|:| When Cold Winds are Calling |:| [closed for Night]

Emberheart paused, her russet fur buffeted in the wind. She knew what this was for; it didn't take a genius to tell. Darkstar had called to her about that she-cat she'd met on the border—Blueflap? Blaze—Blazefloo? Blazeflight? Ah. That was it. 

The Thunderclan warrior scraped her claws into the sand, scoring deep marks in the earth. It hadn't been right of her, she knew—but it had been when she was a queen, and surely one could hardly blame her for acting out like that? Especially when the patrol had purposefully insulted her kits and herself? Her leader would understand.

She gritted her teeth in a determined sort of way, taking a deep breath that ruffled her white chest fur. I'll take whatever punishment I get. I trust Darkstar's judgement.

And with that, she pushed through the curtain of lichen and into the leader's den.