The chase begins again, only there’s no prey before his paws. The young tomcat sprints with nothing but his fluffy tail streaming behind him. He runs from nothing but the sound of his father’s low growls and mother’s dry laughter, playing on repeat inside the apprentice’s skull. The trees start to thin, a vaguely familiar scene, and Littlepaw pushes himself further. Until his pounding heart and footfalls drowned out Lionstrike’s voice.
The Windclan border is creeping closer and he closes his eyes as he tramples past. Right now, he didn’t care if an enemy patrol were to find him. Should they attack, he would fight with every fiber until his last breath. Finish him off before his clan-mates could come to his rescue. They could take him prisoner on the condition he not be returned. Chase him out, to the far reaches of their territory, to what lies beyond. As long as he gets away from Thunderclan.
His pace slows, long golden coat windswept and messy. His cheek fluff stuck out in different directions. He’d say he recognized the grasses from the last time he touched Windclan soil – but to tell the truth, much of the moors looked the same. The field would normally swallow him up, even with his advantageous height, only Leaf-bare has covered most of the land in snow.