how the mighty fall ❧ // warrior cats

XII - HASTE

     Among the pines, light does not reach the forest floor so easily. The clouds have scattered the light as it is, but the soaring boughs of green turn silver as they soak up moonbeam after moonbeam, greedily drinking it in just like the sun and leaving the ground swathed in shadows. Stonetail usually prefers it this way, this dark. All her life, she has never been as skillful a night hunter as her dark-furred Clanmates. Her pale fur is radiant when struck by the moon, a bright sliver of silver visible even at a distance, especially to any prey she might be stalking. She fares much better in morning hunts, when the mist cloaks her from view. This, though, is not a typical hunt, and the grey warrior wishes the trees would bow low and allow her better visibility. It will be harder to find Thrushpaw in the dark even while following a trail.

     Careful to make as little noise as possible, grateful that the driest part of greenleaf is yet to come, leaving the grass still supple and soft, she winds her way around the camp's edge towards the entrance. Concealed in the single holly bush that grows nearby, she pokes her muzzle into the open and breathes deeply. Hundreds of scents spring at her, all awakened by the stillness of the night and the easy flow of the wind, and she sorts through them slowly. She smells fear and grief from the camp, underscored by a heavy scent she can give no name to. It likely comes with mourning, but goes unnoticed by the mourners. Beyond that, there is the smell of rabbit droppings, deposited beneath a nearby tree, along with the trail of a mouse long gone and lucky to be alive having passed so close to so many cats. Stonetail also smells Thrushpaw's trail, the scent she has been seeking, leading towards the WillowClan border. There is another scent beneath it.

     She focuses on the other scent for a moment, but recoils into the holly as a flicker of movement appears at the end of the log serving as the camp entrance, leaving the scent unnamed. Crouched low, holding her breath, she prays the cat will turn around after a moment, but by the soft rustling of the ferns, they are doing no such thing.

     "Quit hiding. I know you're there," Streamheart whispers, pulling back part of the holly bush with one paw. Stonetail sighs, deflating.

     "It's you," she says.

     "Saw you go into the dirtplace and not come back."

     "Could have been taking a while."

     Streamheart snorts. "Please. I taught you that trick before we even had our warrior names. Try harder next time."

     Stonetail crawls free of the bush without asking Streamheart to return to the vigil. She knows better, knows her friend has spied trouble and wants in on it. Besides, two noses may be better than one in tracking Thrushpaw down, though Streamheart is no better at hiding in the moonlight than Stonetail is. Flicking her tail over her back, the grey warrior leads her friend deeper in the forest, where they can speak without the risk of being overheard by those still in the camp.

     Neither she-cat says a word until they reach the sandy training glade. The ground glitters, crystals of sand reflecting the moonlight, and it hurts to look at if a moonbeam bounces the wrong way, straight into the eye. Stonetail averts her gaze, settling down on the grassy fringe to look at Streamheart. "Thrushpaw's been gone since before moonrise," she begins. "This is her brother's vigil, and I overheard her telling Robinfoot she was going to get more lavender specifically for Thornwing, but she isn't back."