[Fawn]

71 Moons. LightningClan. Senior Warrior.

Rare was the moment where she was allowed to show her true colors. When Cherrypool had discovered a rogue carrying the scent of crowfood on the edge of the moorlands, the opportunity had come at last. Tired of tracking hares, tired of waiting for pheasants to land in the sedge, Cherrypool's inner self shivered with delight at this new challenge in front of her. The closer she got to her prey, the more alive she felt.

The daylight did not bother her—not while she was so focused.

Ruby eyes narrowed, pinpointing the diluted calico she-cat in the pine wood forest like a knife in the back. She had never hunted in such thick forestation before, but Cherrypool—despite knowingly crossing the scent-line—could not will herself to slow down. Besides, there was an excuse on the tip of her tongue should any cat find her here. Right now, the albino feline held on to the faint hope that she would miss a NightClan patrol, just as the scent of blood tickled the roof of her mouth.
She's injured.

MY FRIENDS DON'T WALK, THEY RUN
I'M PEELING THE SKIN OFF MY FACE 'CUZ I REALLY HATE BEING SAFE

Word Count: 180 Words
Tags: Amber
Notes:

[Deleted]

PALEFIRE

---

His pawsteps were light as he drifted through the pines, despite his hindpaw twisted slightly. The injury had occurred in his apprenticeship, and he had since learned to live with it, and had regained much of his earlier grace. It was still a little awkward, with his hindleg pointing outward slightly, but he managed. Sitting and standing were the most difficult, but if he brought his leg outward a little when he walked, it made the movements easier.

As he moved through the trees with his hindquarters bouncing slightly, his amber eyes scanned the trees around him, staying alert for any prey nearby. His ears shifted at a sudden noise and he stopped, turning toward the noise. Something snapped, possibly a twig, and Palefire’s eyes shot to the area the sound came from. More sounds of snapping twigs and rustling brush caused Palefire’s eyes to widen. Whatever was heading his way definitely wasn’t prey, and he stepped back a little, fearing it wasn’t another cat.

Frantic pawsteps reached his ears moments before a cat came careening around a tree, looking over her shoulder. Fear-scent washed over him moments before the cat slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground. She was quick to her paws, and Palefire rose slowly after her, wincing. He waved her tail to catch her attention; she had her eyes fixed behind her.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What are you running from?”

She turned her wide, terrified eyes to him, panting. A sound had both of their heads turned to where she had come from. A red-eyed, white... demon, for lack of a better word, stood there, eyes narrowed and fixed on the tortoiseshell beside him.

“Her...”

---

Fawn

[Fawn]

71 Moons. LightningClan. Senior Warrior.

There. Of all cats to encounter that might snap her out of this mindset, a cat with a slight limp was easily one of the worst choices. The pale-furred tom, in that moment, reminded her of a hare, and that helped her very little when it came to her moral compass trying to wrest back control from that dark pit where her amorality dwelled.

Here kitty kitty...

"This doesn't concern you," Cherrypool spoke to the tom coolly, her voice detached as if it came from a place other than her throat, her haunches lowering into a readying pounce. "Go back to your camp, NightClanner." This was not a kit; Cherrypool knew the code. This tom was no more obligated to help the injured she-cat than a mouse was obligated to help a squirrel with a chipped tooth.

It would be better if he just walked away. The albino warrioress grew still, scenting the air for any additional interruptions. No one else was coming. It would be much better if he walked away; Cherrypool was not adverse to attacking him, but she was not certain she could hold back from getting a little... overly aggressive.

She wasn't entirely certain she was going to kill the rogue, either. Perhaps she just wanted something to sink her claws into that could put up a proper fight? Or maybe she was just itching to relieve some of the stress, some of the built up emotional scarring of being a freak in your own Clan.

And of every one knowing it.

MY FRIENDS DON'T WALK, THEY RUN
I'M PEELING THE SKIN OFF MY FACE 'CUZ I REALLY HATE BEING SAFE

Word Count: 265 Words
Tags: Amber
Notes:

[Deleted]

PALEFIRE

As the white warrior stared them down, Palefire could understand the fear that ran through the she-cat beside him. Seeing the warrior was enough to make him shudder, but being chased by her?

The she-cat beside him trembled, and he took the few moments of tense silence to sort out the situation in his head. Beneath the scent of fear, he couldn’t pinpoint any particular Clan scent from the tortoiseshell, but the white warrior carried LightningClan’s scent. For whatever reason, the loner had angered the LightningClan warrior enough for her to chase her out of LightningClan’s territory, but why she had chased her to NightClan’s forest, he didn’t understand.

“Go back to your camp, NightClanner.”

Palefire’s head jerked back in disbelief. Really? “Excuse me?” He couldn’t keep the incredulousness out of his voice. Was she really telling him to leave, when she was the one crossing borders?

He wasn’t certain what it was, but he suddenly felt far bolder than he should have been. His eyes narrowed a little and he took a half-step forward. “Perhaps you should go back to your camp, LightingClanner. I may be wrong, but I’ve never seen a pine forest on a moorland.”

Perhaps she would leave. Realize she’d crossed the border, accept her mistake, and leave. Or perhaps he had just signed his death wish. Who knows. He stood fast, though, in his decision; even as his insides started to tremble, his gaze remained focused and he steeled himself for whatever may come, hoping for the best, preparing for the worst.

Fawn

[Fawn]

71 Moons. LightningClan. Senior Warrior.

Cherrypool retreated, her eyes never leaving the shaking pale-furred form and the tom with the subtle leg injury. At the scent-line now that distinguished StarClan's Claws from NightClan's pine forest, she was close enough to still see the colors in their eyes, her claws unsheathed, her own bloody gaze trained like a sighthound on a rabbit.

"Is NightClan sheltering a rogue? Is that your choice?"Chase her back across the border if it's not. Was this a NightClan cat capable of making that decision? Could this tom follow the Code yet deny his own morality— helping the pale she-cat would be the 'morally kind' thing to do, given her injury and the reeking fear-scent wafting off her ratted pelt—or would his softness get the better of him?

Cherrypool wished for the latter, but prepared herself for the former, suppressing a shiver as the rogue whimpered, cowering behind Palefire.

MY FRIENDS DON'T WALK, THEY RUN
I'M PEELING THE SKIN OFF MY FACE 'CUZ I REALLY HATE BEING SAFE

Word Count: 155 Words
Tags: Amber
Notes: