Flamethrower padded silently over the cold frosty ground, wandering. The life of a wanderer, not tied down to any group, any cat, or anything else. Surprisingly boring. Or maybe not so surprising. He'd always found being alone more unbearable than all the chatter empty-brained kittypets could ever summon. He'd always sought out company but, well, maybe he just felt like a change. Because he could choose to be lonely whenever he wanted, couldn't he? Times changed, wounds healed, and the Clans had come back.
He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
It was obvious that he should feel relieved, shouldn't he? Shouldn't he be happy that he could go and see his family if he wanted - all his old friends? Not that he'd ever spotted any watching the dawn patrols across the road from a distance. No, now he couldn't even wander across the moors as free as he liked, remembering this hollow and that patch where he'd wrestled a hare and Golden... Golden... couldn't even remember her name off the top of his head it'd been so long - had complimented his hunting.
No, he wasn't reminiscing, just... remembering. It wasn't like he'd missed them. They'd probably never missed him, especially Misty. "Oh haha you're finally gone!" was probably what she'd have said. She'd be disappointed to see him again, probably. Make a big fuss about it and complain for weeks.
If he ever got around to deciding to drop in, anyway.
Speaking of dropping in....
The scent of WindClan - a jolt to smell full-on, in the flesh after so many years - tickled his nose, drifting from the direction of that group of rogues' camp that scrappy ginger... Ajex? Yeah, Ajex - was a part of. The old camp that he himself had explored once, long ago, looking for "ghosts" of the old scare-story about cats in predator pelts. He'd wandered in, wandered out. Hadn't really met that leader of theirs, but fluffed around with some half-promises of maybe checking the whole thing out. He knew how rogue groups tended to run, and this would be no different, but what was a little WindClanner doing here?
And it was a "little" WindClanner, too, he saw as he prowled through the brittle undergrowth. Maybe an apprentice. A hint of a grin tugged at his muzzle. A little WindClan apprentice sticking her nose out of the territory to explore an old haunted camp. Sounded familiar.
"Well well well...." He brushed through the undergrowth in the shadows cast by the winter sun over the frosty bushes and craggy rocks, lowering his voice to a smooth, sinister rumble, blue eyes and fangs glinting. "Is this a little Clan cat, stepping in for dinner?"
Go on, scream and run. The gang will probably eat you up for dinner anyway if they find you here, little thing. Might as well have some fun trying to spook you before they do.
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