Old Friends [Closed]

Echoes of moons past seemed to haunt the heavily scarred she-cat relentlessly as of late. On nights like these, the wind drew out a side of her that she'd tried repeatedly to smother. Visions of moons past, flooded with her own reckless abandon taunted her endlessly. A low, quiet growl tore from her throat as she swiped at the frozen murk at her feet. Why was she even here again? She had tried for so long to prove her worth... but in the end she found she'd flirted too hard with disaster.

Disaster had won, hadn't it?

Her late night walk hadn't done much to clear her head or burn her energy. In fact, it just made her even more restless. The overwhelming urge to sink her claws into something forced them to unsheath whether she liked it or not. Not that it helped in the end. Hunting at this time of night amidst such horrid weather was a futile endeavor. Any prey with sense would be bundled up somewhere deep underground. Safely out of her reach. Grumbling irritably, she turned around, intending to circle back around towards the general direction of camp. She hadn't gone far despite how long she'd been out, instead opting to stay nearby to avoid a repeat of what happened the last time she strayed too close to a border.

She'd hadn't yet reached the entrance when a soft shuffle met her tattered ears. Pausing, she lifted her head to listen more intently. Had she been wrong? Was there actually something stupid enough to be out this late? Well, she wasn't about to object to a hunt. Lowering herself into a crouch, she began to stealthily slip along the forest floor at a surprisingly quick rate. Her stalking had largely improved since she'd been taken away. Then again, being forced to hunt and fend for yourself did a lot to mature a cat. As she neared her quarry she silently turned a corner to bring it into direct view... and stopped. Narrowing her eye, she straightened and sighed in mild irritation. Looks like she wouldn't be sinking her claws into anything after all tonight.

"Wildpaw, in what part of that tiny, busted up head of yours did you think it was a good idea to be sitting out here like some halfwit rat with a death wish? I knew you were stupid, but at least try to prove me wrong once in a while."



_{(Well, Thorn is the absolute edge queen~ They can be sad babs together <3)}

She stared at him blandly. It wasn't unlike the tom to be restless once in a while, but it was unlike him to sound this... depressed. Not that she really cared all that much in the first place. In fact, she had half a mind to flick her tail at him and sarcastically wish him luck with whatever it was that was keeping him up at night. But at the same time... She watched his pale gaze shift around, and then up as if he was searching for something. He looked so pathetically lost that at this point she felt like she was beating up a kit. Unsatisfying to say the least.

She didn't really want to do this, but maybe she could take a few swings at him by the end of this. To her knowledge, he was one of the few cats in camp that could come anywhere near keeping up with her (Not that she'd be admitting it aloud any time soon) and if she didn't tear into something by night's end she was going to blow a fuse. Besides, what could he really be that butthurt about? Maybe one of the females in camp rejected him. Ugh, that was just what she needed. Narrowing her eye, she padded over to the tom and sat down near enough to him, but still a comfortable distance away. "If you start crying or calling me mama, I'm out of here." She grumbled, letting him know in her own way that she was open to listening... for now. If he didn't take the hint then that wasn't her problem. She go punk one of the particularly bratty apprentices in camp to let off some steam.

She blinked at him in complete and utter confusion.

What in Magpiestar's name was he on about? Killing someone? Who was it, his last braincell? He couldn't mean... Sootpaw could he? She really would beat the snot out of him if that's what he was losing it over. She was missing a lot of context at the moment, and suddenly here he was fighting tears and rambling like a kittypet. What did he expect her to do, pat him on the head and tell him everything was gonna be alright? Wildpaw wouldn't look her in the eye now, instead fixing his pale gaze on his snow-soaked paws. She could tell by the ever so slight quaking of his frame that he was spiraling, losing himself to the tide of thought. Thornpaw sighed and looked away. She wasn't unfamiliar with that particular feeling, but she wasn't the cuddly type either. If the tom needed someone to make it all better, that wasn't her.

Looking back at him, she narrowed her eyes. There was something she could do. Lifting her paw, she cuffed him over the back of his head... hard. "Calm down already, your whining is giving me a headache." Feeling like she'd successfully gotten his attention, she looked away and huffed. "Seriously... English Wildpaw, do you speak it? Form a coherent thought before you go making things awkward again. I'm not here to deal with none of that squishy stuff" She wasn't good at these kind of situations, which is why she tended to avoid them to the best of her ability. But still, the question remained...

"Who was it?"

She stared solemly at him. While it was no laughing matter that her longtime rival - and arguably, friend - had murdered a Windclanner (A grave atrocity in the eyes of Starclan, she knew)... she wasn't exactly broken up over it. She'd never heard the name Echofall in the past, and she idly wondered how long ago this had actually happened. Days? Moons? The pain was still fresh in his eyes, but she more than anyone understood how agony could linger. How long it took to fade... Sighing, she shook her head. "You're more brainless than I thought if you really think that's the first thing that came to my mind." She mumbled, flicking her tail. She'd be the biggest of hypocrites if that were the case. After all, hadn't she experienced her own share of atrocities? Her mind flashed back to when Sootpaw had died. She'd been such a loose cannon at the time, one cat had even gone so far as to accuse her of being the one to kill her own brother. She'd nearly ended their life right then and there...

"The world isn't always black and white, Wildpaw, and that's something to think about when it comes to stuff like this..." She looked away. Her own impulses drove her to do stupid things... often. Make rash decisions and react violently to situations that could be easily diffused by someone more fluent in diplomacy. She was far from diplomatic though... and the tom beside her was mourning. Whether it was the Windclanner or the loss of Wildpaw's own innocence, she didn't know for sure, but either way he carried that weight heavily on his shoulders. She couldn't ignore that, even if she wanted to.

He was no murderer.