Written in the Stars [closed]

For the first time since she'd left the nursery, StarClan knew how long ago, she'd managed to wiggle her way out of the ever-seeing eyes of her mentor; finally getting the chance to set off on her own and explore the territory for herself. She'd seen the Burnt Sycamore a million and one times and she knew the pines of SkyClan by heart, and she'd watched many a sunrises over the horizon of ThunderClan's forests, but she'd never quite explored the length of the Thunderpath on her own before. She'd always been taught to be extra cautious around it. She was never allowed by it alone.

In truth, the she-cat never saw why. It was dangerous, yes, and she was told of many stories of those who had been trampled by the monsters - but they must have been dumb or something special. The monsters hardly ever came out at night. And even if it was drawing close to morning now, she'd still hardly seen any at all.

Ebonypaw had spent the majority of the night traveling up the path, brushing against the bushes and memorizing every little landmark until she'd passed the clan's twoleg tunnel and could see the long, pale grasses of WindClan began to stretch out before her - overtaking the damp, soft texture of her own homeland. "Wasn't so bad," she murmured to herself. She'd had the mind to leave her adventure there and end it, if her stomach didn't rumble the moment she'd turned her tail.

"Fox-dung..."

The growling echoed in her ears and she forced herself to pause and breath in deep through her nose, trying to pick up the scent of a lizard. Or a frog. Some stray bird. Something.

Instead a new scent hit her. It was dusty, and carried the scent of the breeze on it, but she could just make out the faint, fleeting and warm scent over the stench of the Thunderpath. It made her mouth water.

The calico twisted her head around, spotting a small brown rabbit just opposing the edge of the black way.

In and out. It'd be quick. No one would even notice. Probably.

She got down low on her haunches, making a quick squirm to the unfamiliar territory and throwing herself down low into the grass, creeping up to the animal as it wandered, oblivious.

One leap would be all it would take.