You're still alive? (closed)

Sablestrike traveled along the Thunderpath, vigilant eyes scanning for any oddities that he might be able to report. The threat of predators hadn't disappeared with the twolegs, and it was his solemn duty to relieve Shadowclan of its pest problem, and perhaps he could even score himself a pelt while he was at it. Sure it wasn't a sanctioned rite, but Roseburn's rite hadn't been official either and Nightstar had let her keep that bird. The thought of Roseburn sent a swirling feeling of sadness through Sablestrike, though it was gone in the next moment. He didn't have time to worry about the cats that had passed, he needed to focus on protecting those that still remained. A scent slithered into the tom's nose, a cat's scent. Whirling to find the source of the scent, Sablestrike couldn't mask his surprise at seeing the white tom. "Mistworm?"

The old tom had figured he'd get picked up by Twolegs again, hopefully the ones who lived on the farm during certain times of the year. But much to his dismay, none of the shiny cars bothered to stop for him. Amd when they did, they looked at him like he had some kind of disease. Sure, his white pelt was old and greasy looking from age, but he was no diseased rat! He heaved a heavy sigh, sitting with his back towards the marshy side of the road.

That's when he had thought he had heard his own name. But it sounded... Weird. Mistworm...? He turned his head to look over his stiff shoulders. Goodness... No wonder why. It was the rude tom from the barn they'd shared not too long ago. "It's MISTER. Worm, kid. He normally wasn't this short of temper, but the longer he was kept from his home, the more anxious he grew. "What was your name again?" He couldn't recall what this toms name was, but he would always remember the face of the cat that saved him from a weasel.

Sablestrike blinked at that. Not Mistworm, but Mr. Worm? So not a clan born cat, why was he wandering around in the forest then? "Sablestrike" The black tom replied. Stars, this rogue had been journeying all around the forest on his own since they parted? Aside from being sad and lonely, that was just dangerous. There was an abundance of predators roaming the forest brought on by the recent twoleg gathering, but the clan cats were also required to defend their territory from trespassers. Mr. Worm most likely had no clue about the borders, how had he made it this far without being gutted?

A cursory glance revealed no one else in sight, and he could probably overwrite the old tom's scent afterwards. This is a bad idea, don't do it. How could he not consider it? Mr. Worm was an elder, there was something about helping elders in the code, right? Reluctantly, Sablestrike made an offer. "You shouldn't sit on the Thunderpath, unless you're looking to get hit by a monster. You could join me on this side. Your fur will suffer, but at least you'll be a bit safer." There, he had done it. It would be out of his paws if the elder decided to stay there and get hit. "How are you even still alive, old man? The clans aren't exactly hospitable towards rogues like you, and no offense but you don't look like much of a hunter either." Was he just lucky, or was there a cat out there that was taking care of him?

Sablestrike... His brain getting more excercise lately meant this name would also be on lock. He would not forget. He would not forget. He felt a little guilty about snapping at Sablestrike like that, so instead of fighting the young tom about getting off the road, he joined him on the marshy swampland. The cooling squish almost made him melt. His paws were sore from all his wandering.

"I've met a few of your forest friends already, all have been very kind to me." He smiled, old eyes squinting as he turned to face Sablestrike. "I'm a fine hunter! The best mouser you'll ever meet! Where I live, mice don't even dare to set little paws on my territory." Well... he was the best mouser. Getting older, his apprentice seemed to be doing way better than Mr. Worm was. His apprentice... A sigh escaped him. "I can tell you have a strong spirit. Tell me, do you often get in to trouble?" His apprentice did, though it was usually just because his words weren't soft, just like Sablestrikes.

"I'm honestly shocked you've made it this far. I thought you were part of the clans, but you've really just been wandering around this whole time, haven't you?" His assumption had been a part of why Sablestrike had parted ways so easily with the elder, had he know that this Worm was a loner... You wouldn't have done anything. He'd like to think that he would have offered Mr. Worm more, but knowing that he was a loner probably wouldn't have changed much. "If you're talking about that barn, those mice are practically catatonic. I'd be surprised if you couldn't score a free meal."

Sablestrike opened his mouth to disagree with the loner, but knew that would just be a lie. "You could say that. I'm still young, I'm learning. I do what I think is right even if that does lead me to trouble, what of it?" Perhaps he was oversharing a tad. He knew that he was already showing too much kindness to a rogue, even if it was an elder, but Mr. Worm would probably keel over before he could share anything from their conversation.

Honestly? Mr. Worm was also shocked he made it this far. He was tired and old. It would be a lie if he said he wasn't scared of not making it back home. "You and me both, Sablestrike." A heavy sigh. Did he even want to respond to the young toms snide remark? It didn't seem worth the trouble.

"Take it from an old tom: some things will start to not feel worth it in terms of causing trouble. Being young as an excuse to be foolish won't last forever. I don't doubt that your heart is in the right place, or that you even mean to be troublesome, but be careful." His mind wandered to his apprentice, Grub. Perhaps this was what he had wanted to say to the mottled tom before Mr. Worm's time came.

The passage of time grew more evident as the days went on: the ticking clock grows ever louder.