sage | a warrior cats fanfiction

chapter seven

Birchpaw was the first to dash into camp, followed by Swallowpaw and Bumblepaw. Finchpaw raced in after them, calling something that fell upon ears that were not listening. The apprentices all ran toward to their den, seemingly discussing something for a few short moments. Birchpaw whipped around, the late sunhigh sun reflected in his gaze.

He skirted over to Freckletuft and the other mentors that had taken a slower approach toward the camp. Despite the original pace back to camp being rather fast, each of the mentors had slowed down eventually, Adderheart being the first to do so, for hunger gnawed incessantly at his belly and caused his actions to be slower than usual. Fernfall and Fluffyflame had struck a little conversation where Freckletuft had stayed silent, Adderheart choosing the same option.

"Can we have something to eat?" asked Birchpaw, head tipping a little bit with curiosity. Fluffyflame opened her jaws to answer, however the apprentice's belly grumbled. Adderheart glanced behind him to spot all three apprentices gathered at the entrance of their thorny den.

Freckletuft answered immediately, tail flicking decisively. "Yes. Share, though, and be sure to offer something to Willowdapple."

Birchpaw's expression brightened. "Of course!" Whipping around, Adderheart watched as the patched apprentice dashed off to share the news with the other apprentices. Within moments they all gave a silent cheer, headed toward the fresh-kill pile to choose something delectable.

Fernfall gave a dip of her head to each cat, not saying another word as she padded off. Freckletuft was swift to follow, head bobbing in a polite yet brisk motion, turning away. Fluffyflame dawdled, however, glancing sharply at Adderheart before spinning on his paw to hurriedly head off.

Well. Okay.

Adderheart, now alone, was glad to feel the familiar, gentle silence of introversion settle upon him. It was usual for the pale-furred senior warrior to be alone the majority of the day, and most of the time he preferred it to chatting idly with cats who did not care for his daily activities.

It wasn't too surprising that he was able to move toward the fresh-kill pile without being interrupted by many, even less surprising that he was able to choose a mouse without being interrupted. Strength had slowly drained from his features throughout the day, and it had likely caused some unforeseen issues during training.

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to skip my usual meal in the morning.

He speculated absently, settling nearby with the mouse. Dark gray gaze sweeping the camp, he shifted a little as if to find a more comfortable position, taking a bite. It had a strange twinge of coldness to it. It was most certainly leaf-fall now, for a crisp breeze seemed to continually dance and spiral through the camp, brushing up his pale creamy-brown pelt. The skies were pale blue, the nights cold and chilly.

But it was not time for leaf-bare just yet. Leaf-fall still had to run its course, cause a few chills, and only then could leaf-bare come. The prey would soon be dwindling, however, for in SageClan, the prey always seemed to leave far too early.

Streamfang emerged from the entrance of the camp and he shivered involuntarily. He'd almost forgotten their earlier conversations. He couldn't help but feel as though that was so long ago. It was as if moons and moons had passed...

Milkfrost and Vixenfeather.

It was only natural for his mind to jump onto the next thought that came to mind, and that, consequently, was the two missing elders. Had anyone seen them around? Adderheart couldn't recall if he'd scented them around, though was fairly sure nobody cared- nobody seemed to care.