Where The River Bends

Mackerelfang: Beneath the Branches

The patter of paws damp from puddles of yesterday's rain...

The layers of piers beneath which an army of feral cats hid...

The strange and yet irresistible scent of the pier town, bustling with fish and twolegs...
Oh, everything was perfect in memory.

Everything was perfect and fading away.

***

No matter how many times he woke up in the warrior's den, Mackerelfang still felt like a separate entity from the massive clump of cats snoozing through the early morning. There were notable gaps in the landscape of fur that usually blanketed the cramped den where the dawn patrol had taken their leave, but for the most part, it looked as if Mackerelfang was up early.

As such, he took his time getting up, making sure to stretch out every joint in his aching back and stretching his maw out into a huge yawn. Once he had properly limbered up, he sauntered out of the shaded den into the soft, dappled light of the morning, which soaked his fur in patches as the sun grasped at him from around trees. The branches waved to him from above, shifting about in a soft breeze off the river, and the air smelled like newleaf with hints of rich earth.

When Mackerelfang was young, he had resolved that if he was going to run away, he was going to run away to somewhere beautiful.

Well, he'd done it.

Behind him, Frogcall stumbled out of the warriors den, head heavy and eyes filled with sleep. The dark warrior perked up as he passed Mackerelfang. "Morning, Mac."

"You're not supposed to call me that anymore." Mackerelfang sighed, feeling as if he'd swallowed crowfood. His old name still bought on a rush of sickness and adrenaline, mixed with guilt, but Frogcall would never understand unless Mackerelfang explained everything and he planned to hold that off long as possible.

"Eh, don't worry too much about it. ShallowClan's relaxed about this type of thing." Frogcall purred, clearly misinterpreting his concern. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," Mackerelfang admitted, and the two young warriors walked to the prey pile, which was already stocked with fish and the odd squirrel. Frogcall pulled a squirrel out from near the bottom by its tail, taking quick bites, and Mackerelfang picked a fish near the top at random.

The fish had to have been killed by an apprentice, judging by the small bite marks and disheveled scales. It was not a clean catch, but he wasn't picky.

Frogcall looked over his shoulder and remarked, "It's not like Cranepaw to make messy catches."
"It isn't?" asked Mackerelfang, trying to remember which one 'Cranepaw' was. It bought an image to mind of an apprentice with long legs and a gray pelt with an almost blue tint to it, like crane feathers, but he couldn't remember anything about his hunting skill or lack thereof. "How did you know he caught this, then?"

"Oh, he catches half the pile. Must be because of Creekrush. She's pushing him hard as she can before his assessment."

"Is it that big of a deal?" Mackerelfang tilted his head. Since he'd joined the clan two moons prior, no such event had taken place, and he's spoken little with the apprentices.
"Do you think we'd routinely fail apprentices? If it was hard, I wouldn't be a warrior now." Frogcall purred, "It's more of a way for mentors to show off than anything else. Still, I think she's wasting her time with teaching him all these fish catching tactics. When the floods start up again, we'll move back to the top of the hill, and the poor cat won't know a thing about catching land prey."

"Gossiping about Creekrush, are we now?" Rainfern asked, approaching for the other side of camp. There were a good number of warriors out, and there had been for a while, but Mackerelfang hadn't expected anyone to be listening to their conversation over the morning din. Best he could tell, the opinions of novice warriors held little weight.