Out of the Past [Closed]

Fishstar fluffed up as an unpleasantly chilly draft passed by. She had never liked leafbare, and was not looking forward to the upcoming season one bit. The fish were, like every year, starting to become more scarce the colder the air got, but the tabby had managed to snag a few before burying them and moving on. Her eyes carefully scanned the surface of the river for any sign of movement, but she hadn't seen anything worth catching for a long while. Finally, irritated at her pitiful catches, Fishstar decided to turn her hunting trip into a border patrol. She directed her attention towards the ThunderClan shore, which was--thankfully--devoid of activity.

Probably hiding in the bushes getting fat, Fishstar thought, sniffing dryly. Though with the weather getting worse, I suppose it's worth it to take a quick check around.

"Hey, Mistfeather," she called, angling her face in the direction she had come from. Her sister had decided to hunt a little ways away from her in order to cover more ground, but it didn't look like Mistfeather had found any more fish than the leader had. "Come over here. I'm going on a border patrol."

Mistfeather lifted her face from the water, shaking away any droplets that found their way onto her silver fur. The she-cat turned to her sister, nodding curtly and rising from her spot. Despite having been sitting still for what felt like a moon, the deputy hadn't had any more luck than the older tabby. She stretched her back to rid her body of any soreness from being so stiff and trotted up to join Fishstar.

The silver tabby couldn't help but smile at their patrol. It had been many moons since the sisters had last left camp together for anything other than Gatherings. The younger she-cat purred a little to herself, reminiscing about their apprentice days. It seemed like a lifetime ago but Mistfeather was ecstatic that Fishstar still wanted to patrol the land with her ever-busy deputy. "If only Breezefeather were here," she meowed solemnly. "She would probably be cursing the cold and lack of fish right now." A low, melancholic chuckle escaped her lmouth as she pressed forward with the leader.

Fishstar frowned half-heartedly. Why the sudden nostalgia? she wondered to herself as she hopped over a cluster of fallen rushes.

As she trot along and nonchalantly watched the opposite shore, she began to realize why Mistfeather had mentioned their late sister. The three had always gone on border patrols together. Sometimes Breezeleaf would hurl an insult across the river at passing ThunderClan warriors and they would fluff up in anger, Mistfeather and Fishstar--then Fishpelt--laughing all the while. There was no humour in border patrols any longer. Now, the rift between RiverClan and ThunderClan had grown too vast, and they were far beyond the boundaries of simple humour. There was only hatred, now.

But Breezeleaf would always find time for levity, regardless of how serious things became. To put it plainly enough, Fishstar missed her sister. She'd always know how to brighten the mood, and frankly, the forest needed more cats like that.

"Yeah, probably," she finally responded. "She really did hate leafbare."

Pulling Fishstar right out of her sentimental thoughts, a strange scent suddenly drifted past the tabby's nose. Halting abruptly and dipping her head down, Fishstar sniffed the ground beneath her. Other cats had been along this path, but the odour they carried was unlike any Clan she'd smelled before. The fur on the back of her neck prickled with unease, and she flattened her ears against her head.

"I think rogues have been here. Very recently."

Mistfeather was about to reply with more sentiment, but the odd scent caught her attention as well. The deputy held back a growl. She had no patience for rogues. Especially on her territory. She opened her mouth to better find their trail. "There are more than just a few... and it seems as though they were headed towards the river," she noted. Carefully sniffing her way down the path, she kept her claws unsheathed in case of an emergency. Rogues were unpredictable. The silver tabby wasn't keen on the idea of a battle so early into their patrol, but she was prepared if they were.

Keeping downwind of the sisters, a large tom stalked the pair. He was thankful that his band of "friends" had followed his advice to rest at the river, and that two she-cats were gullible enough to fall for his little trick. His brown fur bristled as he slowly approached them, keeping his pawsteps light and undetectable. Licking his teeth, he smiled. It had been some time since he had sunk his claws into any clan cats, let alone she-cats. He would enjoy this. He leapt for the closest tabby, not knowing his target happened to be a leader.