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SAFFRONSTRIDE
NIGHTCLAN SHE-CAT 42 MOONS SENIOR WARRIOR

No matter how much she tried, it seemed that she could never refuse a genuine request.

One of the many apprentices scuttling about the camp had asked her to fetch more moss for their den. Though she'd initially refused, her hunt had ended early and fruitful, and in a episode of spontaneity Saffronstride had decided to take a small 'detour' down the Branch Trail. Her entire thought process since she'd set paw out of camp was laden with doubt and hesitations - 'What if they go cold or sore without extra moss?' 'What if its necessary later on, even if it's not needed now?'

It was easy to get the she-cat into a mental knot like this, and it was inevitable that she'd end up doing what you asked of her, if you asked with a small mewl and your eyes blown up the size of moons.

Her thin tail slung low to the ground and licking at her hind legs, Saffronstride carefully picked her way along the trail, trotting lightly on her paws and keeping her gaze on the ground and the branches above her. As an apprentice, she remembered her mentor springing on her from the low-slung arms there once; she'd gotten a sore shoulder and a stern lecture on the importance of keeping her wits about her. She thought she'd ignored him, but it seemed like she'd picked up more than she could even remember hearing.

In reality, Slugmane had given her much more knowledge than she would ever admit to. Though he was old and had his share of grumbling and complaining, the rickety tom had been nothing of supportive of her, even when her own father wasn't. She was surprised how much his teachings had rubbed off on her; she'd even noticed a few ticks of his she'd seemed to pick up. The way his tail would snap if he got annoyed, the way he'd have a habit of twitching his nose when he was interested in something. Little things like these seemed to come out more and more along the moons - she'd even developed his way of wiggling his haunches when crouching.

A sudden spark of pain burst in her paw, and the she-cat swallowed a small noise of annoyance, shaking her forefoot and giving a small glance to her fish-colored pawpads.

Warmth blossomed somewhere inside her; yes, old Slugmane had even had a help in her name, old, dusty pelt that he was.

Stopping suddenly as her stinging paw met something soft and moist, Saffronstride dipped her head, prodding the moss she'd stepped on with her nose. It smelled fine, and the wet foliage she touched was clean and didn't drip with anything but clear rainwater. The fresh rain had been a treat; it must have washed it, or at least cleaned it up.

Well, whatever had happened, it would do.

It would have, rather, had there not been a noise and a scent that was unmistakably Nightclan that distracted her. Her ears swiveled atop her skull, and the lean she-cat settled down on her haunches, her tail flickering over her paws as she listened for the intruding sound - and the intruder it came with. Scents could mean anything; she wasn't about to put her guard down simply because she smelled her own clan. Slugmane had told her that the last time he'd done that, he'd gotten assaulted by a half-clanner with their loyalties elsewhere.

A small, amused noise quirked in her throat; yes, he'd taught her way more than she'd ever let on, alright.

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s l a t e n o s e

warrior, nightclan

Slatenose stopped briefly as the scent of mouse drifted across her path. While not on a hunting patrol, her whiskers twitched and her paws itched to go chase the prey that rustled the grass near her. However, a hunt was not her current purpose. Under direct orders from the warrior who she had patrolled with constantly for the past few moons, she had left the camp to stroll around her home. Apparently, the diligent she-cat needed a break from her normal routine of patrol and hunt and work. She didn't agree, but she guessed that maybe taking a quick break -- possibly about the length of a longer patrol -- couldn't hurt her.

Slatenose was never really one to stop and ponder about the beauty of life. She saw things are more concrete. Life wasn't about the pretty roses and the gentle scents and the warmth of a loved one. Life was about protecting the pretty roses and diciphering the gentle scents and the warmth of Clanmates during the colder months. Granted, as she aged and felt her body begin to protest the constant strain she placed it under, part of her longer for a loved one to curl up with in the night. She supposed it was based on the social pressure around her, but the grey and white she cat was never one to succumb to a pressure of such slight weight.

She found herself wandering under the trees that lined the Branch Trail. Wind whispered through the branches overhead, creating a gentle melody that touched some part of her cold, dark heart. She had noticed that other warriors tended to avoid her. She ate her meals alone and groomed herself without the help of other. Not wishing to be a stranger in her own Clan, Slatenose had made a pact that she would at least try to be more friendly.

Accidentally brushing up against a bush, the leaves disturbed by her pelt created a rustle that surely alerted anyone nearby of her presense. Slatenose scowled slightly, hating to make any noise in an otherwise serene forest. However, the scent of NightClan filled her nose and she came around a corner, noticing her fellow warrior Saffronstride.

"Hello, Saffronstride," she mewed, dipping her head slightly and flicking her tail in greeting. Being five moons older than the she-cat in front of her, they had trained only briefly together. In fact, Slatepaw had been training for her assessment as Saffronpaw was apprenticed. Slatenose didn't claim to know much about the Clanmate in front of her, but she did know that the she-cat was a very fine warrior. "What brings you out here?"