MOTH DRAWN TO A FLAME // joining iron hull

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    Warpaint had killed someone. A year or two ago, before the clans made their move to Agrelos, before they ever were the only clans around. The District. She’d wanted it, so badly, and had lured the leader out, slicing her throat on a crisp October night.


    Then? A bird took it over.


    The thought still made her grimace, and she visibly did so as it came to mind. She was on a journey to a new, small clan she’d heard about. An anticlan, where barely anyone lived, where she could get a new start.


    There wasn’t blood on her paws anymore.


    “Hello?” the alabaster feline called out, fiddling with her turquoise necklace. “I’m looking for...” she looked down for a minute, searching for a piece of paper. She found it, but the ink had been rained on and was all smeared. “Uh, the Lion Hall.” Was that right? The she-cat wasn’t sure, and she flicked her tail, irritated.