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Just like so many others, Luckypaw can hardly keep his mind off of what's going on back home, though his thoughts are likely markedly different than most of his would-be companions; merely sunrises ago, he might wonder what Badgermoon is up to, if Frostpaw and Rumblepaw are working hard, but now? Now he can only hope that Frostpaw and Rumblepaw are even okay, all alone back home surrounded by a Clan that had so quickly turned on Badgermoon; surrounded by a Clan that's hard-pressed to forget about traitors. Sure, he and his remaining family hadn't done anything wrong, had avoided scrutiny and done everything just right, but would that be enough to cast off any quiet suspicions that other cats may have? Selfishly, he was almost glad that he had volunteered for the journey, and that Scorchpaw and Scorchstreak were here alongside him as well; none of the other WindClanners around seemed to look at him any differently, as far as he could tell, and even if it's just the shifting priorities thanks to the unfamiliar setting, he'll take it, gladly sparing himself the trouble of feeling more anxious than he already does. This land is strange, and the company is far from what he's used to, so many different scents and pelts swirling together to form one great swell - no, he doesn't need anything more to worry over than is already placed right before his paws.
It's hard to sleep in a place like this, and even if he's used to nests being strewn about, back home still seems as though it's nothing like this - the sky overhead is so hard to see when it's dotted and blotted out by the foliage, and even that in and of itself is uncomfortable. Closed in as they are, it doesn't feel anything like the tunnels he's grown used to; you can't navigate a forest like you would a tunnel, which automatically makes it worse than the moors, because at least there you can see things coming, even if you can't sense them. Here, he'd be hard-pressed to find his way back to their makeshift camp after only a few pawsteps into the brush. There's surely more hardships to come - there's not a chance this will go over smoothly, not with such a motley assortment of cats - and sleep is probably the one thing Luckypaw needs more than anything else, but he can already sense he'll be hard-pressed to get any on this first night, even if he boxes himself in with other WindClanners, or nestles in close to Scorchpaw. In this, he's not alone, it seems; voices catch his attention, and he finds himself surprised to see Sedgepounce there, alongside some ThunderClanners, he thinks, and a SkyClanner, maybe. Things are hard to keep straight so soon into their journey, and it's especially difficult when he's not particularly interested in learning to tell them all apart. Stick together long enough to bring the cure back, and then it's over - no use in skirting too close to these odd cats, not if he doesn't have to.
Still, there's something...enticing, perhaps, in the tones he hears - he'd almost describe it as comforting, if someone from another Clan could be described that way, and before he knows it he's drawn in, too, settling quietly in at Sedgepounce's side. It's a story he's wholly unfamiliar with (no sign of thorn-clawed, maelstrom-summoning rogues, thank StarClan) and he's quickly enraptured by the strange tale she begins to weave. The three Great Clans she describes begin to dance about in his head, one by one, turning the grounds of his skull over until he's sure they'll never leave, and though he's never quite seen anything like them, his imagination easily fills in the details. Stripes and spots and manes - what would they look like sitting among their group now, he wonders? As the ThunderClanner - Little Wolf, he thinks he heard - continues on, one thing gives him pause - that all cats inherited agility and hunting prowess from this LeoparedClan. So clearly presented as fact, it takes him out of the story, for a moment. Luckypaw is fast (he'd have to be, as a WindClanner and all), but his hunting skills leave a lot to be desired - how, then, could these great beasts have passed something like that onto him? The SkyClanner pipes up with a question startlingly similar to his, and instead of adding on, or even posing one of the other questions circling his chest, he instead remains silent, not wanting to interrupt the story anymore, though his eyes follow the exchanged words with a clear gleam of interest.
