Perfect? || Warrior Cats Fanfic

🌿Chapter III: Glares Of Disdain

As the clan was set on forgetting her existence, she had a lot of free time on her hands. She'd leave on her own to collect little trinkets left behind by Twolegs or simply the natural shells. Scorchface had no idea what these funny things were, but they were always safely buried into the ground so that no other cat could take them. This time, on her trip to the river, she found an unusual sight. A sleek, black tom sunned himself on a shiny rock. Scorchedface left the tom alone, believing he would leave in his own time. She couldn't help but stare until the tom eventually left. She was left to ponder about him...

In camp, Roefish and Squeaksplash became warriors. While the clan celebrated, She tended to herself quietly. Nobody had to say it–but she was definitely not invited. Her looks would just ruin the mood. Scorchedface could remember the day of her own warrior ceremony with a bitter taste in her mouth. The day Swanpaw became Swanfeather was a time of joy. Now, Swanfeather is no more, and her pelt is no longer as pristine as it once was.

Scorchedface stood up and left camp. As her paws slide smoothly on the sand, enjoying the warmth. She walked along the river, collecting things and burying everything valuable she could find. The shiny shells that glimmered brightly was a great distraction from her current world. Suddenly, the sound of a heart rang in her ears. She dropped into a crouch and sniffed the ground. The scent didn't come from the shores of the sand. She followed the sound, slowly, and dropped to the forest floor upon her paws touching the grass. A tiny heartbeat. The scent of prey. She could feel her stomach churning—how long has it been since she's last eaten something that wasn't rotten scraps? Scorchedface kept her tail low while she finally spotted the tiny, feathered creature. A thrush. Scorchface was ready to sprint onto the tiny thing, to attack it. She imagined the crude look of Rhubarbleap, her old mate's true colors, Driftstar renaming her, and her parents being all but one thrush, and she pounced—on a black tom.

Scorchedface was puzzled by the black fur, until she heard a mew. "Why'd you pounce on me?" the unfamiliar cat said. Scorchedface jumped off the cat and turned to look at them. "Why are you in Riverclan's territory?" she hissed. She got a good look at the cat; sleek fur, green eyes. The tom she saw earlier sunning by the rocks!

"I have nowhere else to go," he admitted. In front of him laid the dead thrush.
He sat motionless, its eyes fixed on the bird. "I need to eat," he said. "I have to eat.
The cat tilted his head to the side, and then he began to walk towards the dead bird. Scorchedface watched as he ate the thrush. She was struck by how graceful the cat was as he ate. She had never seen a cat do something so beautiful before, and forgot about her own hunger.

"I am Thistlecall." Thistlecall mewed.
"Scorchedface," Scorchface mewed shyly.
"Why is your name Scorchedface?" Thistlecall tilted his head again. "Is it from your scar?"
She nodded sadly. As soon as her scar was mentioned she lowered her head.
"That's so cool!" Thistlecall piped up.
"I don't want to talk about my scars." She replied, feeling sick from speaking so openly.

Thistlecall tilted his head thoughtfully. He had always been curious about scars and their meaning.

"That doesn't explain who you are and why you're so close to Riverclan camp," she mewed. "Are you here to steal kits? Prey?"

Thistlecall tilted his head once again. "I can see that you can be very mean and scary."

Scorchedface began to feel embarrassed, and her tail began to move nervously.

Thistlecall's tail snapped around to face her. "Don't worry, Scorchedface, I won't harm any kits." He stopped eating and stood up. "I am here to join your clan. Being a warrior is what I do best."

"A loner such as yourself?" Scorchedface chuckled at him.

"Yes." He glanced down at her.

"Why?" She mewed curiously.