|  | Rowanpaw |
As cats found their way out of the wretched nest– something which Rowanpaw
loathed them for, something that made him want to shred the ears off any of them that he chanced to see again –so did more cats come to join it. He pitied them a bit, especially the Clan cats that came. How
long had it been since he'd been here? And, as Crookedpaw described it, the twolegs had stayed, scattering their traps throughout the wood and grabbing cats unlucky enough to run into them.
How burned on his tongue whenever a proper cat came along. Especially the warriors– how could they let themself be caught, now, when it was no longer a surprise? He had never bothered to ask it, though. He feared they would turn the question on him, and the thought made him hang his head in shame.
At least he was capable of feeling shame now. Maybe this had all been a good thing.
Still, even if he could not bring himself to ask the most pressing of questions, he felt the desire to socialize with the few he felt he could relate to. It struck even him as a little odd– he had not
wanted to socialize for... some time. Grown lonely, yes, and sought ways to be an annoyance in the shadow of other's...
ugh. In the
shadow of others. The self-reflection made Rowanpaw's stomach turn. He had become so... unlike himself. Not entirely, no, he was still there, and yet... And yet he had become quieter, more withdrawn, more bitter. He at least had Crookedpaw to keep him company, and the SkyClanner was in much better spirits than he had been when first arriving. It helped to lift Rowanpaw's own mood, even if he just felt quiet in side. But Crookedpaw was gone, whisked unceremoniously away by the twoleg holding them captive, and that left him alone.
Well, he refused to be alone to brood too much. He was tired of being tired or miserable. He was in the midst of his favorite scene, an audience, and he was wasting it! That wasn't going to do anymore. Rolling over, Rowanpaw let his head loll over the edge of the edge of his perch atop the so called "cat tree" (though it was not a tree
of cats, but... they did
use it, he supposed). That big, golden-furred tom had been brought in recently, ShadowClan's pine-and-muck scent clinging to his fur. And he was not far off, on the floor down below. Clearing his throat, Rowanpaw cheerily called down,
"Yoo-hoo! ShadowClan down there, look up for me, please. Are you having fun down there, gathering your bearings?"
