sixteen miles to the promised land [open]

Some cats found fulfilment in becoming queens, sharing tongues from dawn to dusk, having prey brought to them in exchange for their careful watch over the Clan’s newest, most rambunctious members. It was noble and necessary and taxing in ways not so different from warriorhood. Thrushnose loved her kits dearly… Nary a scrap of that love extended to the nursery itself. Kits that weren’t hers used her for climbing practice. Her denmates, kept awake by their own litters, whispered to each other at odd hours. Patrols went ahead without her, by an unspoken rule. She longed to show Sleekkit and Stoatkit the borders, the tallest trees, the best stones to overturn when hunting ants—all things that couldn’t be seen from the confines of their current den.

But resignation was not in Thrushnose’s nature. As she recovered and her youngest kits grew, an idea came to her. She couldn’t share the territory’s wonders with them yet…but she could share prey. Fish—fish would be perfect.

After securing another queen’s assistance in kit-sitting, she set out, her nose turned toward the distant river. She followed the bank until the land sloped to meet water, far enough from Sunningrocks that she could confidently claim to be on ThunderClan land. There, the striped warrior settled among the reeds, her tail twitching as it curled beside her. Shadows flitted beneath the churning water. Thrushnose’s tongue poked out as she squinted into the river's depths, waiting for a silvery form to break away from the pack. She wasn’t the finest fisher-cat in this forest, but she wouldn’t return home without something to show for her efforts.