The Trees, The Trees {closed}

After leaving Summer and the toppled oak, Ganymede let his paws take him along the forest line, straying away from the thicker lush trees. It seemed the farther into unknown territory he journeyed, the more mysterious and strange the world became. Yesterday he wove between tall pines that jutted out from the peat soil, humming a soft tune. The birds still sang and the leaves still whispered to him; a sense of familiarity to keep the tom grounded. Water only grew scarcer, much to the tom's dismay. The ferns began to brown and the sharp nettles he walked upon further drove the point of thirst. Today Gany brushed himself off and grinned sheepishly at the sharp morning sun, his stomach growling and his lips dry.

He began to hum again as he walked, a simple tune to keep his heart from beating too fast. Ganymede cut away from the thicker part of the forest, feeling rather intimidated by the unknown foliage that grasped at his pelt and cut at his pads. The pines were more familiar, and were easy on the anxious inhale of breath he took. The loner leapt onto a large stone and surveyed the territory, blue eyes peeled for something to satiate his belly. The tom had never known anything but lush greenery and abundance. Born in Newleaf, there'd always been prey to hunt and water to drink, and his sureness of this didn't falter as blue eyes spotted a small mouse nibbling amongst the nettles.

Ganymede smiled to himself, exhaling a thankful breath from his nose as he lowered his graceful frame from the rock, inching towards the creature. The mouse was dusty brown with black beady eyes, gaze darting around frantically as he moved as anxiously as Ganymede did. The tom furrowed his brow to stop himself from empathizing with the creature, finding the thoughts didn't help his hunting crouch. Nettles sprayed behind Ganymede as the bicolored tom leapt from the soil and soared towards the animal, pinning it between two careful white paws. Ganymede closed his fangs over the mouse's spine, killing it. He gazed at his prey for a while with contemplative eyes, before picking it up gracefully. The tom ventured into a grotto that hosted the mouse, imagining that if there was prey, there had to be water nearby as well.

He journeyed away for a short while, the smell of fresh-kill tempting him, fur tickling his nose. Ganymede wished to stop in his tracks and eat where he stood, but his dry lips pleaded otherwise. The hunger in the tom's belly cracked his usually careful demeanor, and he padded down a shale slope, straight into the sight lines of a gray she-cat. Ganymede froze, blue eyes wide as his neck fur rose. Could this be a clan cat? Had he ventured into clan territory? Would she claw his ears off for carrying a mouse? A thousand questions swam in the tom's mind and his bottom jaw began to tremble, so much so that his prey rolled from his mouth. "You... you can have it." The tom stuttered, trying desperately to quell the icy rock of anxiety that clogged his throat.

Tanglerose's many journeys out into the territory were fruitless, these days, if fruit were amphibians and lizards. The common prey of ShadowClan didn't fare well in this dryness, and rodents became the choice meal of every apprentice and warrior. She wasn't fond of the struggling, but as long as she was fed at least one meal daily, it was a victory. She worked, and did very little else, and it kept her mind off the nagging and prodding of bigger things. There was no sense of scope to a dutiful warrior's life, and certainly no time for bigger things. There was hunting, patrolling, sharing tongues; that was just about it. Never was it entertained that there might be anything else. The traditions were rigid, the routines were predictable, and the endless toiling of catkind to survive in the conditions granted to them continued. There was not enough time in the day to look past what was and see what could be. Warriors were warriors, clans were clans, and that was honorable. To even ruminate on the fundamental ideas that held their society together felt unprecedented and disallowed. She feared it. If she dove too deep, she may never resurface. It was not practical to daydream like she did lately, in the presence of one cat particularly. Tanglerose did not consider herself a philosopher, but rather that Iniko brought her to philosophy. If she had any purpose at all, any ambitions or goals, he was often there to remind her of it. She resented that this joy only came on his arrival.

What Tanglerose knew to be true without question was the dire situation of her clan in the intense drought this Greenleaf wrought. She figured that the answer to ShadowClan's problems might lie in the disputed lands, which would be easy to take control of. Undoubtedly, the land around the Highpine contained many creeks, which would be stocked with amphibians and all sorts of small creatures to hunt. If she continued to move the scent markers inconspicuously forward each visit, perhaps SkyClan would never even notice. Tanglerose knew it was a stretch, but if she could convince Flintstar that the land was at least viable, she could get her voice in his ear. First Highpine, then Snakerocks. Perhaps a quarter of ThunderClan. They would survive the drought and cede the territory when it no longer served a purpose for them. These things came in steps, however, and she was quickly exceeding her scope. For now, she was nearing the Highpine.

Amidst these thoughts, Tanglerose nearly missed the frightened tom that trembled before her and dropped his prey. The grey she-cat was quick to turn her body, protecting her flank and clenching her jaw tightly in the eyes of the would-be intruder. She caught a whiff of his bicolor pelt as he spoke. It was easy to recognize the muddled scent of a seasoned traveler. Loosening her guard enough to lift her head, Tanglerose sent a brief yellow lour across his entire cowering body. His fear was real, and so was his offer. He nearly looked SkyClan, if one only gave him a passing glance. She didn't quite feel comfortable fighting him for a measly mouse. He was a foreigner in a odd land, whose rules he did not fully comprehend. Everything about him begged to be pitied on... so she obliged. "If you tell me your name and where you came from, maybe I'll let you keep it," she said simply. "You give me yours, and I'll give you mine. You won't get a better offer from another cat, not in SkyClan or in ShadowClan. Earn your kill, stranger."

Ganymede's head swam with clouds as he blinked the tears off his temples. They rolled from his cheeks and landed on the mouse below. The tom sucked in a breath as the she-cat spoke, his heart grounding itself ever so slowly. He was much too scared, and urged his legs to cease their wobbling. It seemed the cat before him didn't wish him harm, as gruff as she was. Gany wiped his eyes with a white paw, giving the stranger an apologetic grin. Over the small amount of moons Ganymede had been alive, he'd learned that his anxiety was very much apart of him, never going so far as to hate it, but rather to accommodate it. His condition wasn't going anywhere, after all. Once his mind had stopped its worrying, the tom found he was able to focus on the she-cat's statement; 'earn your kill, stranger.' Such words seemed like warrior talk, as the loner had never heard another soul speak in such an honorable way.

Nodding in understanding, Ganymede placed a paw over his mouse, showing the cat before him that he would opt to keep it after all, if it meant earning her favor. He figured he should act with poise to play along with her tone, coming to grips that the stranger didn't mean to hurt him. "Thank you..." Ganymede spoke, his moon-like face catching the sun dapples. The tom blinked for a moment and pondered on whether it was smart to give the raggedy she-cat his name. He'd shared it with Summer, but Summer was a drifter like him, and her aura was much more... friendly. However Gany imagined that he'd ought to share his title with the cat before him, having been spared his pelt after all. "I'm Ganymede." He mewed, wondering all the places his name would travel. Maybe his father, Willowflight, would hear it, and remember the son he never meant. Or maybe a fierce leader of the clans would track him down, swearing revenge for stolen prey.

Ganymede shook his head at the thought, imagining that he was becoming quite air-headed. The she-cat before him seemed as rough-and-tumble as a warrior could come. If he could calm his heart in her presence, then perhaps Gany could face a leader as well. "You're a warrior, aren't you?" The tom spoke, wanting to confirm his musings. "I've never actually meant a warrior before, but..." Gany stared at the she-cat's frame, blue eyes inspecting her muscular form, flat face, and bushy tail. He couldn't find a word to describe her adequately, so went for something more broad instead. "...you look strong!"

The tom blinked and realized that the cat before him owed him a name as well. Not that Ganymede would hold such a thing over her head, but he was certainly interested to get to know a real warrior. Maybe she knew his father? "What's your name? And... Why did you... why did you let me keep this?" He gestured to his mouse now lying still in the scorched grass, curiosity getting the better of him.

Tanglerose remained silent as the tom placed a little paw over his kill, a faint glint gracing her yellow eyes as she sat down. It was then that she realized that he was not just undersized... he was young enough to be an apprentice. Her breath hitched in her throat; he was far away from Twolegplace, which was probably the path of least resistance for cats of his background, as far as this side of the forest went. She swallowed her concerns, rolling her slender shoulders and lifting her head with regalia. When he spoke again, it was in thanks, to which the she-cat could only muster a nod. Tanglerose found nothing of use in gratitude, which served, in her mind, as a device through which cats could raise themselves aloft the lowly folk. And, what more, she was not merciful, and should not be shown appreciation for the occasional act of mercy. In fact, the warrior felt her feathers ruffled by even the suggestion that she had done such a thing out of the kindness of her heart, and not because his sorry state made her feel nearly sick with pity. She was simply alleviating her symptoms, and there was nothing else to the deed. The lies she told herself were iron-clad, built on the call of the void that, even now, began to creep at the corners of her vision...

She was brought back to her place in the clearing by his name, somehow stranger in quality than Iniko and Summer. She let the word roll over her mouth, letting the sound creep over her tongue slowly. "Ganymede," she hummed. "Sounds like a flower. A gany-flower." It seemed, as Gany continued, that he was more knowledgable than she had initially credited him for. He spoke without a quiver, the word "warrior" being familiar and understood, and Tanglerose wondered if all these lone cats talked to each other, or if he had been here his entire life, roaming undetected. She guessed the former was more likely, given that he had gone this long without meeting one of Tanglerose's kind. The compliment he gave after was so unexpected that the she-cat let loose a hearty laugh, stifling the end of it with her paw as she doubled over.

She composed herself, still grinning, and cleared her throat. "Tanglerose," she sighed, bemusedly lifting her claws to her forehead, yanking on straggled, tangled strands. Her resolve was returning as her mouth settled itself from its giggling. "I know it doesn't make sense... a tangled rose. I haven't bothered to interpret it."

"You caught it on SkyClan's territory, and quite frankly, it doesn't decide whether or not I eat tonight. That's a battle I won't win, even if I take your prey and chase you out. And..." Tanglerose looked away, struggling to speak her explanation into existence. It was frustrating, to try and articulate such lofty dreams and deeply-ingrained anxieties to a stranger without handing over a piece of herself. She would not surrender a whisker, not even to a cat with kitten-eyes still filling out his face. "Your type intrigue me. Loners, free cats. The clanless. Travelers, especially. I'd like to rest today, and I'm not sure when I'll next meet a fascinating stranger."

The tom blinked as the cat before him remarked on his name. The way it rolled off her tongue send a shiver down his spine, but Ganymede didn't let her tone get to him. The addition of the she-cat's calling put a damper on his anxiety. "Tanglerose." Ganymede echoed, much like the she-cat had done with his title. So she was a warrior, then. The air between the two cats didn't seem so strange now that their introductions had been exchanged, and Gany even felt comfortable enough to find a seat on the grass, wanting to focus his full attention to the cat before him. Tanglerose went on to remark on her title, stating that she hadn't bothered to find the meaning behind it. The sentiment reminded Ganymede of Summer, the kind loner he had meant not but days before. They'd talked about names as well, remarking on the strangeness of such a thing. The tom opened his maw with excitement, wanting to explain this to Tanglerose, but then he stopped. He didn't want to accidentally endanger the fellow drifter by giving her name to a warrior, as open as this one may be. Instead Ganymede decided to help Tanglerose with her name interpretation, kneading the ground with thoughtful paws.

"Maybe it means that you're beautiful like a rose, but that other cats have a hard time seeing it because you're tangled on the outside?" Ganymede's tone rose into that of a question, waiting for the warrior to answer. A moment passed, and then another, and then Gany's cheeks grew hot as he realized what undertones his statement carried. "I'm not flirting with you!" He blurted, blue eyes wide in panic. "I don't think you're beautiful! I mean, no! I think you're beautiful but..." Ganymede trailed himself off into a fervor, head spinning until he gave up trying to explain himself and went for the more direct route instead. "I like toms." He explained, hanging his head in embarrassment.

Ganymede looked up through his lashes to see that Tanglerose had gone on to answer his previous question, stating that the act of stopping the tom wouldn't determine her future. The loner narrowed his eyes in thought, moon-like face cocked to one side as he took a wary step closer to the she-cat. Tanglerose's next breath was one of intrigue, speaking that Gany had struck a chord in her. It felt as if they were whispering secrets to one another, even though they'd just meant. "Do you... do you like being a warrior?" Ganymede asked carefully, getting the feeling that some of Tanglerose's woes stemmed from the alternate life she lived.