
Ack, he hated clans. He had to set aside his hatred, though. Play the role of an innocent, naive kit looking for a forever home. After all, he didn't know why he hated them. It was just how he was raised. From an outsider's glance, it must have been an odd sight to behold. A young boy walking with the resolve of a man on a mission. He couldn't go to RiverClan, as there was a chance their deputy may have remembered seeing him. Also, he sort of attacked an injured RiverClanner near the rogue camp. Other than that, his options were wide open, so he chose WindClan. He didn't know much about clans, but Floss had asked if he'd hunted hare before, and he knew they lived in WindClan. Not a particularly good reason to choose a temporary home, but he was increasingly uncomfortable and wanted a task to get him away from the rogue camp for a while.
Oh, the scent was changing. The territory was flattening out, too. This must have been the moore they lived on. If he waited right at the border, it would look too obvious, wouldn't it? He took a few steps inward, working up his crocodile tears. It was difficult to do, but his eyes were at least a tiny bit moist. That would do for now. The white and grey tomkit glanced around, then cried out, "Has anyone seen my mom and dad?!" An orphan boy, what a sad tale. Not a lie, either. He was an orphan, and didn't know where the hell his parents were. Not that he actually cared. Well, he did, but he would take that to his grave.