Under The Aspen Tree - July

It was a calm afternoon in WindClan. The breezes were light and gave much needed breaks from the heat in camp. Prey was plentiful, so most of the clan had returned to camp to share tongues during sunhigh. Aspenpaw was recovering from a particularly hard seizure early in the morning, before the stars had left the sky. The tom was instructed to take it easy and take a few herbs. He had treated a few bumps and bruises under the watch of Mintwhisker so far that day, keeping him busy. They were mostly hunting accidents or apprentices doing stupid things. He remembered fondly the many eggs he had crushed in his mouth trying to transport them back to camp, the shells cutting the roof of his mouth as his fellow apprentices laughed.

He descended from the medicine den and grabbed a small piece of fresh-kill before making his way back to the medicine clearing. He walked slowly and carefully, enjoying the symphonies of camp life: kits yelling over a mossball game, Finchstar discussing with the senior warriors, and mates purring and licking each others coats. He didn't understand the last one at all. He was always a bit bad with she-cats, though he was considered "attractive." Aspenpaw wasn't even quite sure what that meant. It was good to finally have an excuse for why he wasn't interested. Celibacy was a blessing.

The tom didn't have much of an appetite. He let the sun warm his silver pelt and tried in vain to lick the herb stains out of his paws. He might as well just leave them that way, since every time they were clean, he just dirtied them again. He sighed and took another meager bite of mouse.