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Poppythorn,

LightningClan, 38 Moons, Warrior

Poppythorn exhaled heavily as she slowly walked through the moorland. The air was still but cold against the skin; a light wind blowing the grasses that had survived the past fire. Prey was as plentiful as it could get this close to leafbare but the black ex-queen had had her fill of hunting; the fresh-kill pile almost too full for the clan.

The she-cat's thoughts were focused on other matters. Marshpaw and Batchaser had both perished to that fox. The warrior Poppythorn did not care for, she hadn't known Batchaser well enough to properly mourn her loss, but the apprentice... Marshpaw had been her first, and had died whilst wandering alone in the territory. 

How did that make Poppythorn look? Of course, the ebony warrior grieved for the young life lost but were all apprentices mouse-brained? She hissed to herself. If Marshpaw had a lick of common sense, both she and Batchaser would still be alive. It was an unfortunate mistake that lead to two unfortunate losses, but it could have easily been avoided. A clawed paw swatted at the ground, carving deep furrows into the hard earth, Poppythorn's bright orange eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Maybe my next apprentice won't be so stupid." Poppythorn muttered, too focused in her own anger and disappointment to notice a particular white-furred tom approaching her.

Phoenix let us scheme

I want sacred, I want final And I'm seeking it wherever I go