#fogpaw

Moonpaw mrrps in sleepy protest as she's jostled awake by her brother's paw digging insistently into her shoulder. She cracks one bleary eye open, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings. 

Right. They’re not at home. They don't have a home.

She stands, stiff from sleeping on bark, her muscles protesting as she arches her back and stretches her legs. The sun that slots into their log from an opening at the top paints the inside in streaks of rich reds and browns, so different from the cool, smooth stone she’s used to waking up to. She misses her moss nest fiercely in that moment, the weight of her grief threatening to overwhelm her, but she forces the feeling away with a shake of her head. There is no comfortable, warm nest for her to return to. Not now, not ever, and she needs to move on.

“Coming,” she mumbles sleepily, rubbing a paw against her eyes as Fogpaw turns and ducks out of the log. “How'd you sleep?” She stumbles out into the sunlight and shivers in the weak, earling morning newleaf air.

“I've certainly slept better,” Fogpaw mews, licking a paw and drawing it over one of his ears. “Best not to dwell on it. Breakfast first.”

Moonpaw nods, padding after Fogpaw as he weaves through the sparse mountain pines. She opens her mouth, scenting for prey, and sets her ears on a swivel to better hone in on the skittering of small paws through the bed of fallen pine needles that soften the cats' footfalls.

The breeze drifts the scent of mouse towards Moonpaw and her tail flicks up in excitement. She shoots a look Fogpaw's way and he nods and veers off in another direction, allowing her this hunt to chase his own prey.

Creeping forward, the words of her former mentor rings in her ears. Keep your paws light. Even so much as a scattered pebble will alert your catch to your presence. She never was able to complete her training and earn her warrior name, she thinks with a pang, but files that sadness away for later. She has enough information to know how to hunt, and she and Fogpaw will have plenty of time to practice now.

The mouse she's stalking shows itself, leaping onto the root of a tree, little whiskers twitching. Moonpaw waggles her haunches, preparing to launch herself at it, but as she leaps she slips on the loose pine needles underfoot and falls short of her catch. The mouse darts away and she lunges forward, hoping to snag it with a claw as it escapes, but it's too far from her outstretched paws and disappears into a hole in the ground.

“Star-damned trees,” Moonpaw growls to herself and sits back with a huff, her tail tip twitching. “Hunting on the mountain was so much easier.”

Prey continues to evade her for the rest of the afternoon. Squirrels run up trees, voles dive for cover under the leaf litter, and one particularly annoying chase after a songbird ends with Moonpaw landing in a puddle of mud.

She screeches with disgust, the bird long gone, and drags herself out of the mud to shake her fur. Her nose wrinkles in disgust at the state of her pelt. This is going to take ages to clean out of her white fur. Hopefully, Fogpaw is faring better with his hunt.

She follows her brother's scent trail to find him laden with mice, pawfuls of them at his feet. As he glances up and makes eye contact with her, the corner of his muzzle ticks up in amusement. “Rough hunt?”

“Do. Not,” Moonpaw huffs, eyeing his sleek, clean coat enviously. She drops herself next to him in a patch of sunlight and begins to groom her coat. Between mouthfuls of fur, she says, “we need to find someplace else on the territory to stay. This is no place for a mountain cat to settle.” She darts a pointed look at his small mountain of prey. “Except for you, maybe.”

Fogpaw mrrps a laugh and pushes a mouse towards her. “You can have some. I caught plenty.” He settles onto his paws and helps Moonpaw clear the mud from her fur. “I agree, though. I think we should look around the rockier places of our territory until we find a place that could work as a new camp.”

“A whole camp?” Moonpaw says doubtfully, tongue paused in her grooming. “I could settle for a couple of safe hollows in a rock. What do we need a whole camp for?”

“Rebuilding NimbusClan, of course.”

“Oh, Fogpaw–”

“No, Moon, seriously. I don't want to spend the rest of our days as rogues. I want–” he falters, eyeing her hesitantly before continuing. “I've always wanted a family, one like ours. Mom and Dad and us, it just… made me so happy, you know? I want that for myself one day.” He casts his eyes away from her, his shoulders hiking up around his ears, and Moonpaw knows he’s fighting back tears.

Moonpaw smiles gently at Fogpaw, her own eyes misting a little. “It made me happy too, Fogpaw. Makes me happy. They're watching over us in StarClan, I'm sure of it.” She curls her tail reassuringly over his back. 

“I'm sure they are,” He murmurs, resting his head against hers. “I miss them.”

“I miss them, too.”

They sit that way for a while, purring softly with each other as the newleaf breeze plays over their fur. Eventually, they tuck into the mice Fogpaw caught, and then curl together to take a nap in the sunshine.

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