In spite of her former clan life, Ant has managed to come away from the warrior lifestyle relatively unscathed: aside from her tattered right ear, she has no other visible scares on her hide. This is, largely, due to the natural agility, speed and dexterity that comes with having such a noticeably diminutive frame; where other cats easily amassed muscle and size, Ant found it easier to stay lithe and quick on her paws.

Back in the mountains, Ant's bright pelt tended to stand out amongst her more stereotypical clanmates and their darker pelts; now, closer to Prairieclan territory, the most noteworthy thing about the red spotted tabby are their slightly oversized ears and oddly, almost overly long tail.

Even on her own, Ant is easily overlooked; this is partially initial and partially habit. She tends to lurk about, head down and tail drawn in close, making her already small frame harder to spot. They have a habit of treading excessively lightly on their paws and have, on a few occasions, startled Soot and other clanless cats in the Barn without meaning too. Her voice is a bit whispery in nature and she noticeably avoids eye-contact with all but her closest of friends. All in all, a very forgettable sort (which is how she prefers it).

"They called me weak

Like I'm not somebody's daughter"

[...]

"Mom?"

"Yes, Antkit?"

"Do you love him?" Pebblestorm sits amongst his fellow Guardians, boasting and sharing stories with some newly named warriors. He hasn't bothered to stop by the nursery yet today.

"He may not be the sharpest rock on the mountain, my little sunshine, but that's probably for the best -- he'd be too good to true if he had both the looks and the brains."

"But," that's not what I meant, "do you love him? L-like you did Father?"

Mother grows quiet. Maybe she's thinking? Considering?

"Antkit?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"Unless you're referring to Pebblestorm, then be quiet."

---

“Aren’t they darling, Antpaw? Your perfect little siblings!”

Pebblestorm is watching, practically looming over Mottletuft and the three shrieking, squirming bundles of fur.

“Yes, Mother.” My replacements.

The silver tabby raises to his paws and leaves without anything more than a nose touch to Mother. Your chest feels so, so tight and your eyes burn at the edges.

“Now, Antpaw, it’ll be your job to help me look after these three!”

“Wh-hat about Pebblestorm?”

“Your father is a very busy cat,” The tortoiseshell cuts her eyes at you and part of you shrivels up inside, “We mustn’t bother him too much!”

But he doesn’t want me messing with his kits…

“Yes, Mother.”

---

“Beechkit, be careful!” Your heart is in your throat as you catch her mid-slip, just short of cracking her head on one of the clearing’s many rocks.

She hisses and yanks her scruff free, then sulks away from you.

“Beechkit–”

Her claws – she uses her claws – almost catch you as she spins around, puffing up and arching her back as her stubby little tail lashes about.

“Stay away from me, you stupid, fifthly loner!”

Your heart plummets into your gut.

---

“Mottletuft?”

“Yes, Antpaw?”

You can do this: “I’m having a really hard time training… Would you–”

“Antpaw. Come now, I’m sure you’re doing fine – Brackenstrike is a very accomplished and wise mentor!”

“I just think–”

“This is simply something you have to deal with, my little sunshine,” Mottletuft puts a paw on your shoulder and pulls you close, “I’m also having to work hard to prove my worth to Ridgeclan.”

She’s not listening to you.

“Besides,” She nuzzles your cheek, but the gesture only makes you feel even more alone, “I’m sure it’s much easier for you, being born here and all.”

---

“Beaten 'gain?”

“I’m sorry, Brackenstrike, I–”

“No more excuses! You need t'start shapin' up–”

“Bu–”

“Silence! You keep this up, you’ll fail your assessment!”

Don’t cry.

“And if that happens, I’ll go find a better use of my time! Starclan knows why Wolfstar gave me some useless runt to train…”

She leaves you there and you rub your face; it smarts horribly and barely touching it has you recoil with a sniffled hiss. That older apprentice, Rockpaw, got you good today. Your eyes are burning with unshed tears. Maybe if you just find a shadowy spot nearby, you can wait out this emotional outburst?

“Man, I would not want Brackenstrike as a mentor – eesh.”

You blink, and then blink again.

“Rainpaw?”

“Hey, you know my name!” Pretty green eyes, subtle gray pelt; the oldest heart-throb of the apprentice den.

Can’t afford not to… “Yeah.”

“Great, introducing myself is kind of lame, y’know?” His grin is crooked and it looks like he has a loose tooth.

“Well–”

“Anyway, I wouldn’t take what that old she-cat said to heart–”

You feel a flutter of warm: “thank y–”

“I mean, you’re terrible at fighting,” the warmth simmers down, even as he sits next to you, “but we can’t all be big brutes like my brother! Some of use need to be smart, like you.”

“Thank you?” At least someone had noticed your efforts?

“Yeah, you’re really smart – I haven’t met anyone who remembers things and solve problems as fast as you in a while! At least, not almost as fast as me!”

“Thanks…” This is… nice. He bumps shoulders with you and, honestly, this is one of the few conversations you’ve had with a fellow apprentice that hasn’t left you feeling like dirt. You manage a half-smile and he beams.

“I think we should be rivals.”

“Oh…” Your smile falters, glancing around in confusion. Rivals? “Wh-hy not friends?”

“No offense, but maybe you’re not as bright as I thought.” He laughs, then wraps a paw around your smaller shoulders and jostles you roughly. “Rivals are way better than friends! If we’re rivals, we can sharpen our skills against each other and become better than everyone else!”

You frown now, but he forges onwards with another shake of your smaller frame.

“So we’ll be rivals, you’ll prove yourself to the clan and I’ll become deputy someday!”

Rivals can be friendly, right? You’ve seen other warriors with such a relationship around camp; friendly tousling and bickering. It seems nice... and, who knows, maybe this can turn into an actual friendship? Maybe once you’re warriors?

“Sure.”

---

Failed. You failed your warrior assessment...

Brackenstrike doesn't even look at you the next day and you're left to wallow in the apprentice's den; Beechpaw and Kestrelpaw snicker and made snide remarks whenever your in earshot and Mottletuft just shakes her head at you. No one comes to get you the next day either and no one comes to comfort you.

Maybe you are worthless... maybe being born to clanless cats has ruined you...

Thornfoot, a fleet-footed warrior, comes to collect you that night.

"Brackenstrike requested you be reassigned," Their stony face makes each word feel like a blow to your heart, "Wolfstar has given you to me."

You can't speak, so you nod. You want to cry and are thankful it's a cloudy night, so they can't see.

"Straighten up," they bop you under the chin and it takes all your willpower not to flinch, "Trainin' starts now; got a lot to cover in two moons."

"T-two?" You have a bad feeling in your gut.

"Asked for two extra moons fer trainin'," the black cat turns and stalks off, leaving you to stumble after, "Need t'make a proper clan cat out of ya."

---

“You should leave, Antfern.”

You blink at Soot, before going back to glancing nervously about. The border patrol had already passed this stretch of territory, but that didn’t make you any less nervous about meeting the clanless molly here anyway.

“I’m serious!” She frowns at you sharply, “Your mother has practically abandoned you for her new clan family, your siblings are bullies, and you have no friends! Plus, your leader sounds craaazy, sheesh.”

“I-I have Raintail…” There was no disputing Wolfstar’s growing fanaticism, though; with it, of course, came more of that clan elitism that fueled the harassment you face on a daily basis.

She rolls her pretty eyes pointedly, “Friends don’t talk down to each other; besides, if he was really your friend, he’d stand up for you!”

“He keeps my siblings and others from bullying me.” You stare down at your paws and shuffle them through the glass, “It’s not his fault he can’t be there all the time…”

“He’s using you, like all those clan cats do!”

You glance at her, hurt: “I’m a clan cat…”

“Not really.” Her voice softens and shuffles over to lean into you, purring soothingly, “You’re way better than them, they don’t deserve you!”

If this is how friendship feels, maybe you feel something different for Raintail? You’ll have to think on it…

---

“You like me? Me?” He’s laughing at you. There’s a crowd and you really wanted to do this without an audience.

“I…” Some warriors are giggling.

“You’re serious.” His face is turning thunderous, “Antfern, really…”

“I just thought–”

“You thought you had the right to like me?” He’s sneering, “Look, I might have taken pity on you all those moons ago by being your rival, but you’d never be worthy to be the mate of any true Ridgeclan cat, let alone me.”

Pity. Your eyes burn.

“Oh, don’t cry.” He scoffs, “You only have yourself to blame, getting your hopes up. And over what? Because I was nice to you? That’s just pathetic.”

And that was the beginning of the end of your peace.

---

You're worn. Tired. There is nowhere to find respite, outside of Soot’s rare visits, where she risks her own life to see you. Raintail is cruel nowadays and no longer keeps you safe. You really have no one…

And now, for some Star’s forsaken reason, Wolfstar has given you an apprentice; there was something said during the ceremony about your speed and agility as well as hard-work to better the clan in spite of your inferior origins. It was hard to hear over how unhappy Shadepaw looked and his outright refusal to touch noses with you.

“You need to see the silver lining, Antfern,” Mottletuft consoles you, beaming with pride, “This is your chance to prove yourself!”

Haven’t you already proven yourself enough? Why are you condemned still for a father and heritage you never knew much about to start with?

Besides, you stifle a grimace, if there had been more mentors for this latest batch of kits coming out of the nursery, I would’ve been overlooked.

“Antfern,” Her tone is a warning.

“Yes Mottletuft.”

---

You are lost in the fray.

The battle is a horrible thing, with blood and yowls and claws and teeth everywhere. You can’t believe you came; you can’t believe Wolfstar is attacking Mistclan–

But you’re here anyway.

You dart from place to place, avoiding hits and assisting clanmates as best you can. You don’t want to hurt anyone, but there’s blood on your claws anyway.

Pebblestorm almost trips over you and boxes you upside the head before you can scuttle away; you vaguely hear him spitting and hissing about useless runts getting underfoot before he vanishes from sight.

You catch a white and black molly along the flank, cringing at how your claws render fur and flesh; she shrieks and then someone else is on top of you.

Claws tear through your head as you're slammed into the ground, barely avoiding your eye; you head throbs and the image of another red tabby snarling down at you doubles and dances in your vision; there’s another flash of claws and you barely avoid getting your face slashed again.

Your heart is trying to smash out of your chest, your ears are screaming, and you know, with abrupt clarity, that you are going to die. This Mistclan warrior is going to kill and you are going to die–

And for what? A clan that hates you? That thinks you're lesser for simply being born outside of it? That punished you from day one because your mother was too weak to give you up?

You are going to die miserable and anxious, without rarely a happy moment in your life to remember fondly…

“You pathetic, little mountain foxheart!” Through the din, through the singing of your injured ears, your murderer’s words reach you.

Your hind legs shove into her belly and your claws hook in deep before raking straight back; she gasps, and drops forward in pain…

And her blood is in your mouth.

---

“An..ern?”

Your ears are ringing from a sound boxing and there’s blood dripping into your left eye, but you did it. The phantom echoes of battle and running paw-steps chase you nonetheless and that Mistclan molly’s blood is splattered on your face.

Just put one foot in front of the other.

“A…tfe..n!”

You can never go back. Ridgeclan would never take you back – you’ve confirmed everything they ever said about you – and you killed a Mistclan cat; and you'd never escape Ridgeclan if you just joined some other clan–

“Ant!”

“Soot…” You’re crying, how long have you been crying? “I…I did it.”

“Oh Ant, what happened?”

“I,” I failed; I murdered; I'm weak– “I left.”

---

Freedom comes at a price, too, apparently.

You stare into the puddle, watching the rain drops fragment your image. Do you look like him? The father whose sins you were punished for? (Was he as much of a screw up as you?)

Do I want to?

Soot will be back soon; she’ll be unhappy to find you sitting outside in the storm, instead of in the barn. She’s been rather displeased with you lately anyway, though…

First, for not giving up your clan prefix. Second, for not joining Foxglove’s gang; then, for not supporting his – and her – vendetta.

Do I deserve to be warm when I upset her so?

“Ant.”

You glance at her wavering reflection. She hates to get wet.

“Ant, come on.”

You wonder why she sticks around…

“Please come inside.” She’s pressing into you, letting your pelts mingle; it fills you with a warmth you haven’t felt since you were a kit, “I don’t want you getting sick, y’know?”

“I want you to be safe.” The Cabin Sect would not keep her safe.

“...Ant, you know you’re like a sister to me, right?” You nod – because it’s true, in spite of everything, she is the closest thing to home you’ve ever had – and she purrs, “Then believe me when I say I’m not mad, so there’s no reason to punish yourself over that argument earlier, okay?”

“...You promise?” She knows you too well, which makes a sardonic smile tug at your lips; you still haven’t looked at her though.

“Promise.” You finally meet her gaze, “Family always loves each other, no matter what. That’s what unconditional means!”

“...even if we don’t always agree?”

“Yeah, silly: even then.” She coaxes you to your paws and intertwines your tails as the two of you walk in step towards the barn, “Were you waiting for me?”

“Not long.” She knows how you struggle to sleep most nights like this, haunted by your past and paranoia.

It’s partly for you, you know, that she wants to drive the clans out – for hurting you, for damaging the very way you think and feel – and that’s how you know you’ve found a family in her.

And you have hope, for once, that maybe life will get better now.

personality

relations