“Rise and shine!”
A voice, crisp and charming, sounded from the entrance of the warrior’s den. The song of the bobolink and larks alongside the sudden call roused the inhabitants of the den, who shifted around with quieted grumbles. Slowly, some of the lighter sleepers began to stir: Hollyhockstripe, Spindlespots, and Swanstone each moved at their own pace, nose bridges wrinkled with the irritation of being awoken much earlier than expected. Towards the back of the underground den slept four more warriors, tight knit tabby bodies of black, brown, white, and ginger.
Swanstone was first to fully rise. A yawn escaped his large maw, working to blink the sleep from his eyes. He carefully padded around the other warriors to join Heronsmoke, the molly at the top of the entrance. Behind her, an orange masked tom chuckled, offering a nod to the white tom in greeting.
“You are up early, Warmmask. I thought you were unyielding to Heronsmoke’s habits.”
The orange tom chuckled again, casting a glance to the smoke molly who had sat down with a huff. “Ah, Swanstone. You know I cannot resist an early morning patrol with you all. It is this time that is best for travel.” He purrs, bumping heads with Heronsmoke. Swanstone huffed, swiping a paw over his own head to adjust the fur flattened from sleep.
“I doubt that Hollyhock and Spindlespots share the same feelings.” Swanstone says, voice warm. He turns his attention to the den’s entrance, where the two aforementioned cats had begun to fully wake up. Hollyhockstripe dragged himself towards the group, dipping his head to Heronsmoke and Warmmask before settling next to Swanstone. Spindlespots soon joined them, bumping his head against Heronsmoke’s forehead before settling next to Warmmask. Pleased with the group of warriors she had collected, Heronsmoke purred, lifting to her feet and addressing the group once more.
“Good morning!” She chirped, tail flicking with excited energy. “Thank you for joining Warmmask and I… I know that you like your sleep, but the Dandelionclan border needs to be checked again.”
“We checked it two days ago.” Hollyhockstripe grumbled, bringing a paw to his muzzle. Spindlespots nodded his head in agreement, eyes wide. “Why don’t we patrol somewhere else? Maybe near the Saffronclan border? That’s always fun, right?” He posed, a small smile on his maw. Heronsmoke shook her head, casting a glance to Swanstone.
“Raggedstar said that the border isn’t clear enough.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. Beyond the small group of warriors slept the leader, comfortably snug in her underground den. Despite being concerned with the strength of the clan’s territory, Raggedstar did not stir, instead delegating matters to her loyal clanmates. After all, the Newleaf air proved chilly in the hours of dawn, and few cats would be willing to brave the gusts that often sent the sky-reaching grasses swirling like a sea of green. A small breeze swept through the camp, prickling the fur of those not endowed with thick coats.
“Well, let us be off, then. It is better not to challenge Raggedstar’s judgement.” Swanstone claims, offering a small nod to Heronsmoke. With a smile, Heronsmoke turned with her tail lifted, like a banner for a military procession. Warmmask and Swanstone joined her flanks, Spindlespots in the middle, and Hollyhockstripe behind, quietly muttering some grievances.
…
As the voices of the small patrol faded, one warrior remaining in the warmth of the den began to rouse. The scruffy ginger and white head of Russetkestrel popped up from her curled up position, a yawn escaping her. Her eyes squinted as a light haze slowly permeated through the entrance of the den, signaling to those who preferred light over sound that it was soon time to wake.
She glanced at the others: Nightingaleheart, Cricketleap, and Cowboy, the kittypet who had joined the clan a moon ago. She had adjusted well, despite her offstandish nature– for whatever reason, she and Nightingaleheart had become fast friends. The pair laid next to each other while Cricketleap slept soundly in the far corner, face covered by his dark paws.
It’s no use to wake them. Russetkestrel thought, rising to her paws and maneuvering around their sleeping bodies.
Her claws dug into the dirt that covered the hard ground of camp and breathed deeply, taking in the scents around her. Songbirds flitted just beyond the outskirts of Pitchclan’s camp, moving between tall grass and bending wildflowers that rustled with every few passing breezes. After a few peaceful moments, Russetkestrel peeled off towards the far end of camp, where the undergrowth had been parted by the patrolling party. Their scents lingered in her nostrils, offering an easy to follow trail.
Russetkestrel didn’t feel the need to mark the border like the others did. Her mother simply liked to keep her warriors busy, allegiances strong, as a proud leader should. Russetkestrel simply wanted to follow the only awake bodies of Pitchclan, and so, she did, creeping through the prairielands of Pitchclan’s territory in perfect silence.
...
“Shit, shit, shit..”
This is bad. Russetkestrel hisses, leaning back to lick the fur around her trapped paw that was firmly planted in one of the many small pools of tar that surrounded The Pitch.
She had become trapped just before the Dandelionclan border, where the earth gave way between two hills. The valley was alight with the glow of the sun, the song of the insects and birds a bright chorus. The molly’s ears were pinned to the back of her skull, movement of the body beginning to become erratic with growing fear.
It was common knowledge to avoid the tar when not visiting for ceremony, but somehow, the deputy had found herself partially stuck in one. If Raggedstar were here, she would never hear the end of it. So it was up to Russetkestrel to quietly escape and tell no soul.
Russetkestrel strains, trying to lift her paw from the dark sludge. She bites and licks at the stained fur, awkwardly twisting herself like a snakelike contortionist. Her hind paw lifts ever so slightly, and she releases an exhale in relief.
The relief is not long lasting, of course.
A snap of a twig forces the cat’s ears to swivel, her attention drawn from the dire situation of the tar. A new face sits partially concealed in the grass and hay, familiar and canine. Russetkestrel hisses, the fur along her spine puffing up immediately. Oh, go away…
Russetkestrel growled and hissed, swearing at the newcomer with great intensity. The fox took a step forward, then another, slow and calculated.
“Get away!” She yowled, heart beating in her ears. She swats with outstretched claws, trying not to fall and have another paw become trapped in the tar. The fox advances, brown eyes shining with the daylight. Go away, go away! Her mind screams. She wasn’t going to die like this, surely…? She shut her eyes tightly, still swatting and sputtering.
Then, a yowl, hissing, a yelp, a thud. Immediately Russetkestrel opened her eyes, greeted by a new, fortunate sight.
“Spindlespots!” She cried out to the warrior, who had latched onto the neck of the large fox with great ferocity. The large, rosetted tom dug his fangs into the muscle of the canine, who swung around on gracile limbs in rage. Heronsmoke and Swanstone burst from the brush, racing over to Russetkestrel.
“What happened?” Swanstone yowled, immediately moving to lift Russetkestrel by her scruff. Heronsmoke attempted to work the trapped paw from the tar, often lifting her head to watch Spindlespots attack the fox. Warmmask and Hollyhockstripe had now joined the scene, the former running to attend to the deputy while the latter circled the battling pair.
“Lift her, quickly.” Warmmask rasped, usually calm voice quivering slightly. “The fur on her paw will regrow. We must leave as soon as we can.”
With a jerk of his head, Swanstone lifted Russetkestrel out of the tar, her paw a deep black. The group turned their attention back to Spindlespots, who let out a hiss of pain. The fox darted away, the songbirds and insects silent in the aftermath. Blood was smeared across the older tom’s shoulder, clear bite marks interrupting his tabby pattern. Warmmask darted over to him, quickly exchanged quiet words, then returned to Russetkestrel.
“We’ll discuss this at camp. Let us take our leave.”
Russetkestrel cast a glance to Spindlespots, who smiled softly at her through gritted fangs. Her head hung low in embarrassment as she was guided back to camp, flanked by Swanstone and Hollyhockstripe. The patrol silently proceeded, allowing the song of smaller beings to fill the absence of words.
...
MOON ONE - PART ONE
Russetkestrel fell into a tar pond, but escaped.
Spindlespots saved Russetkestrel from a fox, but was hurt.
Heronsmoke wakes Spindlespots, Warmmask, Hollyhockstripe, and Swanstone up early for morning stretches and patrol.
