Sparrows in the Night (closed)

The new sun dawned bright over the damp leaves and stone of SkyClan's camp. A fresh new rain had fallen over night and seeped into the earth. Trickles dripped down from the leaves above a large she-cat's head from where she lay in the apprentice's den. It should have been patched, she should have patched it, but lately she had felt too tired. Green eyes opened to the pelts of younger, smaller cats around her. A bitter taste in her mouth as she stared at the moving pelts before she slowly rose and crept out of the den.

The soft rasps of her tongue on coarse fur seemed to echo in her ears as she groomed. While her coat was knot free, the proper sunlight made it easier to see her poorer condition. Her ribs slightly visible, her face narrow and less full than it had been during her healthy apprenticeship. The scars above her eye stood out blatantly like her bent whiskers as she padded slowly towards the camp entrance. Her stomach growled, but she flatly ignored the prey pile.

The fresh-kill was for good warriors. For cats who deserved them. She was not one of them. In fact, she barely listened as a hunting partner was assigned by Mistyrain. Only glanced over at the other awake cats and gave a vague nod to the black tom that she dimly remembered being far older than her. Older than her father and mother. Part of her resented being assigned a strong warrior like him, as if they expected her to run into trouble she couldn't handle. Slowly, she sat by the camp entrance. Her dark fluffy tail curled around her paws until it was time to leave.

Nightstorm nodded obediently in response to Mistyrain's instructions for the day, offering the younger deputy a friendly wave of his tail before turning to greet the other member of his patrol of two; Sparrowpaw.  They had never spoken before, but the jet-black tom knew her scarred face distinctly; she was the daughter of Sedgestrike, the once strong warrior turned arrogant traitor.  Nightstorm had been glad to see the back of the tom but had always felt bad for his lone daughter, left behind in a clan that unfairly viewed her with suspicion.  He smiled; the circumstance, in a way, rang familiar to him.  "Ready to go?" Giving his shoulder a final lick, the former Tribe cat trotted up to the overgrown apprentice, greeting her with a friendly purr.  "Oh, I don't think we've spoken before Sparrowpaw; I'm Nightstorm."

Her green eyes glinted in the sunlight as she glanced in Nightstorm's direction at his greeting. Her head tilted up proudly, ears flattening as he greeted her. Politely, with a friendliness that both jarred and raised her ire. False. It was all false. Still, she turned to more properly dip her head in his direction before she stood and shook off the chill.
"Funny that." She replied, her voice hard and frozen like the frost on the leaves. "I wonder why." With that, she padded forward into the forest. Her glance aimed briefly towards the trees. She didn't make a move towards them.

Her teeth clenched as she recalled the drills her father used to put her through. The rigourous training to make sure she could never fall. Not like her mother and sister. In a way, she supposed he had been afraid for her. It would have been nice to have been treated nicer though. The scars on her face hurt worse on mornings like this. It made the flesh around her right eye ache residually. In some ways, she still remembered that awful blow.

The condemnation that followed. Not just from the clan. She had sought him out desperately a few nights later. Desperate to keep that last family connection alive, no matter how awful or brutal his opinion. She never found a trace. Only the remnants scattered around the clearing and largest tree that bore his intense scars. Deeper than the ones she bore. Her gaze flickered back to Nightstorm. He was a cat Sedgestrike would have approved of. Pure blooded in the ways that mattered. Perhaps, that made him a little worth knowing, even if his niceties were an elaborate lie to keep an eye on her.