"This is ridiculous." A voice ripped through his peace of slumber, but it wasn't enough to stir him awake. It had only earned his attacker a soft, annoyed groan. He felt comfort in his nest. It was cozy, warm, and... wet?
"Wake up!"
The voice had become louder, finally erupting in Vulturepaw's ears. His eyelids slowly opened and illustrated a blurry picture. He saw a larger, angry-eyed cat towering above him. He was strikingly similar to Vulturepaw. Same eyes, same fur shade, but this tom had white speckles on his flank. Suddenly, the tom launched his teeth into Vulturepaw's ears, and dragged him upwards until he was standing. Vulturepaw struggled, wincing in pain from the sudden tight grasp to his ears. He swore he was bleeding a little by that. Vulturepaw was now fully awake and alert, realizing that his attacker was just his father, Spottedclaw.
"You're disappointing." Spottedclaw began. "All of the apprentices are out training, and you're sleeping and urinating yourself like a mousebrain!"
Vulturepaw clenched his eyes shut in confusion. "...Urinating?" He yawned, still unable to grasp the reality.
"Yes!" Spottedclaw hissed nastily. "You nasty rat! Get out of here, and dispose of your disgusting nest before I send you to StarClan!" Spottedclaw ordered harshly. There was not a sense of softness, or discipline in his father's voice. It was simply a form of hatred that Vulturepaw treats as a normality. Vulturepaw picked up his drenched nest in humiliation, that ultimately turned into moodiness and frustration. He murmured his cusses at his father, before slowly striding out of the den. Spottedclaw followed right at his tail, then stopped at the enterence as Vulturepaw heavily stepped away. "And when you come back, you're cleaning everything!" Vulturepaw was no longer embarrassed about wetting his nest, he was so focused on the anger swelling inside of him due to the scolding of his father. Spottedclaw had always treated him harshly, but at the same time, Vulturepaw held a high admiration for his father. He was the only parent that paid attention to him, and the only parent that gave him advice. Even though that advice was brooding, and negative.
With every step he took towards the river, he had begun to felt very weak. His eyes were hot and watery, bloodshot at the sight, with a tired yet angered gaze. His posture was horrid, with his head dangling and his shoulders stiff and scrunched. His throat had burned, and the deed to carry a light, moss nest was becoming a burden. Not even a few feet away from camp, he had dropped the moss nest because he was short of breath, and needing of water. It had took him an hour and a half, with constant breaks, just to get to the river. When he eventually reached the edge where he could see his own reflection, he took long, deep licks on the surface. He couldn't stop drinking, but at the same time, he was feeling as if his stomach was about to collapse. Eventually, he found himself laying down, practically in the cold water, taking sips and trying to cool off the abnormal hotness seething in his body.
