everything stays [C]

Rowanpaw

Things were not all that terrible. That was what Rowanpaw insisted on telling himself, at least. He had been taken away from the nest for a day, received an "operation", and was brought swiftly back from the Cutter's. Since then he had gotten some of his energy back. Though the place was a cramped din of noise and cat-stench and twoleg noise, it was not terrible. He was alive. He was fed, even if the food was dry and flavorless and made him wince. He did not have to endure the cold of leaf-bare, while still watching the early snows from the translucent panes set into the walls. Things were not all that terrible.

It all felt terrible, though. Despite the business, he was all alone here. He had found some camaraderie in Crookedpaw, though they were not quite friends. Even though the SkyClan tom was alright, Rowanpaw did not particular care for him. He did not want the company of an apprentice he would sparsely see after this; he wanted his family. They were in camp, home, and safe (he hoped, at least). He wanted their presence. Were they worried for him? Searching for him? Had other RiverClan cats been taken? Was Poppyshine doing well– had she gotten sick again? How was Stormdance managing, such a distant and frightened look in his eyes the last time Rowanpaw had seen him? And Dovesight, passed just before he'd been taken– was Sandypaw surviving in her stead? How were Brookstone, Hawkshriek, Perchstar?

His chest ached. It wasn't worth thinking about.

He had just finished shoving a mess of fragile things off a high-sitting piece of furniture to watch them shatter on the cold floor (and escaping down the hallway from the shouting it incurred) when he caught sight of a large ginger-and-white molly in the room he had disappeared into. On sight, Rowanpaw's ears flitted downwards. His reasonings were kittish, but he had been avoiding her since their shared first day here. Though she looked nothing like his mother, her name alone was enough to make a malaise settle over his heart. And yet, he inexplicably felt the desire to trot over to her, make himself a nuisance at her side. Without waiting for his reasonable self to decide whether or not that was a good idea, he padded over to Poppy at a bounce, bell jingling and throat clearing to announce his presence. Rather than greeting her– for once, he felt at a loss for words –he sat neatly a tail-length away from her and cleared his throat a second time to garner her attention.

Rowanpaw

When the loner turned to acknowledge him, it was with an unsuitably bright smile. His mild expression twisted in a scowl, but he quickly schooled it and hoped she didn't notice. How could she stand to be happy in a place like this? To look so enthused at talking to strangers she never should have known? Rowanpaw's clipped ear flickered with agitation, but he couldn't bring himself to rail against her. Instead, "For you to determine how we might all escape from here," he remarked casually, just a hint of bitterness in the words. Not at her– maybe a little at her, but not really –just... at the state of everything. At the fact that he was stuck here in this stars-forgotten place, that other cats had already found their freedom. His claws flexed, pulling at the soft floor, before he sighed and retracted them.

"No, Poppy. I do not need anything," Rowanpaw corrected, forcing his voice into something softer. If he wanted to have more than one 'friend' here– if he wanted to delude himself into thinking his family was here, he would need to play a little more civil than he normally might. "Despite all the faces it does get surprisingly lonely here, no? One or both of us could use the entertainment, I am sure, so I have come to ensure we are... well, well-entertained."