Welcome to the sixth edition of the WattyWarriors Fan Magazine; a magazine where you can find recommended authors of warriors fan-fictions, short stories, and even contests! If you are looking for some good fan-fictions, this is the place to be.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I was never really a regular warrior.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
"Heatherstreak! Stop with your chirping, you're scaring the prey away," Sleetclaw sneered, his eyes blazed in anger. The wind rustled through the patrol's fur as buds shivered and snapped off their twigs in the trees above.
Heatherstreak saw the senior warrior's glare, and stopped clicking her tongue. She liked the noise that she made and it helped with the emptiness in the air, though it either scared the prey or bothered other's concentration. She moved slowly into the the hunter's crouch. Almost of its own accord, her tail began lightly slapping the heather. The noise of her hitting them made Sleetclaw and Heronpaw look back at her with stern and exasperated eyes.
"Heatherstreak! You're acting like an apprentice! Stop! You're a warrior now, so act like it!" Sleetclaw hissed.
Heronpaw paddled away with a small smirk on her muzzle. Heatherstreak lowered her ears, ashamed and embarrassed, but tried to keep it still nevertheless. She attempted to concentrate on the task at paw. The light brown tabby tried to look into the bushes, sniffed the air, and targeted. Using all her might she leaped, a noise made her look away. She was watched behind her as the apprentices talked to their mentors. Within a few moments, she plummeted straight into a bush. Leaves got into her fur and the branches poked her paws.
"Heatherstreak! Are you okay?" Rookface meowed from behind Sleetclaw.
"Rookface, don't pity this young warrior. In fact she doesn't even deserve to be a warrior." Sleetclaw meowed as he stepped in front of the brown tabby she-cat.
"Doesn't even deserve to be a warrior." Heatherstreak burned those words into her head. Her body ached, her paws were sore, and tail was bleeding slightly. Her blue eyes started to flood and blocked her vision. She pushed on a branch and propelled herself backwards onto the cold grassy ground. She rubbed her eyes, transferring the substance onto her paws.
"Heatherstreak!" Rookface called out, the black furred she-cat dashed towards Heatherstreak through Sleetclaw's "blockage" and helped her get up. Sleetclaw snorted, whipped his tail around and vacated the clearing. Heatherstreak could see the two apprentices in the distance snickering at her mistake.
"If Heatherstreak can be a warrior, then I can be one too because I'm so much better than her." Heronpaw praised herself. She held her head up high as if she were gaining her warrior name.
Grousefang gave her a nudge with his paw, "With that kind of attitude, you will never become a warrior."
Heronpaw closed her muzzle and mumbled, "Sorry, Grousefang." With a swift turn she began to depart.
