like shadows [c]

It was overdue Snowpaw and Fawnpaw spent time together. They had exchanged the occasional word when crossing paths, but had yet to do anything but that. Snowpaw intended to change that. Shrikestorm, though somewhat reluctantly, had given her permission to go out with just Fawnpaw and the ever-present Asylum shadows. Their nests in a small dip in the ground did little to protect their pelts from the leaf-bare chill; if they were going to talk, or hunt, or fight, it would be on the moors.

She was curious to Fawnpaw’s opinion on the Asylum. She’d adopted a less than pleasant view of them because of Shrikestorm’s opinion, and as far as she knew the rest of the Clan hated them with a passion. Goldentail, or was it Goldengale? - had been killed by the leader Theron, and it was revealed as her dead body was tossed in front of the Clan. Then, Dappleshine, killed when she hadn’t even been one to resist. Maybe her elders had dramatized the event, but it was clear to her the Asylum had killed two of their valued members, for no concrete reason.

The pair of siblings had gone out to the flower field. It was silent for the most part. Snowpaw turned to look at Fawnpaw. Had he changed so much since being a kit? It was unlike the Fawnpaw she knew to stay quiet for so long.

"Stare long enough you'll start looking like an owl." The tom huffed in jest. Admittedly, it was nice to spend sometime with his littermate. There was no cat whose opinion he respected more than hers; Eagletalon was nearly there but since she was his mentor it was very different. Fawnpaw's limber step carried him forward. With each passing day his step grew more confident and assured, shedding the former uncertainty he felt with such spindly legs. Just as his sister had begun to grow into a fine warrior, he too soon would be ready to take on the full duties of serving the clan. His ear twitched and a contented smile crossed his maw at the thought. Not even the burning gaze of their invaders dashed the buzzing of his paws.

One forepaw flashed out, like a hare darting over the moors, and swiped away at the deadened and frost-bitten remains of long passed flowers. It was miserable during leafbare but this was the only life he had known. Being born during the trials of the cold season did seem to make a cat stronger. Having more than a short-cropped coat helped to stave off the elements and the other trials were lessened by the presence of the skilled paws of Asylum; however, he had nothing to compare it to. This was their life, the place they had been born into, and the time that their eyes had grown to see. Feeling restricted in any sense was what bothered him most. A time or two the apprentice had entertained earning their trust and climbing their ranks to show truly how strong and skilled he was. But he had been born split between two colliding worlds.

In a similar vein to Snowpaw, he too wondered what his kin thought about the shadows that lurked about with prying ears. After a brief pause, he piped up again and returned his gaze to hers, "We're going to be the strongest warriors, aren't we Snowpaw? No cat will be able to take us in battle, I'm sure of it." The sentiment likely seemed strange and unprovoked but to him it was a genuine feeling; Fawnpaw was hardly the type to be skilled in holding his tongue even if he managed to lessen the blow at time. Unwittingly, he'd also sent a message to their onlookers. Hopefully they were listening.

"I won’t waste my time coming up with a witty response to that." It was reassuring to see he hadn’t changed in that manner. She picked after Fawnpaw, gazing at the rows of shriveled petals with withered stems, flowers consumed by the leaf-bare’s frost. The dawn of leaf-bare seemed the worst time to be born, or so she had been told. Harder conditions to hunt, more greencough and illnesses, little herbs and prey. WindClan was coping fine (as far as things like hunting went). The danger was inside the borders. Asylum cats were to her the restriction of freedom. That was worse than the snow.

Snowpaw crushed corpses of flowers beneath her claws as she made her was back to Fawnpaw. "Is battle the most important thing of being a warrior?" Already her mind was picturing what she imagined of battles. Skirmishes was not something that would happen during the Asylum occupation (or ever, if it was a permanent thing). Silence stretched as she realized she hadn’t elaborated on her question. "Skills don’t matter if we never have a chance to use them."

Was that the thing on his mind? Battle skills were not important at this point. Many predators had been ran off the moors, and border skirmishes were no longer a thing. "Do you find it so easy to ignore them?" Her voice was lowered, though perhaps in hearing range; even if so, it wasn’t any sort of a treasonous statement. The pelted lurkers had to recognize that no one could be comfortable in a time like this.