Surprise Hunting Trip [Closed]

Hawkstrike stepped out from the warriors’ den and stretched. His stern glare had started to soften lately thanks to the news brought from gathering and the fact he had noticed the clan growing with his very own eyes. He no longer felt the clan was in danger of an attack 24/7 like he did before…but it would be a lie to say he had truly relaxed at all.

They may no longer be at such high risk, but without allies or expressed respect from the rest of the clans, he wasn’t about to put down his guard. He didn’t care if they were in a period of peace, he had learned the bad way that those rarely lasted, and in the name of the Dark Forest, he wasn’t going to let the next catastrophe catch them unprepared, regardless of what it could be.

With a huff, he walked towards the apprentice’s den, eyes narrowing as he noticed he couldn’t find his apprentice in it. Had Swanpaw left without him to patrol? Now, he wasn’t going to lash out on the apprentice if that was the case. If anything he was the one to blame for not keeping up with his own apprentice or patrol schedules, but now he had to see if he could take another apprentice with him or if he would have to patrol alone instead.

“Anyone in here is free to patrol right now?”

Lightfang was in the apprentices’ den. He didn’t belong in the apprentices’ den; he’d had his full name long enough that it was starting to sound right to his own ears, and he didn’t have an apprentice of his own, as Mistyrain knew better than to assign one to a camp-bound warrior. But the elders didn’t need him. Amberdawn didn’t need him (StarClan knew he didn’t understand herbs well enough to be much help, anyway). He couldn’t hunt on his own… There were only so many ways a warrior could make himself useful when restricted to SkyClan’s camp, and Lightfang was running out of options. He’d never been so eager to watch the moon grow.

Hawkstrike’s voice sounded from outside. Lightfang turned, surveying the older (yet, somehow, smaller) tom with a mixture of hesitance and barely disguised interest. Reading other cats had never come easily to him. That, and, well, this was Hawkstrike. Lightfang had been on enough patrols to be…maybe not comfortable around him, but familiar with him. What would Hawkstrike make of the cat who’d brought Delta back to SkyClan, however briefly? Did Hawkstrike think he was a traitor, too?

Courage, the pale warrior noted, was easier to find when it came from desperation. With a soft sigh, he abandoned the nest he’d been tidying (he didn’t know whose it was; what mattered was that he’d left it neater than he’d found it) and padded toward the den’s entrance. ”Excuse me.” Though he didn’t quite meet Hawkstrike’s eyes, the slight twitching of his tail gave away his restlessness. ”I’m not an apprentice, but I can go.” That was the condition, after all. Find an escort, and he could leave. Besides, his paws were itching to catch something. Anything. Even the forest's smallest sparrow.

Hawkstrike’s forest green eyes were as cold as the ice that covered the river in the middle of Leafbare when Lightfang stepped out and spoke to him, not out of distrust, but out of habit. He hadn’t been present during Mapl-…Delta’s trial itself, but word traveled fast within the clan, and sooner than later he knew the story as well as if he had been there himself. Every detail as irrelevant as it could’ve been, had been shared over and over to the point where even someone like him could tell the tale without fear of missing a crucial point.

And yet, of all cats in the clan, he probably was the one to care less about what he had done.

In an odd way, he saw a shadow of Crowstar on Lightfang, and a shadow of himself in the former SkyClanner. How so many moons ago he had arrived to SkyClan as a rogue, an exile, fighting the ruthless claws of death thanks to the injuries inflicted upon him by the one he once called father. How Crowstar, without any obligation, had decided to take him in even after knowing of his loyalties and the risks those could present to his clan, to give him a second chance many would’ve denied him without a second thought.

The only difference here was the forgiving heart and understanding of these dark situations Crowstar had, but Tinystar seemed to lack. That was the deciding factor that ended up making the clan lose yet another potentially great warrior.

The small tom could be Crowstar’s son, but so far he had done nothing but prove to the chocolate tabby how different he was from him. If it wasn’t for the life-long debt Hawkstrike had towards SkyClan, which eventually had transformed into undying loyalty, he probably would’ve spoken his mind against the white stumpy legged tom…or proven his point through claws if necessary.

Hawkstrike’s icy glare turned into a warmer gaze and his stern expression into a small smile as he nodded respectfully at Lightfang “Of course, I would be honored to hunt with you” He meowed softly. He was no fool nor blind. He had noticed how the unfair punishment had started to cripple the younger warrior’s confidence, how the treatment of those that couldn’t see the good to what he had done had affected him…if they only could see past what they were told, know the stories of those that had been saved by stories similar to his with brighter endings.

His claws discreetly dug into the earth as he forced himself to swallow the indignation. Maybe someday things would take a turn for the better…but at the time…urgh…

With a proud yet surprisingly kind smile from the older cat, he turned around towards the entrance of camp, giving a quick flick of his tail for Lightfang to follow.

Once the words were out, his confidence abandoned him, as if his mind had only just registered who he was talking to. Surely Hawkstrike had to know; it felt as if the whole forest did, though Lightfang heard it had gone unmentioned at the Gathering. He remembered the trial every time he brushed past one of his Clanmates on his way in and out of some den or another, every time he grabbed something small from the fresh-kill pile and lifted his head to meet another warrior’s eyes. There was a reason he hadn’t spoken to many other cats while going about his self-assigned duties. Still, he didn’t lower his head, nor did he turn back toward the den. It was this or resign himself to another sunup of nothing, nothing, nothing. Even if Hawkstrike despised him, there was a chance he would let Lightfang come along for the sake of practicality. So Lightfang stayed. The low chatter in the back of the apprentices’ den seemed to die away as he waited for the verdict.

”Of course, I would be honored to hunt with you.”

Lightfang blinked, baffled. Honored. No matter how many times he ran through the words in his head, there was no other way to interpret them. Hawkstrike had spoken clearly. Finally, his eyes met Hawkstrike’s; he was surprised to find they weren’t cold at all. ”I… Thank you.” He couldn’t help the rush of gratitude in his voice. Sympathy was the last thing he’d expected from Hawkstrike, yet there was something like understanding in the older tom’s slight smile and oddly soft tone. It was a little overwhelming, but it was reassuring, too. Another cat on his side; if not that, then another cat who wasn't against him. That it was Hawkstrike, one of SkyClan's more…intimidating figures, specifically, was a greater relief.

Having given his permission, Hawkstrike gestured for Lightfang to follow him, which Lightfang did without another moment’s pause. As they passed through the camp’s entrance, Lightfang only two steps behind, some of the tension eased from the younger warrior’s shoulders. The forest had never been so comforting. Here, he was useful; here, he was worth something to SkyClan. Sighing again—contentment, this time—he trotted onward and lifted his muzzle to the air, careful not to step on any stray branches.