Silence {Warriors Fanfiction}

{𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏}

"That's it? Pathetic. They said he was important, but how important?"

The sun sank over an orange stained sky, illuminating the clouds in bursts of pink, yellow and crimson. Undulating across the sky, shaped like the soft tufts of moss that Lightpaw used to love collecting. Bumpy, textured and soft. He soaked in the last of the warmth. It radiated in soft rays from the half-gone sun. There was something special about today.

It was on the brink of passing into the next season, teetering in that unknown time between newleaf and greenleaf. Quickflash, Lightpaw's beloved mentor, had quipped that it was the 'calm before the storm'.

"You were born during greenleaf, so it's unlikely you'd remember much. It was all rain and storm and thunder, apprentice. Not this drizzle we get in newleaf. And then- there was hail. Perhaps why our Clan was named HailClan?" The silvery she-cat mused. And Lightpaw, even younger than he was now, listened raptly with attention.
"What's hail?" He would mew, or attempt to mew back, mumbling and awkward. Quickflash would laugh, in that extravagant way of hers, and he imagined it as rumbling and throaty.

"Hail is a strange thing. Frozen balls that would pummel down on you, even in greenleaf! Not the best thing, and I'm glad it never happened when you were a kit. A good sized chunk might take out you cats!" Just joking, but newly nine Lightpaw had nightmares for the next few nights.

Now he was twelve moons old, ready for greenleaf.

A sunrise ago, Lightpaw had at last returned back to the base camp, along with his five companions. After waking up at ungodly hours and going through grueling rounds of training with their trainers, they had finally made it. To the assessments. Lightpaw was pretty confident the others had done well, and surveyed the camp.

Flintpaw was one of the first cats to have rogues, loners or kittypets as kin up until earlier than his grandcats. Pure, forest blood. He was tricolour, with patches of black, dark grey and white. The youngest, at eleven-almost-twelve moons.

There were Rushpaw and Patchpaw. They were brothers-by-heart, and always found together, even when they were first discovered as mewling kits. Similar in build, age, height- both skyrocketing during kithood and still slowly ticking upwards now- and even eye colour, the only difference was their coats.

Rushpaw was on the brighter side- a vibrant tabby pelt of yellowish-orange. Patchpaw had a more docile look, of grey and a patch of white- hence the name- on his chest. Both at Lightpaw's age, ripe for becoming a warrior. The last 'paw was the eldest. Mushroompaw.

None knew of his original name. Perhaps his mother never bothered to give him one, although she had a name. Mushroom. So the patrol unanimously decided to name him Mushroompaw, after his mother to commemorate her passing.

Was it for the better, or worse? Who knew? I'll definitely never know, especially since Mushroompaw doesn't bother to talk to many cats, especially one who can hardly understand anything without the mew.

Lightpaw's eyes drifted over to the solitary, cream figure. Taken in at eight, already behind, and now as old as thirteen moons. Sensing someone watching him, Mushroompaw whipped his head around. His emerald eyes were narrowed and claws unsheathed. He visibly relaxed when he caught sight of Lightpaw. Maybe mumbled a 'Hello'. It was hard to decipher from such a distance.

He talked to me! Or did he? Five moons of disgruntled glances and shifting paws, and now he talks to me! StarClan has shone upon me! Lightpaw thought, amused. Mushroompaw wasn't much of a talker.

Reunion with family was enjoyable and cheerful. Rainheart-or was her name Stormheart, Stormchest or Rainfur?- had padded straight up to him, eyes bright. After all, he couldn't have been sure. Names were the hardest.