- Dec 12, 2022
- 145
- 37
- 28
Patchpaw and her family had left ThunderClan in the dead of night, so it seemed. Stormpaw had not been the same since then. Her paws dragged as she followed after Owlear on hunting patrols and battle training. She stared distractedly into the trees, letting a squirrel dash by without the semblance of an effort to catch it.
What am I supposed to do? She thought dejectedly to herself as her patrol returned to the camp. Stormpaw's feet shuffled anxiously in the dirt as the other cats deposited their prey in the pile. She had nothing to show for her efforts. This was normal, as Stormpaw had never been one of the greatest hunters, much to her disappointment. She could not bear to even approach Flamewhisker or Flycatcher. The tricolor apprentice glanced anxiously at the apprentice den, imagining the other torbie she-cat to appear from it at any moment.
It felt strange to try to mourn for her dead littermates. Stormpaw had never met them. When they were brought up, Stormpaw could only sit there with a frozen look as the guilt settled in. Guilt for having been the survivor. Guilt for not being able to feel any significant pain when they were mentioned. Patchpaw had filled in that hole—and now with her gone, Stormpaw found herself at anguish. Perhaps now she finally understood what it meant to lose someone so close.
Her claws unsheathed and unconsciously shredded the leaves under her, becoming more frantic and violent the longer she stewed in her thoughts.
What am I supposed to do? She thought dejectedly to herself as her patrol returned to the camp. Stormpaw's feet shuffled anxiously in the dirt as the other cats deposited their prey in the pile. She had nothing to show for her efforts. This was normal, as Stormpaw had never been one of the greatest hunters, much to her disappointment. She could not bear to even approach Flamewhisker or Flycatcher. The tricolor apprentice glanced anxiously at the apprentice den, imagining the other torbie she-cat to appear from it at any moment.
It felt strange to try to mourn for her dead littermates. Stormpaw had never met them. When they were brought up, Stormpaw could only sit there with a frozen look as the guilt settled in. Guilt for having been the survivor. Guilt for not being able to feel any significant pain when they were mentioned. Patchpaw had filled in that hole—and now with her gone, Stormpaw found herself at anguish. Perhaps now she finally understood what it meant to lose someone so close.
Her claws unsheathed and unconsciously shredded the leaves under her, becoming more frantic and violent the longer she stewed in her thoughts.