here we are at the top of the hill [c]

As the Asylum began to settle into WindClan, Thalia remained unsure about whether she liked the moor at all. Well, less the rolling moors - she'd decided pretty quickly that she didn't like wide open spaces, and that the pretty flowers and the view of the stars were perhaps its only redeeming features - and more the cats that ran across it. Beyond the difficulties of their formal introduction to the Asylum, it was all a bit of a culture shock. The warriors of the moor were almost as much intimidating as they were confusing, at least to Thalia; who had kept to the same circle for much of her life.

While the Asylum was a family, some cats were closer than others; and she felt far more vulnerable than she was used to when her duties separated her from most of the cats she knew and trusted best. The rest of the Asylum weren't strangers to her, the way WindClan's warriors were, but she didn't really know most of them except in passing. That said, even with Roe having returned to Captain Theron, she wasn't completely alone in terms of cats she knew she could trust. After all, there was still Pyrik, who she'd known for as long as she could remember.

Maybe he had some advice for how to adjust better. Or maybe he'd be willing to listen to her air her frustrations for a bit. She'd be okay with either, really, she just didn't want to feel so alone.

And it seemed that luck was on Thalia's side today, because it didn't take too long to find him. "Pyrik? Are you busy with something?"

As the days crawled by, WindClan’s suspicion toward Asylum only grew. Pyrik couldn’t blame them for that; he himself avoided the Clan “warriors” when he could, and had been ecstatic to hear Asylum wasn’t sharing their dens, even though it meant braving the cold beyond the camp’s walls. Besides, a certain wariness of Theron and (most of) her Nightstrikers was always warranted. What he could blame WindClan for was how cruel they were about it. Calling Asylum invaders, brutes, kit-thieves, murderers. As if remembering that golden she-cat’s corpse or the noise the gray cat had made when Theron blinded her didn’t make him—and plenty of others, he was sure—sick to his stomach, too.

Of course, he’d eat his fox pelt before actually saying as much. Instead, Pyrik kept to himself as he went about completing his duties. He didn’t have many factionmates here, and they were all the type to impress rather than befriend. Between them and WindClan, this assignment was shaping up to be pretty lonely.

Having finished the day's work (for now), Pyrik had found a patch of surprisingly springy grass and curled into it to relax. At the sound of his name, his ears twitched as much as the fox head over his own allowed. Thalia—part of the reason he hadn’t thrown all of the Nightstrikers into the same corner of his mind Theron haunted. Thalia was nice, not too much younger than him, and the closest thing to a friend he had in WindClan. “No,” he said, bolting upright with such enthusiasm he nearly knocked his pelt off, “I’m free today. Already went hunting and everything. What do you need me for?” That was the problem with not knowing many cats here; when one of them did start a conversation, he tended to catch up on all the talking he’d missed and then some.

"Um, just company, really... Not like I know anyone else here, you know?" That wasn't entirely true, but the higher-ranked Nightstrikers made her nervous; and she was content to leave them amongst themselves for the time being. For now, Thalia settled comfortably next to her pelt-wearing friend, both a little amused and a visibly startled by his sheer enthusiasm. She did her best to recover quickly, though, and to share her other reasons. "And I guess I wanted to know how you've been dealing with all of this, too. Cause I'm not really sure how to..."

She sighed, the frustration she'd felt earlier fading to show the confusion underneath it all. She was lost, to put it simply, and if she was honest with herself she just wanted something familiar to hold on to amidst all this unfamiliar territory. "I mean, there's been so much change to try and adjust to already, and then - like that's not enough to deal with - almost everyone here is a stranger."

Reining in the initial rush of energy, Pyrik settled into the flattened grass, blinking at Thalia in surprise. He’d assumed she knew the other Nightstrikers because they shared a faction and a den back home—but then, how many higher-rank Standards could he claim to know? Learning that Thalia also struggled with their new life brought comfort and dread in equal amounts. On one paw, it meant the unease roiling inside him was acceptable, maybe even expected; on the other, if she hadn’t figured it out, how could he? “You know, our first day here was…” He broke off, the corners of his mouth tight. To call it “easy” would be a lie, and there was no point in lying to someone who’d probably gone to sleep that night every bit as horrified as him. “They made sure we knew what to do for that part, but I kind of wish they’d prepared us more for everything after.”

Pyrik was quiet for several heartbeats, the end of his tail sweeping up sand. ”I’m not really sure how to deal with it, either. Wearing my pelt helps a little; it’s like having part of home with me. And,” his gaze drifted to an unremarkable patch of fur on Thalia’s forehead, “it’s easier to look at them when I know they can’t see me. Talking to you helps, too.” Short as their conversation had been so far, he’d relaxed more in those few moments than he had for the entirety of their time in WindClan. “Though I know you’re busy with Nightstriker stuff, and I’m busy with Standard stuff… Maybe we should stick together?”