a fly on the wall [closed]

Once they brushed past the reeds surrounding camp, Flypaw had a heartbeat’s time to hope before their eyes found a striped gray face. Birdsong was still here. She clearly wasn’t going anywhere at this point, but… Their ears flicked back. Usually they trusted their mentor’s judgment and were proud to say so, but Birdsong was an outsider. A SkyClan outsider. As close to rogue as a Clanborn cat could get. SkyClan invaded camps and broke truces, SkyClan maimed medicine cats—medicine cat apprentices, even—because they could, and Flypaw was apparently the only soul in RiverClan who cared.

(That wasn’t fair of them, really. Turtlefur was kind, not stupid, and Dewlight had a good head on her shoulders even though she didn’t want to be Dewstar, and RiverClan had other sensible cats, Perchfall, Cloverheart, most of the warriors. Still, Flypaw refused to let down their guard. They weren’t stupid, either.)

With a quiet huff, they dropped the pair of minnows they’d caught onto the fresh-kill pile, then stepped back, stopping only to paw at a stray feather hanging at the pile’s edge. Their gaze drifted back to Birdsong, searching. They had to—to do something about this, say something, figure out what she wanted with RiverClan. Flypaw scuffed a paw against the ground. They could stare all they wanted, but it wouldn't help; planning had never been their strong suit.

Birdsong padded into camp, setting another pair of birds onto the fresh-kill pile. She'd made it a point to try and catch fish along with what she hunted out of pure force of habit, but Birdsong's paws hadn't been quick enough today. And the water was downright icy.

A soft huff caught her attention, and the gray tabby glanced up, noting a dark-furred apprentice who had dropped his own prey. Turtlefur's apprentice, if she remembered correctly, though Birdsong had yet to memorize the names of most of her clanmates. Most of them were still strangers... And she needed to change that.

There was something in the apprentice's gaze, searching, almost. Birdsong met the dark-furred Riverclanner's eyes briefly, glancing down at the fresh-kill pile. A couple feathers had fallen free of the birds she'd dropped there, the unfamiliar apprentice batting at one of them pointedly. Birdsong's lips quirked up into a half-smile before the apprentice's amber eyes returned to her. Wanted to say something to her, that was obvious.

"Not a fan of birds, I take it?" The fresh-kill, the Skyclanner in their camp... Birdsong couldn't exactly blame anyone for not wanting either.

When they looked up again, Birdsong was watching them. Flypaw squinted back. They couldn’t read their own denmates’ expressions; trying to decipher an unfamiliar warrior’s was a hopeless endeavor, not that it stopped them. She spoke, then, and Flypaw’s gaze dropped to the feather beneath their paw. “I thought we were done with them. They’re—not RiverClan food,” they hurried to add. Ivystar had barely mentioned the Twolegs, dogs, and prey shortages in Gatherings; admitting to them here and now meant handing SkyClan an opening.

With a flick of an ear, the short apprentice glanced across the camp. RiverClan cats milled around with varying levels of disinterest on their faces. However little they worried about having an outsider in their midst, they would care, probably, if said outsider launched an attack on one of their apprentices. Therefore, Flypaw had nothing to lose. (Except—they froze midstep, a flicker of uncertainty crossing their face—their mentor’s good opinion. But then again, Turtlefur had forgiven them for worse things than self-defense.)

Flypaw sucked in a sharp, cold breath and made their approach. Birdsong looked even taller up close. “What d’you want from us?” Once the final word left their mouth, they realized it might be foolish to expect an honest answer from her. But they’d spoken up; they refused to back off before they’d gained something from it. “I’m not minnow-brained, I know you’re here in RiverClan for something. You’re—you're SkyClan.” Granted, they didn’t have any specific ideas any more than they’d had a specific plan for how this would go, but they didn’t need to. Their scrawny tail waved tall as they eyed the older cat, waiting for her response—however much of a lie it might be.

"Fair enough... Turtlefur's been teaching me to fish. Old habits die hard." She admitted softly. She'd get better at fishing one day, she had to. But catching birds and squirrels came as naturally as breathing to her.

The apprentice approached, and Birdsong didn't fail to see the uncertainty pass across their face like a shadow. An ear twitched at the Riverclanner's words. "Truly, I have no other motive for being here than my love for Turtlefur. Most of your clanmates have been... accepting. It's a nice change of pace, actually." Well, the apprentice in front of her wasn't quite... And Perchfall seemed cold and aloof, but she seemed to be that way with everyone, not just Birdsong in particular. Still, were their positions reversed, Birdsong thought she might understand the apprentice's unease with her presence. She was a stranger in their midst, an unknown. And there was little cats feared more than the unknown.

"Skyclan," She sighed, tail flicking, "I have nothing in common with most of them beyond sharing their blood. I didn't fit in, and wanted no part of the vengeful warmongering. It's why I left." Among other things, not that the apprentice needed to know whose daughter she was.