Bayclaw's paws soared over the damp sand, lightly pounding the packed earth as she charged down the shore. The cool, wet air whisked through her short fur and she felt a surge of joy. For once her heart felt light as a feather.
Ever since the fire, she hadn't been able to get a moment to herself. She was too busy rebuilding her clan. The beach was the one place unscarred by the flames that had raked through RushClan's territory. The young she-cat relished the sun that danced across her pelt. Finally she slowed to a trot, keeping her eyes on the sand for anything she could bring back.
"Is that Bayclaw I see?" A familiar, raspy voice was carried on the breeze from the treeline above.
Bayclaw pricked her ears, looking up.
"Smallriver!" she greeted, as the equally spotted she-cat gracefully picked her way down the cliff. Smallriver was her only surviving kin, her father's sister. She had been trying to get closer to the older cat, fostering a connection between the two that hadn't been present growing up.
When Smallriver reached Bayclaw they bumped their heads together affectionately. "Doing something productive, I hope?" remarked Smallriver.
Bayclaw frowned. "You know how hard I've been working since- you know." She looked away sadly. "I'm sure Foggycreek hasn't been working half as much," she added with a scoff, beginning to pad away.
Smallriver followed sympathetically. "Go easy on that girl."
Bayclaw couldn't help but smirk at her aunt's odd way of speaking, pointedly ignoring the fact that she hadn't reassured her that she knew how much she contributed to the clan.
Smallriver continued. "You two were denmates as kits, apprentices. What could have possibly happened?"
Bayclaw stopped in her tracks, her tail twitching anxiously as sour memories flashed through her head. "Nothing happened," she mewed distantly. "We should be getting back to camp."
