a leisure suit is nothing [C]

Silverkit

The soft light of the moon danced over the pelts of cats passing by camp. The beasts attacking camp and the return of several cats Silverkit had never seen set off a buzzing energy within ShadowClan, and it lingered for days. Another cat had been brought back, though he was in a terrible state. Silverkit had been kept from seeing much of it, or hearing what happened after, but it sounded like he wasn't from ShadowClan. That, too, set the Clan abuzz. It seemed the rotation of patrols was endless, and the chatter when work stopped to share tongues sounded like gossip. Silverkit was nearly six moons, apprentice ceremony just out of reach; he couldn't wait to join them, properly training to become a warrior, following in their busy pawsteps. ...and being included in the rumor well.

As he looked over the milling crowd, Silverkit spotted Nightstar, standing separate but not looking immediately busy. His dark ears perked at the sight of the leader. Nightstar was one of the first warriors he'd met, alongside Iceheart. Nightstar had an intimidating presence, but Silverkit's awe for the scarred tom trumped any fear he might have felt. In fact... looking at the leader made him think of something. After waiting a moment to see if Nightstar wasn't about to attend to something, the kit rose to his paws. He'd long ago learned to be more careful than galloping recklessly across the clearing. Though he kept his pace neat, Silverkit found himself moving off at a trot; he couldn't keep the excitement out of his paws enough to simply walk. Once he was closer, he mewed brightly, "Nightstar? Are you busy?"

Silverkit

There was a moment of worry that Nightstar would turn him away, his chilled demeanor hard to pull an answer from, but Silverkit wasn’t kept in suspense too long before he relented. He flashed a big grin before shaking it into a more relaxed smile and sat back on his rump. “Meadowlark told me about the rites you have warriors do. A little bit, at least.” Silverkit sniffed. She hadn’t been very specific… just that they were a violent and brutish affair. He wasn’t sure if it was the practice itself she detested or the pelts that came of it.

Remembering his thought, Silverkit sat up a little straighter, looking toward Nightstar with expectancy. “Is that how you got your pelt?” His head tilted to the side, and his smile was starting to grow again. He loved asking questions; hopefully, this wouldn’t turn to be something sensitive that got him chased away. “And why do you have it? Or the rest of ShadowClan. Meadowlark says they’re disgusting and we shouldn’t be walking around soaking up… dead-thing stuff.”