Foretold [closed]

"Sparrow's sing such sweet songs, don't they?"

Scrambling over the decaying nest of branches that curled like brittle tendrils of heat-stiffened grass, Lichenpaw's exposed underbelly was grazed sharply by the exposed surface of the downed tree. The unfavorable sensation made his fur prickle slightly, his muscles unsure of how to react to such awkward stimulation. After spending another night encased within the restless clutches of strange, befuddled dreams that seemed to only offer fervent confusion in place of anything of value, he had taken to his newfound routine in search of a reprieve. Although there seemed to be no escaping Sparrowleaf's reach, he could at least regain a certain amount of control in expeditions such as this. Blinking up at the unfamiliar grove of tangle trees that crawled across the sky high above him, the young tom's features were pinched with a forced expression of content. He had never been this far downriver before, normally he stopped before the dense grove of trees that ThunderClan resided in melted into the sparse land of SkyClan.

"Your sparrow is waiting for you," Sparrowleaf had promised within the strangely familiar settings of the dream that had befallen him during the dark of the night, "Just search for the birch tree." He remembered spewing some disinterested answer, clearing unhappy at trying to find whatever awaited him at the end of the latest riddle. Didn't RiverClan have plenty of birch trees? Or were those Beech trees? Shaking away the stubbornly lingering tendrils of reluctant confusion, Lichenpaw continued his leisurely stroll alongside the banks of the river, unwittingly searching for whatever might resemble an answer to his newfound problem.

"I didn't expect to see a fish face this far from their precious wetlands before."

The voice was filled with a slight malice as it grew closer to the edge of the river. Across the way from Lichenpaw stood a young SkyClan apprentice, her blue eyes staring intently at the tabby tom. Her tail lashed about and her face held a small smirk. It was difficult to tell what was running through the she-cat's mind, but the sly smile made one thing clear. She was looking down on him.

With her front paws resting on the river's shore, her toes slightly engulfed by the shallow waves, Birchpaw stood and watched the strange tom make his way towards the end of RiverClan's territory. Her gaze never averted. The gray and white hairs on her spine seemed to raise on their own as she waited for him to approach. Of course she would come across an enemy on her first trip alone. With Hawkstrike's words of wisdom in her mind, the patched she-cat took a step of warning into river. Her mentor was strong and sagacious so she couldn't help but wonder what he would do in the same situation. With that in mind, she rose her voice once again. "Why don't you head back home before I send you running back?" Her tone was cocky and her eyes became playful. She was sure this tom would flee at any moment. RiverClan cats were weak after all. There was no chance this one would be any different.

It would be an outright lie to say that Lichenpaw hadn't been surprised by Birchpaw's sudden jeers.

He had become so engrossed by both the seemingly mindless journey he had currently embarked on and the never ending murmur of Sparrowleaf's voice that it was almost as though a trance had befallen him. Although to his credit, he didn't jump at the sound of another cat's voice, he still couldn't help but whirl around to glare across the river at the newfound offender. Bright gaze narrowing slightly, Lichenpaw's features were crested with a slight frown at he met Birchpaw's challenge without flinching. Perhaps he had adopted more of Silverfang's mannerisms that he had initially realized.

"And just how will you send me running back?" Lichenpaw questioned coyly, an infuriating note of innocence just dripping from his slow voice, "Squirrel-brained SkyClanners like you would drown before making it two steps into the river. I bet a runaway Kittypet like you could drown in a puddle."

At least something like this would certainly serve as a sufficient distraction from the suffocating pressures that had befallen him.