THE HIGHER I GET, THE LOWER I SINK
I CAN'T DROWN MY DEMONS, THEY KNOW HOW TO SWIM
The last few weeks had been a bit of a whirlwind for Coldpaw. Up until recently the tom had spent the majority of his time on his own, stuck at that age where he was too old to be fussed over by the queens but too young to be properly utilized by Soot. And since 'apprentices' hadn't really been a thing, the young tomcat had been left to his own devices. And it had suited him well, because quite frankly Cold had needed some time to sort things out after everything that had happened. He'd lost all his friends and siblings to the others clans, had lost his parents in the great battle, and had been forced to leave the marshes in order to escape all the memories he kept tormenting himself over. Windclan had been good for that. Exploring the moors, teaching himself to hunt, practicing the fighting moves he watched the larger cats use against each other during spars- by the time Hyacinth acquired him as an apprentice Coldpaw had already introduced himself to most of the territory and the basics of hunting.
He wanted to say he preferred it that way, that the repetition of trial and error was less annoying than all the socializing he was forced into these days with actual patrols and training sessions with Hyacinth, but there was a small part of him that didn't hate it. After all, he hadn't always been an antisocial jerk. Before everything was taken away or had willingly abandoned him, Cold had been just like any other apprentice. Some, like Leech and Rose, would remember him as a loud and confident kit, just as quick to befriend someone as he was to fight with them, always bragging about how he was going to be Leader one day.
But what was the point of wanting to lead and protect a group that didn't know the meaning of loyalty?
The only reason he was here was because Soot, despite being harsh, demanded nothing short of complete loyalty from her cats. She would have never given up land or cats like Briar had, would have never let so many families be torn apart. That, if nothing else, was a quality he could endorse.
Typically at night Coldpaw would be out training with Hyacinth, but tonight she had given him the night off. He wasn't sure why- maybe the sight of him covered in Soots blood had made her sympathetic, but really he didn't need it. He would have preferred to have something to do to distract him, or at least that's what he told himself. His body, on the other hand, seemed to crave sleep.
Sleep he was definitely not going to get if a certain someone kept jabbing him in the ribs like that. Coldpaw groaned as he heard the familiar voice of Dandelion announcing that he was being volunteered for 'ghost hunting duty'. A lazy swipe toward the other tom would come up with empty air as they lept away, and to his utter dismay they began calling out to the cats around them. "Are all you barn cats so loud?" he complained as he sat up in his nest, blinking the sleep from yellow eyes as he slowly got to his feet. "And don't be mousebrained. There are no dead cats out on the moors. If our ancestors go somewhere when they die then the kin of other cats must have a place too. Why would we be the exception?"
It didn't make sense to Cold for dead cats to just be hanging out. If Starclan was real[/i], then what would make the clans so special to have an afterlife but not every other cat? "Plus, ghosts are invisible." he added, as if that alone was enough to trump everything in Dandelions argument.
windclan apprentice - male - 8 months - a large, dark grey tabby with yellow eyes 
