Worn and Weary

Sharptooth shivered as she padded down yet another rancid, dank alleyway. The rain that poured from the sky seemed akin to slime compared to the sweet-scented dew that fell throughout Thunderclan's territory. The short-legged rogue found herself jumping at the slightest sound- the shifting of various bits of Twoleg Debris made her arch her back defensively. She was in a completely new territory, different from anything she had ever seen. There had been a time where Leafstorm and Specklefang had regaled her with stories of their time spent in Twoleg territory, but Sharptooth had always brushed them away as nothing but a bad memory or a wispy, half-forgotten dream.
Now she was living in one.

The fluffy she-cat struggled to find shelter, her growling stomach and sodden pelt only adding to her nervous mood. She flicked her tail, sending droplets of water flying into the air. She couldn't smell anything nearby- although she wasn't entirely certain that wasn't because of the rain, trash, and all the other dreadful things she had smelled thus far.
Sharptooth tried to shake off the water that soaked through her fur, reflecting dully that only a Riverclanner would be able to brave this storm and remain unscathed. "If only I had eaten more fish..." She'd heard from Lionspark that the oil from the fish's scales made a cat's fur sleek and water-resistant. It was one of the many things she had learned from her late grandmother.
She sat down with a frown, gazing into a puddle with a sullen expression. Its surface glimmered, iridescent and colorful as drops of water pounded the flat, black dirt around it. There would be no prey to catch around here, fish or otherwise.
With a sigh, Sharptooth accepted the inevitable and eased herself into a sleeping position, curling her tail around her face in an effort to shed some of the water dripping onto her nose. It was a useless gesture, but it made her feel a tad more secure. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that she was lying safely in the Nursery with her mother, her siblings crowding around her. Leafstorm would emerge out of the cold with a slightly-soaked squirrel and a grin. Sharptooth nearly smiled at the thought.

ooc: i forgot if we had any specific plans so im just winging it ;)

How many she-cats was he going to find dying around here? Starlord could not believe it when he stumbled upon the grizzled tabby. She was pretty huge and her pelt bore the scars of many battles. As mean as she looked, the fact that she was huddled up against the wet, cold ground looking miserable in her sleep told the young tom that there was more of a need for pity than a concern of personal safety. Like with Gold, he cursed himself internally for feeling like he owed this cat something. He didn't. Rocket would have dragged him the other way by his tail for having such useless thoughts. But some deeply rooted compassion for the older cat led his paws over too her.

For a moment, his eyes simply studied her. The scars showed just barely through breaks in thick fur. It looked like she had been pretty once, maybe more in her youth. Some of that was still there, but it was more of a rugged beauty than anything. This was a tough cat, one who had seen many things. Could this be another one of the forest cats? One whiff of the air around her and under the twolegplace muck, there was still hints of something there. Some sort of greenery. Don't they know its miserable out here? If they're living in paradise, why migrate to such a place? Starlord had stayed here mostly out of the desire not to stray too far, lest his companions return. And he had managed to have a decent go at things. He knew all the best hunting spots and where to find dry bedding, and even how to slip past the more unsavory cats of twolegplace.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." He finally dared to reach out one ginger and white dappled paw to prod the strange cat's side. Starlord stared down at her with a half-lopsided grin. Although there should have been some need for concern, he hoped that the she-cat would simply determine that by his sheathed claws and relaxed demeanor that he was not a threat.

LATe

Sharptooth stirred, her ears perking hopefully. "Featherheart?" She croaked, her eyes half-open and clouded from sleep. Maybe it really had been just a dream. An awful, awful dream. Maybe she was waking up in the Warrior's den right now, her kits by her side.
Or maybe, A nasty thought spoke, unbidden, from somewhere in the back of her mind. Maybe, you've died, and your dear son is here to see you off to the Dark Forest where you belong.

Either way, Sharptooth had quickly come to realize that the cat standing in front of her was not her son. Hopefulness quickly turned to misery as she squinted up at the ginger blur, stretching and blinking as drops of rain landed on her fur and trickled down her spine. The grizzled tabby sat up, eyeing the blue-eyed tom suspiciously. "What do you want?" She grunted, turning to scan the alleyway. Perhaps this ginger rouge was a decoy. Her thick tail swept across the acrid-smelling earth. She couldn't smell a thing thanks to the rain.