muttered, as he began to make his way toward the rock. His approach was careful and measured, though a layer of caution lingered in his movements. Crimsonmoon scanned his surroundings with a keen gaze before finally reaching the stone. It was slightly larger than himself, and upon examining it, he discovered a herb. Although he wasn't entirely certain what Cheraval should smell like, it was certainly better than remaining idle. The herbs seemed benign enough, and he reasoned that if they were dangerous, the Clan's medicine cat would likely have removed them by now.
From what he remembered of Mudvine's lessons, the herbs had to be chewed so that their juices could seep into the wounds. This would help prevent infection and provide a mild numbing effect. However, he wasn't certain if it would sting or not... but it was preferable to falling ill and succumbing, wasn't it? Slowly, his muzzle inched toward the herb, and with considerable discomfort, he began to chew. The taste was sharp and bitter, and he felt as though he might gag, but his steadfast resolve kept him from doing so.
At last, the last of the crunchiness from the leaves disappeared after all his chewing, leaving only a gooey, sticky liquid swirling around in his mouth. The taste remained sour, but it was less bothersome now that there was no more crunchiness. Crimsonmoon tilted his head to inspect his wounds. Some were on his sides, while others marred his limbs. The injuries on his sides were the most severe and would likely be the trickiest to tend to, but they were the more critical ones at the moment.
With as much flexibility as he could muster, Crimsonmoon twisted his neck to attend to his wounds. It was a struggle, and it pained him, but it was necessary for his survival. He wasn't the type to break promises; he was still determined to meet that apprentice tonight.
…CRACK!
His ears perked up at the sound, twitching in alert. Crimsonmoon froze instantly, realizing his mistake. He had been so engrossed in his task that he had let his guard down—a careless mistake, especially in a clan's territory. Instinct took over as he sprang into action, quickly swiveling to confront whoever had approached him. At first, the glaring sunlight made it difficult to discern their identity, but soon their features became clearer. It was a she-cat with a light-brown pelt and amber eyes. She didn't appear to be a warrior, but Crimsonmoon remained on high alert. She seemed just as startled as he was, her eyes wide with surprise. From the look of her, she was probably around his age. In any case, she was still relatively young.
The two cats stood in silence, Crimsonmoon with a steely gaze, and the she-cat staring at him with a mixture of shock and alarm. Clearly not a warrior. Yet Crimsonmoon maintained his firm stance, his amber eyes reflecting a depth of icy detachment. Gradually, he began to rise, preparing to leave. The she-cat's confusion deepened.
"Wait— You can't just enter our territory like that!" she protested, her voice tinged with bewilderment.
"Well, I'm on my way out. Satisfied?" Crimsonmoon retorted, barely acknowledging her. He was already in a precarious position, and now the clan would likely become aware of his presence.
Perfect. He thought with irritation. This made everything far more complicated than it needed to be. Crimsonmoon kept moving, barely acknowledging the she-cat even as she continued to call after him. His sole focus was on escaping the territory and surviving… just as he always had. Yet, strangely, he halted at the she-cat's unexpected offer. He craned his neck, staring at her in puzzlement.
"I'll treat your injuries!"
You'll what? The words reverberated in his mind as he continued to look at her, his bewilderment clear. Was this some sort of trick? It might be, but he sensed no malice from her, and she appeared earnest. I'll treat your injuries! Was she their medicine cat, then? He wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse to have encountered such a valued member of Thunderclan. Then again, they might tend to his wounds far more effectively than he could… With a deep sigh of frustration, Crimsonmoon turned around and started making his way back toward the she-cat. The swift movements had caused some of his injuries to reopen, and blood trickled down his shoulders, sides, and limbs. His entire body was a canvas of scars or potential ones. At the very moment he started to approach her, the she-cat was already heading toward the herbs he had discovered. To Crimsonmoon's utter dismay, she promptly took a mouthful of the herb and chewed on them with an ease. That was both surprising and unsettling. The taste had been bitter, but she seemed unfazed, as if the bitterness was nothing to her. Out of all the skills he wished he possessed, that was the one he envied most—the ability to eat whatever the hell you wanted without a second thought.
Didn't I just eat a fox last night? His inner voice chimed in, forcing Crimsonmoon to remember the very fact he had somehow managed to forget. He inwardly cursed himself for being such a fleabrain in those fleeting moments of self-reflection.
Before he could form a response, the she-cat gestured for him to come closer with a wave of her forepaw. Crimsonmoon stood still, his cold gaze fixed on her as he mulled over his options. Was it really wise to accept help from Thunderclan's medicine cat? If even one of their warriors spotted him anywhere near her, they'd probably rip his pelt off. Not that he'd allow it—but still, the risk was there. Just as he was about to voice his reluctance, she beckoned him again, this time with more impatience, like a queen scolding her kits to "Hurry up!"
Begrudingly, he forced himself to step forward. He loomed over the she-cat, standing at least a head taller than her. Even a kit could have noticed the flicker of surprise in her expression as she realized just how enormous he really was, but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by a calm composure. She met his gaze briefly before gesturing with her forepaw toward the ground. She wanted him to sit. With a quiet grumble of irritation, Crimsonmoon obliged, lowering himself onto his haunches. The soft grass beneath him was unexpectedly pleasant, a stark contrast to the barren, cold den he had slept in the night before. How had he managed to sleep on nothing but dirt? Was it pure exhaustion or simply the thickness of his fur that had kept him comfortable.
…DRIP…
A drop, followed by another, fell onto the wound on his shoulder. He barely felt it. Oddly enough, he had anticipated a sting—back in his old "Thunderclan," the herbs they used often burned on contact of their wounds—but this time, the sensation was surprisingly soothing. For a fleeting moment, he almost let his mind drift, lulled by the calmness of the situation, until the she-cat broke the silence.
"Who are you?"
Crimsonmoon stayed silent, his gaze locked on the sky above, intentionally avoiding her eyes. There was no point in forming any bonds now.
"Why should I tell you?"
He thought he heard an irritated "tsk" escape the she-cat's maw as she glared at him.
"Well, I guess I'll just let you bleed out. Or better yet, I'll let the dawn patrol know you're here," she snapped, standing up with a bitter edge to her voice. Crimsonmoon's expression faltered, his jaw nearly dropping. It was too late to retreat now—she already knew he existed. The she-cat didn't rush as she began to walk away, fully aware that if he so much as laid a claw on her, he'd have the entire clan to deal with.
"Crimsonmoon."
The she-cat paused, turning back to look at him. His eyes finally met hers. Coldness collided with warmth. Death met life. Time seemed to freeze as their gazes locked. Slowly, she turned around, stepping back to resume tending to his wounds. Crimsonmoon let out an exasperated huff, his ear twitching with growing annoyance. This situation had gone from a small nuisance to a massive problem in no time at all.
"By StarClan... What, did a fox tear you apart?" she muttered, clearly taken aback by the sheer number of injuries that scarred his body. Crimsonmoon chuckled quietly at that. If only she knew he'd actually eaten a fox the night before. By StarClan... So this clan also had a StarClan? That was odd. The names, the structure—it was all too familiar. Thunderclan? StarClan? What was next? A ShadowClan, RiverClan, and WindClan too?
"Something worse," he muttered aloud, barely aware he had spoken. The she-cat's head lifted, her brow arching as she glanced at him, clearly confused and intrigued by his response.
"A badger?" the she-cat asked, continuing her inspection of his wounds while their conversation stretched on.
"Something even worse than that," Crimsonmoon replied, not bothering to elaborate. She had the privilege of knowing his name; that was enough. He wasn't about to spill his life story—certainly not about the ancient demon that had haunted him since kithood, determined to end his life. He remembered the nights when it would watch him sleep, waiting. Crimsonmoon had been its plaything, and it toyed with him as it pleased. His mind replayed the crimson forests he found himself in while he slept, forced to fight for survival until he woke. He recalled the times it had gutted him, leaving him crawling through the undergrowth with his insides slipping out, only to awaken with a start. Crimsonmoon remembered it all. The demon had molded him into what he was now... a champion of thunder and shadow, forged through endless torment.
"Hmph. My name is Leafpool," she finally introduced herself.
Crimsonmoon turned his head to observe her again. He wasn't particularly interested in the moment, but she was intriguing in her own way. He gave a simple nod, absorbing the information.
"So, you're Thunderclan's medicine cat?"
Immediately, Crimsonmoon regretted his choice of words. As soon as they left his mouth, the realization struck him. Silence enveloped them. The very air seemed to still, as if Leafpool herself had forgotten to breathe. Her gaze quickly snapped to meet his, eyes wide with confusion and alarm.
Wrong words indeed, Crimsonmoon thought grimly.
Leafpool quickly stood up, taking several steps back. That was understandable, especially when faced with a tom of his size. Even more so when that tom knew far too much about you—about your clan. By the time Crimsonmoon turned his gaze toward her again, she was already a fox-length away. He recognized that expression in her eyes—the look of realizing you were confronting something unfamiliar, something you hadn't prepared for. The same icy indifference stayed etched on Crimsonmoon's face, colliding with her warmth.
"Poor choice of words, huh?" he muttered, just loud enough for her to catch. Leafpool took another step back, her brows furrowing, eyes narrowing into sharp slits.
"How do you know this? No loner should have this knowledge… only a…" Her voice trailed off, swallowed by a tense silence as she stared at him, her own words stalling in her throat. Crimsonmoon could tell she was starting to believe he might be a rogue. A reasonable assumption, but incorrect. He wasn't one of these rogues. He had never even been part of any of these clans before.
"Not a rogue, and not a loner," he responded calmly. Although, technically, he had been a rogue once—in his original territory. His Thunderclan had cast him out, and ShadowClan had taken him in, giving him a temporary place to stay. Even if the leader of his ShadowClan had been a complete fool, they had still taken him in due to his condition.
Leafpool stood there, speechless, her gaze filled with a blend of confusion, panic, and concern. What did that make him? An enigma, no doubt. He was something foreign to these clans, something that didn't belong but somehow was here regardless. Crimsonmoon was an outsider carrying too much knowledge—knowledge that, if placed in the wrong paws, could be a danger to the clans.
"Believe me," Crimsonmoon started, his gaze hardening as his brows drew together, "I'm not your enemy. I'm simply... no one."
With a few cracks in his joints, Crimsonmoon rose to his full height once more. His towering form cast a long shadow that stretched toward Leafpool. His gaze drifted down to his injuries. Most of the serious ones had been treated; only a few minor cuts remained. He could probably manage those himself if he could twist the right way, though the one on his hind leg would be nearly impossible to reach alone. Returning to the moment, his eyes locked on the medicine cat again, never wavering. His breathing remained steady, and his expression sharp, but he had no intention of harming her. Hurting one of the most valuable members of a clan was reckless, foolish, and utterly pointless.
"I'm not here to hurt you," Crimsonmoon said, his tone softening slightly. "I just need these wounds treated with that Cheraval herb…"
He only hoped that would be enough to convince her to finish the job. To his confusion, however, Leafpool looked like she was trying not to laugh. Wait… why was she about to laugh? Crimsonmoon replayed his words in his head, still clueless as to what was so amusing.
"Cheraval?" Leafpool snorted, her laughter breaking through the forest's quiet. "It's Chervil, you mouse-brain!"
Crimsonmoon froze, processing her words. His expression flattened as he realized his mistake. He'd called it "Cheraval" instead of "Chervil." A minor slip-up, sure, but why did she find it so funny? Was this what passed for… medicine cat humor? Also, did all of her panic seriously vanish in that instance? Crimsonmoon glared at the she-cat as more snickers slipped from her mouth, his irritation building with each passing moment. At some point, she even had tears in her eyes from laughing.
"I'm sorry, it's just... with how intimidating you seemed," she said, finally calming down. "I thought you'd at least know how to say Chervil properly."
Crimsonmoon gave her the flattest look he'd worn in moons. For a brief second, the thought of swiping at her muzzle crossed his mind. But, unfortunately, he held himself back. The she-cat cautiously approached again, biting down on another mouthful of herbs. He could hear the crunch fade bit by bit. Resigning himself, he sat back down, the soft grass cushioning him once more. His gaze drifted upward, blankly fixating on the sky as he chose to ignore the medicine cat. Engaging in more conversation with her felt like a risk. She already knew his name, his appearance, and a glimpse of what he was capable of. In her eyes, he was probably quick-witted, powerful, and perhaps even charismatic. All deadly traits for a single cat to have.
"I won't tell my clan about you," Leafpool suddenly said, nearly making Crimsonmoon leap out of his fur. Slowly, he turned his head to look down at her, his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions—confusion, gratitude, and something close to awe. Why would she keep his existence hidden from her own clan? He appreciated it, sure, but… why?
"You just need to tell me how you know about my clan…" she added.
That was fair enough, Crimsonmoon thought. But how could he explain it? Oh, I come from a clan called Thunderclan too? That wouldn't fly. The best he could do was admit that he hailed from a similar kind of group, even if it was worlds apart from hers.
"Hmph, I come from a clan too. Just... not one of yours," he muttered.
Leafpool hummed thoughtfully, absorbing the information. It wasn't too far-fetched, he figured. After all, there were probably other clans or large groups of cats beyond these borders. If this "Thunderclan" existed, there had to be others. Crimsonmoon remained motionless, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. The conversation had drifted into an uncomfortable silence, and he barely registered the sensation of the herbs finally stopping their seep into his wounds. At least that was one less thing to worry about. Infection wouldn't be his end today.
"That should do it," Leafpool said, giving his body a final once-over, searching for any missed injuries. "But stay out of trouble! I don't want to find you crawling through Thunderclan's territory again because you were mouse-brained enough to take on a predator!"
Something worse than a predator, he mused darkly. Much worse. It was a beast—a nightmare. Slowly, Crimsonmoon dipped his head in acknowledgment. There was no point in dragging this encounter out any longer. He needed to head back, rest up until nightfall. That was when he would meet the blind apprentice. Without hesitation, Crimsonmoon was back on his paws, his movements fluid. The medicine cat had risen too, stepping back cautiously. He paid her little mind, his focus already shifting as he started to slip away. The dense shadows of the forest swallowed him up, his figure gradually dissolving into the darkness. Leafpool stood frozen, her gaze lingering as he disappeared beyond Thunderclan's borders.
A swirl of emotions churned within her—confusion over the tom's battered state, intrigue at his apparent lack of aggression, and unease over how much he knew about her clan. Could he possibly know about the others as well? The thought sent a flicker of alarm through her. Knowledge was a dangerous tool, and if it fell into the wrong paws, it could threaten all four clans. She only hoped her instinct was right—that this cat wasn't a threat, just a loner with an unusual interest in the clans or perhaps a traveler from some distant tribe.
Only time would tell, she hoped.
In the distance, the fox den he had claimed as a temporary shelter came into view. For now, it would have to do. Step by step, he closed in on the den, finally slipping inside. The shadows within greeted him without resistance, and with his pitch-black pelt, he almost became one with the darkness. Only the blood-red streaks along his fur betrayed his presence. He eased himself down onto the floor, resting his head on his paws, his gaze drifting toward the entrance of the den. The sunlight outside marked that it was sunhigh; he still had a few hours before nightfall.
Crimsonmoon's thoughts wandered to the apprentice. He hoped they'd accept his offer. In them, he saw a reflection of his younger self—a cat desperate to prove their worth to their clan.
…Thunderclan Camp
Jaypaw. He heard something, but he stayed put, content in his resting spot. He didn't feel like moving. Jaypaw. There it was again. Annoyance started to simmer beneath his fur as the sound kept coming. It was getting really irritating—really irritating. He was on the verge of snapping at whoever was disturbing him, right until a pawful of moss was tossed onto his head. Instantly, Jaypaw jolted up, shaking off the moss and glaring at whoever had dared interrupt his sleep. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was none other than his brother, Lionpaw. His gaze swept the apprentice den in search of his other sibling, Hollypaw, but then it hit him. She was a medicine cat apprentice now, which meant she wouldn't be spending much time in the den with them anymore.
"Hey, fleabrain," Lionpaw grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "It's almost sunup. We have to be at the highrock."
He's right. Jaypaw silently agreed. Now that he was an apprentice, he had to join his clanmates at the center of camp to hear from Firestar, their leader. With annoyance and irritation, Jaypaw let out a sigh. Jaypaw stretched out, feeling the satisfying pull in his muscles, followed by a quiet yawn that echoed softly before fading away. Around him, the other apprentices were beginning to stir, clearly accustomed to early mornings. Jaypaw envied them for their ability to wake up as if they had the most restful sleep. In contrast, he was still wrapped up in thoughts of his dreams. His mind wandered back to the tom he'd met the previous day—Crimsonmoon. A faint smile tugged at his muzzle as he remembered their conversation. Crimsonmoon hadn't seen his blindness as a flaw, but rather as a gift. In exchange for his lost sight, his other senses had sharpened. It was rare for anyone to see past his disadvantage, and that's what intrigued Jaypaw so much about him.
"Crimsonmoon..." he muttered, the name slipping from his mouth before he realized it. Instantly, his brother, Lionpaw, turned to him, raising a brow in confusion. For a brief moment, the silence hung thick between them as they stared at each other.
"Who—" Lionpaw began, only to be cut off when Jaypaw brushed past him, heading out of the apprentices' den. Lionpaw could only sigh in mild frustration before following his brother outside. The morning in Thunderclan greeted the two brothers with tranquility. Birds sang in the distance, and the cool scent of the forest hung in the air, mingling with the rising warmth of the sun as it slowly climbed the sky. Jaypaw couldn't help but feel a pang of envy for his brother's ability to witness the beauty of the day. He could only rely on his hearing and sense of touch to experience it, and while it was still beautiful in its own way, it wasn't the same. As they made their way to the heart of the camp, they passed by several warriors before parting ways to join their mentors.
Much to Jaypaw's annoyance, Brightheart had extended her tail, signaling for him to sit beside her. He didn't really want to, but he also didn't want to disrespect his mentor. With a hint of irritation, he settled himself on the cool earth next to her. Brightheart greeted him with a gentle "Hello," to which Jaypaw responded with a muttered reply, barely caring whether she heard him or not. It didn't matter anyway.
Before long, the murmurs around him died down, and the camp fell silent. Jaypaw could feel the change in the air as a shadow stretched from the base of the Highrock. Paw steps echoed softly, growing closer until a familiar figure appeared. Though Jaypaw couldn't see the color of his pelt, he knew well who it was. He could sense the presence of his grandfather, Firestar. The leader of Thunderclan had climbed the Highrock, his orange fur catching the sunlight for all to see.
Even now, Jaypaw couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the sheer presence his grandfather commanded. He had heard the tales—how Firestar had started as a kittypet, only to rise through the ranks to become one of the greatest warriors in the history of the clans in just a few short seasons. It was a legacy that felt impossible to live up to. Yet, that was exactly why Jaypaw had to prove himself to his clan. Firestar wasn't born into warrior blood, and now he led ThunderClan. If a kittypet could rise to such heights, surely a blind cat could do the same.
"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!" Firestar's voice rang out, clearing the camp as cats moved to sit and listen. The call was commanding, like a battle cry, and all conversation ceased as they awaited their leader's words. Jaypaw, like the rest of the clan, already had a good idea of what was coming. Firestar would be assigning the dawn patrol, as usual.
Firestar's gaze swept over the gathered cats, pausing as he prepared to assign the task.
"Brambleclaw," he started, "take a dawn patrol to check the borders. Bring Ashfur and Thornclaw with you."
Called it, Jaypaw thought with a hint of smugness. He had listened to enough of these meetings to predict the routine. His father, Brambleclaw, nodded in agreement. Jaypaw didn't need to see to know that, somewhere in the crowd, his brother Lionpaw was probably grinning from ear to ear. It wasn't fair. Not only did Lionpaw get to go on the dawn patrol, but he got to patrol alongside their father! Why did he always get so lucky? Now wasn't the time for jealousy. He listened in more, but his mentors name had never been called.
Which meant… training. A shiver ran down Jaypaw's spine, not from fear but from irritation. Training… that was the most daunting challenge his blindness presented. He couldn't see what needed to be done, only guess or follow instructions. Jaypaw stared blankly ahead until he felt a tail brush against his back. He turned his head to see who it was. He could feel it. It was his mentor, Brightheart. He imagined she had a comforting smile, but it only deepened his frustration. She was pitying him, practically saying: "Don't worry, I'll support you with whatever you need!"
His brows knitted together as a chill of annoyance swept over him. He detested this. He loathed it. Jaypaw was determined to prove everyone wrong. He would show ThunderClan that blindness does not mean weakness.
Gradually, Jaypaw heard his mentor rise to her paws. Though his sight was gone, he could sense her urging him to follow. One step at a time, he trailed after her. His ears absorbed the medley of sounds around him, while his nose captured the myriad of scents. From the elders conversing softly among themselves to the kits observing the clan's bustling activity, he experienced it all. In fact, Jaypaw was even certain he could hear the medicine cat, Leafpool, informing his sister about her upcoming herb-gathering task. Such was the acuity of his remaining senses. Despite his loss of vision, his hearing and sense of smell had become incredibly acute, arguably the sharpest in the clan.
Yet, none of the other cats saw that. To them, he was just a blind apprentice chasing an impossible dream. A fiery determination burned in Jaypaw's chest as he padded behind his mentor. At some point, they passed through the camp entrance, and Jaypaw could feel the sun's warmth slipping away from his fur as they ventured deeper into the forest. What was Brightheart planning? It almost felt like he wasn't even following her anymore; she was so quiet. Every so often, she'd glance back to check if he was still there, but the only way Jaypaw knew for sure was by the faint sound of her pawsteps and the soft, almost imperceptible rhythm of her breathing. Her paws made a slight "grush" noise as they pressed into the earth. Yeah, that was the best way to describe it.
Suddenly, without warning, Jaypaw collided into something. He flinched back, only to realize it was Brightheart's side. She had stopped abruptly. He swallowed a hiss of frustration. Before he could speak, her calm voice cut through the silence.
"What do you smell?" she asked, her tone smooth and steady. Jaypaw blinked in confusion at first, but then it hit him. This was a test. He lifted his head, pretending to scan the area though his sight was useless. Drawing in a deep breath, he let the scents around him flood his senses. The familiar smell of wood was there, along with dirt and Brightheart's scent. But then, something else—a hint of prey. He could smell a squirrel, just faintly.
"There's a squirrel. That way," he replied, angling his muzzle toward the northeast. A heartbeat later, he heard a soft purr of approval from his mentor. Pride? She was… proud of him? For finding a squirrel? Any cat could have done that! Confusion churned in Jaypaw, but he didn't dwell on it. He knew what was coming next. Brightheart expected him to catch it.
"Go on," Brightheart's quiet whisper urged him forward, her gentle nudge breaking the silence. Jaypaw hesitated for a heartbeat, then crouched down. He had never truly seen how a warrior hunted, but he had listened closely enough to know the rhythm of it—the sound of muscles coiling for the strike. He knew when to pounce, the only thing missing was perfecting the posture. Awkwardly, he pressed his paws against the ground, moving slowly as he stalked toward the squirrel.
The scent of the prey was his only guide. He had no clue how big the squirrel was, what it looked like, or its exact position. Even his sharp hearing had limits. Still, he could pick up on the tiny sounds it made—soft scrapes as it buried a nut in the earth. Distracted. This was his chance.
Jaypaw inhaled deeply, steadying his pulse. The world around him fell away, leaving only the squirrel in his focus. He could hear its breathing, feel the subtle shift of its muscles. Each time it moved, a quiet "whoosh" followed, signaling its tension.
Step by careful step, he edged closer, his paws barely brushing the ground. He kept his movements light, every muscle silent. One… the squirrel's ear flicked. Two… the tension in his hind legs built, energy simmering. Three… with a burst of strength, Jaypaw leaped, surging forward. Four… his claws found their mark, sinking into the panicked, squealing creature. The next few moments were a frantic struggle as Jaypaw desperately tried to pin the creature down. The squirrel's panicked squeals and constant thrashing overloaded his senses. He could hear the rapid twitch of its muscles, the sharp cries of fear. It was like trying to trap a squirming mouse, but bigger and more determined.
For a heartbeat, it seemed as though he had it—then the squirrel slipped from his grasp, darting into the nearby bushes. A heavy silence fell over him as he stared in the direction it had fled. A simmering anger stirred beneath his pelt, frustration building. He was so close. Before he could curse the loss, he heard paw steps approaching from behind. It was Brightheart.
"Don't worry, you'll catch one next time!" Brightheart said softly, her tail draping over his back in comfort. "Honestly, for your first attempt, that wasn't bad at all. You almost had it!"
But Jaypaw hardly cared. He hadn't caught it, and that was all that mattered. What good was praise if he had nothing to show for it? To him, it was pointless—useless even. There was no frustration or irritation left in him, only a hollow emptiness. Jaypaw's head hung low, his sightless gaze fixed on the earth beneath his paws. For the first time in his life, he felt utterly defeated, as though giving up seemed the only option.
They're all fools.
His ears twitched at the words, though no one had spoken them aloud. His head lifted slightly, blind eyes staring blankly ahead, bewilderment etched into his face. Why was he hearing this now? What was the point?
You want to prove them wrong. You want to show everyone what you're capable of, don't you?
Jaypaw's heart pounded, the voice feeding his growing resolve. The tom's words echoed in his mind. Yes—he did want to prove them wrong. He wanted every cat to know his worth. Blindness wasn't a weakness, it was simply a different strength. Energy surged through him as the realization took root, and Jaypaw straightened up, suddenly invigorated.
Brightheart blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden change in him. She had never seen Jaypaw like this—so full of life. He was usually so irritable, frustrated by everything, but now, after his mistake, he seemed to have awakened something deeper, something fierce. Even though Jaypaw was blind, Brightheart could swear she saw a flame burning inside him—a fire not unlike his grandfather, Firestar's. The two cats stood in an awkward silence, Brightheart watching her apprentice with wide eyes, while Jaypaw stood firm, his expression unyielding as stone. Before Brightheart could gather her thoughts to speak, Jaypaw broke the silence.
"Can we try that again?"
Brightheart blinked, then blinked again, her surprise palpable. Had some cat from StarClan taken over Jaypaw's body? The question briefly flickered in her mind, given the drastic shift in his behavior.
"S-Sure," she stammered, recovering her composure as she began to lead him away, her apprentice trailing behind, more determined than ever.
…Later
Every muscle in Jaypaw's body felt sore, as though he had been training tirelessly for hours, but in reality, he hadn't. He had only been practicing his hunting skills, and in all that time, he'd only managed to catch a single mouse. It wasn't the most impressive prey, but it was his victory, earned through sheer reliance on his remaining senses. His nose had led him to it, and his keen hearing had allowed him to pinpoint its exact location. Brightheart had even praised him for the catch, and while that usually irritated him, this time, it felt... satisfying. He hadn't felt that in a long time—not since he met the tom, Crimsonmoon.
In silence, Jaypaw and Brightheart made their way back to camp, neither bothering to break the quiet. Brightheart wore her usual soft smile, while Jaypaw's typical frown lingered, although it was far less intense than usual. It felt almost forced, as if he wasn't entirely sure why he was frowning at all.
Jaypaw's thoughts drifted to the upcoming meeting with Crimsonmoon. The mysterious tom had told him to meet at the same spot they had crossed paths the first time. Jaypaw knew deep down it was wrong—meeting with an outsider like this. For all he knew, Crimsonmoon could be a loner or even a rogue. But none of that mattered to Jaypaw. Crimsonmoon was the only cat who didn't see his blindness as a weakness. He was the only one who looked beyond it and focused on its strengths.
As the shadows above them lengthened and the last warmth of the setting sun began to leave his fur, Jaypaw realized he had only about an hour left before their meeting. He still didn't know what Crimsonmoon wanted to discuss, and the tom hadn't stuck around long enough for Jaypaw to ask the question the first time. With a quiet sigh of frustration, Jaypaw couldn't help but wonder what awaited him at their next encounter.
At last, Jaypaw and Brightheart reached the camp's entrance. Most of the patrols had returned by then as well. He wasn't sure exactly how long they had been gone, but judging by the fading warmth of the sun and the lengthening shadows, it had probably been several hours. His paws connected with the familiar earth as they stepped back into camp. A few cats turned their heads to greet them, though Brightheart was the only one to return the greetings.
Across the clearing, Jaypaw sensed his brother. Lionpaw had likely been back for a while, probably lounging around with that cocky grin of his. Despite himself, Jaypaw let out a soft chuckle. His training session with Brightheart hadn't been as miserable as he had anticipated. Honestly, he didn't even care whether or not he'd been sent out on patrol.
Before long, Jaypaw found himself wandering toward the center of camp, heading in Lionpaw's direction. He could feel his brother beckoning him over with a few taps of his paw on the ground. Jaypaw padded over and sat down on his haunches. His face was no longer twisted in a frown—just a neutral, calm expression.
"Whoa..." Lionpaw's voice broke the silence, filled with surprise as he stared at Jaypaw's face like he'd just seen a ghost. Jaypaw raised a brow, confused by his brother's reaction. Normally, he would've snapped at him for being so dramatic, but he remained quiet.
"Sorry," Lionpaw quickly apologized, fumbling for the right words. "It's just... I've never seen you so... positive?"
Jaypaw responded with a scowl, brushing off the comment without a second thought.
Not much else happened after that. Jaypaw dropped his mouse onto the fresh-kill pile and grabbed his own meal to share with Lionpaw. Everything returned to its usual routine. He even crossed paths with Hollypaw and asked her how her day went. Oddly, she mentioned that Leafpool seemed somewhat concerned, though more curious than worried. When Jaypaw pressed her for more, Hollypaw was unsure. All she could say was that Leafpool had gone out to gather herbs but returned with less than a mouthful.
It wasn't his problem, and Jaypaw decided not to dwell on it. He and Lionpaw made their way back to the apprentice's den, the shadows closing around them like an old friend. A few of the other apprentices were already there, some on the verge of sleep. Jaypaw felt a pang of jealousy—he knew he wouldn't get much rest tonight.
Eventually, he made his way to his moss bed. His paws sank into the softness, joints popping as he settled down. His front paws tucked beneath his chin, and he let his body relax, weighed down by the exhaustion of the day. His muscles ached from the training, and though his mind was still restless, his body urged him to sleep. At least a quick nap before he had to go... that much was certain.
Wake up. Jaypaw's mind jolted him into consciousness, his eyes snapping open to the familiar darkness. For a moment, he was dazed, his thoughts tangled and sluggish as he tried to piece together what was happening. Then it hit him, sharp as a claw to the side. He shot up, heart racing. Night had fallen, and it was time—time to meet the other cat. Jaypaw nearly gasped, kicking himself internally for letting sleep overtake him so easily. He had only meant to take a quick nap, not sink into a deep slumber! His legs pushed him to stand, even as his tired muscles protested. His body felt sluggish, but his mind buzzed with energy.
How could I be so careless? I'm going to be late! Jaypaw scolded himself in silence, pausing to listen. The sound of deep, steady breathing filled the den. His fellow apprentices were still asleep, oblivious to his panic. Good… very good. He took a moment to gather himself, closing his eyes and drawing in a calming breath. After a few heartbeats, Jaypaw reopened his eyes, his senses sharper. He inhaled deeply, picking up the familiar scents of Lionpaw and the others. Everyone was where they had been when he drifted off—none of them stirred.
Jaypaw moved cautiously, his paws ghosting over the moss, barely making a sound as he slipped toward the den's entrance. Once outside, he hugged the shadows, his ears straining for any signs of movement. But all he heard was the rhythmic breathing of the warriors, deep in their slumber. Relief washed over him; sneaking out was proving easier than he had anticipated.
Keeping low, Jaypaw padded across the clearing, heading toward the camp entrance. The shadows clung to him, cold and comforting, as if welcoming him into the night. Pawstep by careful pawstep, Jaypaw slipped out of the entrance and into the cold grasp of the forest. His senses were alive with the scents of wood, prey, and leaves. His focus was razor-sharp—he couldn't afford to be discovered. The blind apprentice listened intently as he moved through ThunderClan's territory, occasionally sniffing the air for a particular scent. That specific scent… was Crimsonmoon's.
He recalled their first meeting, nearly outside ThunderClan's borders. If he had ventured a few tree-lengths further, he might have felt the distant hills. A fleeting thought of that freedom crossed his mind, but now was not the time for such musings.
…CRUNCH! CRUNCH!
Jaypaw's paws landed on a pair of brittle leaves, the sound breaking the stillness like a whisper carried too far. He winced but pressed on, barely registering the noise in his urgency to find Crimsonmoon. His thoughts swirled around the mysterious tom, wondering what he might say, what he might reveal. There was a flicker of doubt—what if Crimsonmoon didn't show? But then, he didn't seem like the kind of cat who would go back on his word. Right?
Still, uncertainty gnawed at Jaypaw as he made his way through the forest. His trust in other cats was thin, worn down over time. Was that why his instincts whispered doubts, or was it simply that Crimsonmoon was an enigma? Either way, he had to know. He had to find out if this tom truly believed in him.
Suddenly, Jaypaw felt the soft glow of moonlight spill over his back, signaling that he had reached their meeting place. Silence stretched out before him, thick and oppressive. Confusion flickered across his face as he stopped, his head turning slightly as if trying to peer into the darkness despite his blindness. Was he too early? Or worse… had the tom lied to him?
…FWOOOSH!
Without thinking, Jaypaw spun around, heart thudding. His instincts flared, muscles tense as his body screamed a warning. The only time he'd felt like this was when he had faced the fox… and Crimsonmoon. He hoped it was the latter, but the fear and thrill of danger sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. His senses sharpened, ears straining to catch every sound, nostrils flaring to pick up the familiar scent.
"Took you long enough..." a voice echoed from the shadows. Jaypaw's head snapped toward the sound, his body slowly relaxing as a familiar presence loomed over him. Crimsonmoon. Relief washed over him, pushing away the doubts that had plagued him. Now, the only question that lingered was what the tom had planned for him next.
A heavy silence settled between them, Jaypaw waiting while Crimsonmoon seemed to size him up. Oddly enough, the blind apprentice couldn't pick up the same overwhelming scent of blood that he had the first time they met. Back then, Crimsonmoon had been soaked in it. But now? The tom's fur was nearly clean, with only a faint trace of dried blood mixed with an herb-like scent. Had Crimsonmoon tended to his own wounds? Jaypaw's thoughts lingered on the question until Crimsonmoon's voice cut through the quiet.
"Here," the tom spoke, dropping something onto the ground. "Put these on."
For a moment, Jaypaw just stared downward, unable to identify the objects by sight… since he was blind. But the command was clear enough, and with some hesitation, he reached out to feel them. His paws brushed against something strange, a mixture of moss, mud, and what felt like stone. Jaypaw tilted his head, confusion evident on his face. Crimsonmoon huffed in frustration.
"They're straps," the tom explained, picking one up with his teeth and swinging it in front of Jaypaw's nose. "You wrap them around your legs. The mud and moss keep them in place, and the rocks? They're weights."
Jaypaw blinked once, then again. Weights? Why would he need weights? Before he could voice his question, Crimsonmoon shoved more of the straps toward him, making it clear that there would be no time wasted on idle chatter. Reluctantly, Jaypaw started fastening the straps around his legs. The sensation was odd—each strap pressed firmly against his limbs, with the rocks adding a slight resistance. They weren't overly heavy, perhaps the weight of a squirrel, but noticeable nonetheless. Maybe half a pound to a pound on each limb. For a cat that barely weighed five pounds himself, it felt like a lot.
"Listen closely," Crimsonmoon's voice growled above him. Jaypaw's ears pricked in attention. "We don't have time to waste. From now until you become a warrior, I'm going to train you hard. So hard, you'll think you're going to die."
Die? Jaypaw couldn't tell if Crimsonmoon was being serious or not, but the chilling tone in the tom's voice made it clear he wasn't joking.
"The first lesson I'll teach you," Crimsonmoon's voice rumbled with a low, dark chuckle, "is combat." The final word dripped with a dangerous edge that made Jaypaw's fur prickle in unease. His paws shifted back instinctively, worry creasing his brows. Before he could voice the protest on his tongue, a swift, sheathed paw smacked across his muzzle. Jaypaw's instincts kicked in instantly, his body trying to scramble backward, but to his growing horror, he could already sense Crimsonmoon closing the distance with unnatural speed.
Reacting blindly, Jaypaw lashed out, claws slicing through empty air. The tom effortlessly dodged beneath his swing, not a single whisker out of place.
"A good warrior crafts a plan," Crimsonmoon's voice came, just before he swept Jaypaw's legs out from under him, sending the apprentice crashing chin-first to the ground. "A great warrior considers many."
A groan of pain slipped from Jaypaw as he lay in the dirt, anger bubbling inside him. He could've dodged—he would've dodged—if it weren't for these cursed weights on his legs. What was their purpose, anyway? Frustration gnawed at him as he struggled back to his paws, eyes narrowing at Crimsonmoon, who stood still, silently observing him like a hawk watching its prey. Jaypaw's mind raced. What could he do? He was outmatched in every way, clearly…!
"Dead." Crimsonmoon's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "You'd already be dead, standing still like that. Don't think too hard—your body will figure it out." The warrior beckoned him with a casual flick of his paw, urging him to try again. Jaypaw clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a deep breath. His legs tensed, muscles coiling beneath him, ready to spring.
With a burst of energy, Jaypaw darted forward, releasing a small growl of determination as he charged. He could hear Crimsonmoon chuckle quietly, and that confused him—why was the tom laughing? He was nearly upon him, and yet Crimsonmoon hadn't moved an inch. Jaypaw's teeth gritted, preparing to strike, but before he could even swipe—
A sudden wave of dread crashed into him, a suffocating sense of impending death. It froze his limbs, and without thinking, Jaypaw's body reacted. He veered sharply to the side, digging his paws into the earth, using the momentum to launch himself sideways. He slammed into Crimsonmoon's flank, the impact causing the older tom to let out a quiet grunt.
Jaypaw's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't planned that—it was pure instinct. But he'd done it. He'd actually landed a hit.
"See?"
Jaypaw had looked up to stare at the tom, even if he couldn't truly see his ashen form.
"You may not have planned it, but your body knew what to do," Crimsonmoon stated calmly, still standing without a trace of exertion. "Even though you can't see, your body reacted on instinct."
Jaypaw's ears twitched, soaking in the lesson. He stepped back, panting heavily. The weights were starting to prove their worth, tiring him out faster than he expected. He'd barely made a few moves, yet his chest heaved as if he'd been running for hours.
"That's exactly why you need those," Crimsonmoon remarked, nodding toward the straps on Jaypaw's legs. "Your body is fragile, weak."
For a heartbeat, Jaypaw wanted to lash out, to argue. But he didn't. Crimsonmoon was right. Compared to his littermates, Jaypaw had always been the weakest in the bunch—physically, at least. He now understood what the weights were for. They weren't just burdens; they were tools to build his strength, to give him resistance so his body could grow tougher, faster. If he needed to become explosive, these would help him get there.
"I understand…" Jaypaw muttered under his breath, trying to steady himself as he crouched lower to the ground. He hadn't even meant to do that—his body was still on edge, still bracing for the possibility of death. That's how it felt around Crimsonmoon, as though every second was a fight for survival. He'd heard the stories of Tigerstar as a kit, how the elders would speak of his dark life in hushed tones. But this… this aura of pure malice and impending death seemed to dwarf even those old tales.
Taking a deep breath, Jaypaw narrowed his focus. His muscles tensed, coiling tightly like springs ready to burst. With a sudden surge of power, he launched himself at Crimsonmoon, propelling forward like a stone from a slingshot. The tom sidestepped easily, his claws still sheathed, but Jaypaw wasn't done. He twisted in midair, slashing toward Crimsonmoon's neck with everything he had. This time, he was sure he grazed the warrior—he could feel a single hair snag on his claw as the tom dodged, a little less gracefully than before.
I hit him! Jaypaw's thoughts roared with a flash of pride. But the triumph was short-lived. Before he could press his advantage, a massive head slammed into his chest with brutal force. The impact sent him flying back, and the air rushed from his lungs in an agonizing gasp. It hurt—stars, it hurt like nothing he'd ever felt. For a moment, he was convinced his ribs had shattered, but they hadn't. The pain was real, but he was still in one piece.
Through sheer force of will and the adrenaline flooding his system, Jaypaw scrambled back to his paws as quickly as he could. His breath was ragged, coming in short, uneven gasps, but with effort, he managed to steady it. As soon as he felt ready, he launched himself forward again, just like before, but this time, he kept low. His left paw shot out, aiming for the tom's legs. Dodge… As predicted, Crimsonmoon leapt aside, effortlessly avoiding the strike. Jaypaw could sense it, feel it in the air—the opening to land a blow!
With a cry of determination, he hurled himself forward. His body collided with Crimsonmoon's mid-leap—white fur against black. Jaypaw pushed with every ounce of strength he had left, trying with all his might to throw the tom off balance. If he'd calculated right, the tom wouldn't be able to control his weight while in the air, his hind paws the only stable point. Jaypaw had taken this into account; if Crimsonmoon tried to rely on those back paws for stability, he'd tackle him and take that option away.
"Grmmph…" A low grunt escaped the warrior, feeling the impact—if only slightly. Crimsonmoon hadn't prepared for the hit, but even so, his body was still far stronger and more resilient than Jaypaw's. To Jaypaw, it felt like crashing into a moss-covered boulder—reinforced and unyielding.
But… the tom had gone down. Jaypaw heard the unmistakable thud of Crimsonmoon hitting the ground, landing on his back. The sound sent a surge of energy through Jaypaw, who leapt on top of him without hesitation. Both his claws shot out, aiming for Crimsonmoon's head like the fangs of a striking snake. For the first time, Jaypaw felt the intoxicating thrill of victory surging through his veins. His claws inched closer, and closer…
Then, without warning, a gust of wind slammed into his face, forcing him to freeze mid-attack. His body stopped, instinct overriding everything. Though he couldn't see it—might never see it—Jaypaw knew there was a massive paw hovering just inches from his muzzle, ready to shatter his skull with a single blow. His mind blanked in shock. Every hair on his body stood still, as though time itself had halted. He couldn't hear, couldn't smell, couldn't feel anything but the vast blackness he had lived in for so long.
The question lingered in the air, his mind still reeling as his body tried to process what had just happened. Like a sudden gust of wind, his instincts kicked back in. It felt as though, for a fleeting moment, he'd brushed against death itself… tasted its edge.
"I feel…" Jaypaw faltered, sliding off the tom and sitting on his haunches. "I feel… incredible." That's what it was—he felt incredible. Despite the fear that gripped him, despite the sense that he had been fighting for his very life… it felt exhilarating. The thrill coursed through him, lighting him up from within. Jaypaw heard the soft shuffle of the warrior rising to his paws, followed by the pop of his neck as he tilted it with a stretch. Though Jaypaw couldn't see it, he imagined Crimsonmoon's face twisted into a proud grin. A smile of his own slowly crept across his muzzle, settling comfortably. But before he could voice anything, the tom's deep voice filled the space between them.
"This is only the beginning…" Crimsonmoon said, standing tall again and stepping forward. "We'll keep at this until your body doesn't even need eyes. You'll simply envision the world around you."
Jaypaw's ears pricked, soaking in every word. No longer needing to see… but to visualize his surroundings? How could that even be possible? It sounded absurd, but after everything he'd experienced so far, after how Crimsonmoon had trained him… and after how much the tom seemed to believe in him… it no longer felt like such an impossible feat. Slowly, he nodded, accepting the challenge.
Crimsonmoon snickered, lowering his head to peer directly at the young apprentice. Instinctively, Jaypaw flinched, his body reacting on its own, sensing the tom as a threat. Before Crimsonmoon could press further, Jaypaw suddenly yawned, catching both of them off guard. The tom's expression shifted, eyes narrowing as if he hadn't expected Jaypaw to be this exhausted so quickly.
"Hmph, looks like you need some rest."
Jaypaw nodded, his eyes blinking sluggishly as fatigue crept up on him. Just as he was about to settle in, a sudden push jolted him awake. The shock briefly sparked his anger, and he nearly snapped back, demanding to know, What was that for? But Crimsonmoon spoke before he could react.
"One last task for today," the warrior said, his grin widening. "I want you to run back to your camp, sneak in—with the weights still on. Don't even think about taking them off."
Jaypaw stepped back, his face etched with disbelief. His eyes widened, brows shooting up as he absorbed the tom's command. He wanted him to run all the way back… and sneak in? Without removing the weights? A part of him was on the verge of protesting, but he bit his tongue, merely nodding. Without waiting for further instructions, his legs moved on their own, launching him into the darkened forest. Fatigue gnawed at his limbs, fire spreading through his muscles… but he was determined to finish what Crimsonmoon had asked of him.
The warrior watched as Jaypaw's figure disappeared into the night, a thoughtful hum escaping his throat. For a first day, it hadn't gone too badly. In fact, the apprentice had exceeded his expectations. Despite relying on instinct for most of his actions, Jaypaw had managed to formulate a plan—and that alone was impressive. The tom's grin widened, his gaze lingering on the path Jaypaw had taken. The young cat reminded him so much of himself in his youth, back when he too had been desperate to prove his worth to his clan, no matter the cost.
"Rest well, Jaypaw…" Crimsonmoon murmured, his voice quiet but laced with meaning as he stared out into the trees. "The world is always testing your worth."
