Posts by WOLFBITE!

In a different time, at a different place, Moonwillow's newfound obedience might have done something to calm Wolfsbane's temper. It might have eased his desire to punish his sister, but he knew that he couldn't go easy on her. Liverpool wouldn't have, and for good reason. If he let this infraction go, Moonwillow would think that her actions were okay. She'd think she could do as she pleased, with no consequences—and if she thought that, she was going to get herself killed. Wolfsbane had watched other rogues attack mouthy mollies. His sisters never seemed to realize that. They never seemed to understand that the way the family did things kept them safe.

He led Moonwillow toward the warrior's den. WindClanners had some strange idea about how sleeping under stars made them closer to StarClan. It was a loud of dung, but it meant that the dens were barely used: they were only occupied when the weather turned bad or a cat was sick. For Wolfsbane's purposes, it meant that he had a quiet place to reprimand Moonwillow, and that they were unlikely to be disturbed.

Facing his sister, he demanded, "How often have you gone hunting?"

Games, Wolfsbane had been raised to believe, were for kits. By the time he'd reached what would have been apprentice age if he'd grown up in WindClan, the extent of his games had been tussles with his siblings. Anything other than that and one of his mothers would have said that he was lazy and wasting time. He could remember only a few stolen minutes of pleasure while "patrolling" with his brothers, but that had been risky too. Those games had been broken up too often by his father, who had better things for Wolfsbane and his brothers to do with their time.

Watching as cats gathered around Cinnamonpaw, he couldn't help but marvel. It was at times like these that Clan life seemed attractive, and he had to double his scoffing so that he didn't feel like he was missing out. He wanted to tell Vulturepaw that the prize was the satisfaction of having wasted time throwing pebbles at the ground, but he didn't trust his voice to remain steady. Wolfsbane was an actor but he had limits, and pretending to be disdainful of something that had him feeling so pensive was one of them.

Instead, studying Cinnamonpaw, he asked, "You have time to just play a game?"

Wolfsbane didn't particularly enjoy spending time with kits. His own younger siblings had been pretty cute when they'd been kits, but he'd never voiced that, afraid that his father would dislike hearing such a statement from his eldest son. WindClan's kits weren't cute. Petalkit was the only one he'd ever really talked to, considering that (a) no one seemed to trust him around kits and (b) he had no real interest in watching a bunch of kits, and she was bratty.

All things considered, it should have come as a surprise that when he spotted Blossomkit sitting alone, a melancholy air surrounding her, he decided to head over. Wolfsbane wasn't planning on visiting her for her, though: his goal was to be seen interacting with a kit, proving both that he could be trusted around them and that he was as normal as all the weirdos here who liked playing with kits.

Teasingly, he started, "Hey Blossomkit. You're not planning on climbing a tree again, are you?" Was that even how one talked to kits? He didn't have much experience in the area.

The spot was rotten. Wolfsbane didn't buy that, but he was more concerned with understanding what had happened while he'd been away than he was with pressing Flint on his lie. Besides, the two were probably connected. Flint was a complex cat, but after all this time, Wolfsbane thought that he was starting to understand him. Flint was physical: his actions spoke for him just as much as his words did, and in this case, his actions had to be tied to the strange conversation he'd had with Rapidfoot.

If only it made any sense.

He'd managed to get to Flint even without pressing him about the hole, Wolfsbane realized with some satisfaction. The sound Flint made just before he practically collapsed reminded Wolfs of the gargling of a dying cat. Flint was strangely quiet; Wolfsbane enjoyed the moment, a smug smile perching on his lips as his shadow eyed him. He enjoyed this view of Flint, the cat struck silent as he sat in the dust, staring up at Wolfsbane, eyes roving his—what? Flint was examining his body again, like he had when they'd rescued Deadpaw. This time, it was easier to resist the temptation to flex for him. Flint hadn't exactly seemed disgusted the previous time, but Wolfsbane didn't doubt that he'd laughed about it when he was alone. He wasn't giving Flint that opportunity again.

He'd been about to turn back to his work, bored with Flint, when the tom finally sprang back up, kicking away a mixture of dust and snow. Flint seemed more confused than anything. As he stumbled over his answers, Wolfsbane smirked. "Cat got your tongue?" Whatever Flint wanted to say, he hoped he managed it soon: Wolfsbane was getting tired of listening to him break off every three words as he tried to formulate a sentence. He knew Flint had rocks for brains, but even for him, this was extreme.

Girls who liked other girls? What was Flint talking about? Wolfsbane's expression grew flat as he eyed the cat facing him. If Flint was trying to answer his question, he was doing a poor job of it. It wasn't until the other feline mentioned mates that he pieced things together, eyes widening. Flint was talking about cats liking cats of the same gender, not as friends but as mates. Was that even a thing? How did they form a functional family unit? And what in the world was 'flirting'?

He wasn't sure what to think of that. What would Liverpool say? His ears flattened at the thought. He wasn't sure he wanted to consider Liverpool's reaction to such a thing. "But then who takes care of the family? How do they even have kits? And," he pointed out, "If two she-cats become mates, who hunts and protects them?" Of course, these WindClan savages believed in letting mollies hunt and fight, so that might not be an argument Flint would even understand.

He barely heard Flint's next comment, but as he listened to it, a slow smile spread across his face. Flint like other guys, didn't he? It wasn't about Rapidfoot trying to get him. It was about Flint liking toms. "You like toms," he pointed out. "What's 'straight' mean?" That explained a lot, actually. Could it explain why Flint had been eying him like that? Wolfsbane couldn't resist testing out his new hypothesis.

He turned back to the sticks, as though he was preparing to get back to work. This time, with his colorless eyes fixed on Flint, he flexed slowly, almost unsure what he wanted the other cat's reaction to be. Flint couldn't possibly like him—not after he'd torn up his leg. Flint practically hated him, didn't he? To make it seem less like he was waiting for Flint's reaction, he took up his offer to ask more questions, trying to make the flexing muscles seemed more natural. "If a tom likes toms, he's saying that he wants to be a molly, right? Like the opposite of Deadpaw." Like the opposite of his brother Spottedelk, who was actually strong enough to pass for a tom: that was probably the only reason Liverpool had even let him change his identity.

Blossomkit's fear of climbing trees only served to prove that his family's style of education worked. Give a cat something to fear and they wouldn't continue the undesired behavior. Punishing him had led Wolfsbane to learn not to argue with his father. Blossomkit's experience with the tree had taught her better than to climb any until she was older. "Chillykit's your friend in the city, right?" he asked, tilting his head mock-sympathetically. "I heard a patrol is going to look for him soon. Jasperstar too. I'm sure they'll find them." Glancing around curiously, he added, "Is anyone watching you?" These WindClanners really didn't believe in protecting their young, did they? They let mothers go out to hunt and fight, although anything could happen to them, and let kits wander the camp unwatched.

WOLFSBANE

HISTORY.

• RiverClan

— Wolfsbane was born in RiverClan to two warriors, Liverpool and Spottedfawn. He was loved and protected by both of his parents, and might have gone on to live a perfectly lovely life if not for an attack by BloodClan. When he was only two moons old, BloodClan raided the camp. In an effort to protect him and his littermates, Liverpool herded Wolfkit into the nursery alongside his siblings and mother. Unfortunately, they were quickly discovered, and Liverpool was given an ultimatum: he had to either kill Spottedfawn or the BloodClanners would kill all of his children. Liverpool chose to kill Spottedfawn rather than let his children be hurt, but knowing that RiverClan would not view his actions as moral, he took Wolfkit and the others and left RiverClan.

• Rogue Cult

— The family joined a cult made up of rogues. The cult had very specific gender roles: males were hunters and fighters, females were supposed to remain in domestic roles, caring for the kits and learning medicine. To wipe out every memory of their life as Clan cats, Liverpool changed Wolfkit's name to Wolfsbane. It wasn't long before Liverpool selected a new mate, a manx who took care of Wolfsbane and his siblings. Wolfsbane grew up believing that she was his mother; it only took a matter of weeks for him to forget his RiverClan past.

Sometime after Wolfsbane forgot he'd ever been a RiverClanner, his father had a falling out with the cult leader. Taking his children and his new mate, the family left to form a similar cult of their own, with Liverpool as leader.

• As a Family

— During their travels, the family came across a group of loners who had been attacked by a dog pack. They tried to help the loners but only one loner survived: a beautiful she-cat who Liverpool decided to take on as a second mate. It isn't long before two new litters join the family: one from Wolfsbane's adoptive mother and one from his father's second wife. Wolfsbane continued to grow, learning to fight and hunt from his father, alongside his male siblings. Both of his mothers verbally abused him and his brothers, telling them that they could never be as good as his father. Wolfsbane spent this portion of his life trying to impress all three of his parents, with only limited success.

One day, when he was out hunting, Wolfsbane came across an injured molly named Poppy. She was close to death, but something about her stirred his compassion. He brought her back to his family, where she was slowly nursed to health and taught the ways of the family. Once she had regained her health, it wasn't long before Liverpool decided that she'd make a suitable mate for Wolfsbane. Never one to argue with his father, Wolfsbane agreed. Poppy didn't object, and they lived peacefully, their relationship slowly developing. After some time, Poppy realized that she wanted to have a normal family, one where her kits wouldn't be bound by gender roles and her husband wouldn't have multiple mates. She fled the family, leaving Wolfsbane shattered. He was determined not to grow fond of any she-cat again, and to keep his relationships with members of the fairer sex businesslike.

During this time, a Clan cat stopped by and told some of his younger siblings about the freedoms to be found in the Clans. A few of his siblings were eager for this chance to start a new life, and they too left the family. From there, everything went downhill. Liverpool grew harsher on his first mate and tensions rose, until at last Wolfsbane's adoptive mother killed his second mother. The family dissolved quickly, each member heading their own way.

• Warrior

— Along with a few of his siblings, Wolfsbane joined WindClan. As he was settling in, he was greeted by a familiar face: Poppy, now Poppywish. Although he still felt betrayed by her, Wolfsbane wanted to reconnect. He was sure he could fix their relationship, unaware or uncaring that Poppywish didn't have the same goals. Thus began a new chapter in his life.

He was permitted to join WindClan only on the condition that he was shadowed at all times by a tom named Flint. He didn't get along with Flint, and the two clashed often: Wolfsbane spent most of his first moon in the Clan on the brink of being exiled. During this period of time, his adoptive brother, Coyote, entered WindClan's camp, revealing that his ex-mate and kits lived there. Wolfsbane was at once interested in befriending this new branch of his family.

As Wolfsbane gradually became more accepted by his adoptive home, his sister Graceful joined the Clan. Not long after, he found abandoned twin kittens and brought them to WindClan. Although he hadn't set out to adopt children, it's wasn't long before Wolfsbane began to think of Amberkit and Adderkit as his children and they, in turn, began to regard him as their father.

After Eaglestar stepped down and was replaced by Morningstar, Wolfsbane was given his first apprentice: Olivepaw.

• Deputy

— Shortly after Wolfsbane began training Olivepaw, dogs attacked the camp. Morningstar was killed and his deputy, Lizardbounce, stepped up. Lizardstar gave Wolfsbane a second apprentice, a young newcomer named Birchpaw, and promoted him to deputy. Wolfsbane's daughter, Amberpaw, had her named changed to Monarchpaw, and his sister, Grace, had her name changed to Fawnfrost.

If Cinnamonpaw hadn't been holding himself so stiffly, Wolfsbane might have thought that he'd really considered prizes before. With his rigid stance and nervous voice, he seemed worried rather than confident. Wolfsbane appreciated that. He was a liar, and like all liars, he knew the worth of an honest man. Cinna just radiated the aura of an anxious but inherently good individual, and if he seemed nervous with so much attention on him, that just fit the persona even more. Cinnamonpaw seemed trustworthy, but much as he might try, Wolfsbane was never going to viewed that way by his Clanmates.

He...had free time? Wolfsbane blinked at the apprentice, jaw tightening subtly. He couldn't consider that WindClan apprentices were able to finish their tasks and play. It made his own childhood look bad in comparison, and he was determined to view WindClan as the bad group. "Ah." He was tempted to ask if he could join in, if he could waste his time tossing rocks around, but he couldn't bring himself to. Not only would it give Flint something to laugh about, but it would be admitting that the way his adoptive home managed this situation was better than the way his birth home did, and he couldn't consciously bring himself to make that statement. Although his paws wanted to remain rooted in place, he pulled himself a few steps away, gaze fixed on the game.

Deadpaw was an observant little fellow, wasn't he? Wolfsbane scanned the tuxedo with renewed interest, wondering how much he'd seen while waiting to heal. Could he be convinced to share any interesting tidbits? Wolfs wasn't only looking for news on Mouse and Poppy: someone who could keep an eye on his sisters would prove useful, and if Deadpaw happened to overhear something that Eaglespirit wanted done, well, what was to stop Wolfsbane from using that information to prove to the senior warrior just how useful he was? He had a feeling, though, that as much as the wounded cat knew, he wouldn't be willing to share it—least of all with Wolfsbane.

"I'm looking for someone," he explained shortly. Did all the kits shrink away from him? He'd never paid them enough attention to tell. Petalkit and Sparrowkit certainly did, but Blossomkit hadn't yet seemed to realize the danger he supposedly posed WindClan's youth. As though he'd hurt a child for no reason! One cuff to the paws and everyone thought he was out for kit blood, as though that made any sense. If he wanted to harm the children, he wouldn't have reprimanded Petalkit, and she'd have grown and suffered the natural consequences for her behavior.

Fluffy tail wrapping around his paws, he turned the questions back toward the tuxedo. "Do you know who attacked you? Or why?"

Morningfrost. Wolfsbane had felt the other tom's eyes on him before, usually tinged with disinterest or disdain. He was not sure if he gave off a negative impression or if news simply traveled fast, but it seemed to him that the green eyed feline wasn't one of his biggest fans. If Morningfrost was watching Blossomkit, he wasn't doing a good job of it: Wolfs had barely noticed him until he spoke up. Eyes cutting to the warrior, he held the other male's gaze for a moment before allowing his eyes to slide back to Blossomkit. Pausing, he answered the kit truthfully. "No. Jasperstar went missing after Chillykit. There's no reason to assume they'd be together."

What did one do with kits? Ears flicking, he asked almost painfully awkwardly, "Do you...want to play a game?" Hesitation was etched into every line of his face, and he couldn't help the slight fear that Liverpool would somehow find out that he'd been spending time with kits instead of hunting and punish him, but his tone remained steady. Living in Liverpool's shadow wasn't easy, and he was determined to break past the fear he had of his father.

(Besides, playing a game was easier than struggling to figure out the line between what he could and couldn't say to a child.)

The big fluffball was strewn out in a corner of the camp, limbs spread, tail swaying pleasantly as he enjoyed the warmth of the weak winter sunshine. Wolfsbane's stomach groaned unpleasantly, aching for something to fill it, but he was too comfortable (and too lazy) to head to the freshkill pile. (Not to mention, someone was sure to complain that he hadn't done enough hunting yet, which was frankly ridiculous, considering how full the pile was.)

Yes, he was comfortable—until someone stumbled onto him, paws pressing against the bone of his tail. The feeling wasn't painful, but it was unpleasant, and he raised his head almost at once, twisting to see who'd had the audacity to walk over him. A biting remark was at his lips, snarl just seconds away from appearing, when he noticed a tiny figure. Petalkit.

The child's eyes were already blurry with tears, and the stink of fear rolled off her in waves as she began to back up. Wolfsbane hesitated, features relaxing, pearly incisors fading from sight as he closed his mouth. He wanted Petalkit to know her place, but did he want her terrified? Did he want her to view him the way he sometimes viewed his father, when Liverpool had lost his temper? This was his niece: knowledge of the bond had caused him to feel, if not affection, than at least the need to protect her.

"Petalkit—" He broke off, unsure what to say. What would he do if this was one of his sisters? Comforting was not in his nature, but he'd always managed with them. Of course, he couldn't wrap Petalkit in an embrace. She didn't trust him, and frankly, he didn't want enclose her in a hug. Awkwardly, he tried, "I'm not mad. I won't hurt you." It felt heavy on his tongue, like a lie, and he was startled to realize that it wasn't fully true. He had been angry until he'd seen the anxiety etched across her features, and part of him did want to remind her to watch his mouth. Was that who he was? Someone who terrified kittens? Hopefully, he sounded more comforting than he felt.

The Tribe patrol seemed to appear from nowhere, mud stained pelts dripping from the shadows. The strange smell was so overpowering that Wolfsbane hadn't smelled them, although considering the amount of muck Current had painted onto his dark pelt, he wasn't sure if he would have even if the scent had been less intense.

Although Current, as the blue eyed tom introduced himself, seemed mostly curious, one of the npcs behind him looked almost anxious. Could this 'mountain lion' really scare them so much? Wolfsbane had never heard the term before, but it he knew that no lions had walked this area for generations. Lions were terrors from stories, not anything to worry about—although he'd once heard a loner mention that she'd seen a lion in some sort of twoleg enclosure that housed many animals, but he figured that was nonsense. If lions were was terrible as they were made out to be, they'd eat any twoleg who tried to lock them up. The tribe's mountain lion/sharptooth/thing didn't worry him.

Eagle had a strange look on his face, as though he was trying to remember something. When he didn't respond to Current right away, Wolfsbane glanced toward Diamondpaw and Talonstrike, but both of them looked like they were waiting for Eaglespirit to speak first. (Or did he just not believe, even after all this time, that a molly couldn't take charge in a situation like this? Even Wolfsbane himself wouldn't know the true answer to that question.) Losing patience, he cleared his throat. He'd heard Eaglespirit ask about Jasperstar in DarkClan; he knew what to say. "Jasperstar, our leader," it still felt wrong to verbally call someone other than his father his leader, but he choked back the doubt, "Is missing. Has he come this way?"

Deadpaw used sarcasm like a weapon, wielding it to parry Wolfsbane's thrust and return with one of his own. Words, Wolfsbane believed, were not an area where he himself was strong in, but the apprentice seemed to have mastered it. His broad chocolate face remained fixed on the injured feline as Dead shook away any attempts on turning the conversation to him—which was why Wolfsbane was so surprised when the tuxedo began sharing his backstory. He'd been on the verge of assuming that Deadpaw didn't want to talk about himself, but it was clear at once that he'd been mistaken.

The emerald eyed youth went on at length about his mother, who he clearly had unresolved issues with. It was equally clear that he assumed Wolfsbane must have done something to terrify WindClan's kits, some sort of awful, abusive act, but the liver colored tom found that his thoughts returned to his own childhood, rather to what he had done to scare Petalkit and her denmates.

He knew something about hatred for mothers, although his hadn't been nearly as bad as Deadpaw's sounded like. His had never physically punished him. They were too feminine for that. Like Deadpaw, they knew how to tinge every word that fell from their lips with venom, but unlike Deadpaw, their venom had stung. Was the tuxedo accusing him of terrifying kits the way his three parents had scared him? But even though he'd sometimes loathed them, Wolfsbane had loved his parents in equal measure. He'd known that they were looking out for him. He'd been angry sometimes, and certainly scared, but the ivory dappled Maine Coon hadn't felt nearly the same level of emotion that Deadpaw was describing.

That was his out. He wasn't meant to seriously consider that he might inspire in anyone the same feelings Deadpaw was describing. He was overthinking this, even if the other cat's description of "mere punishment" made him want to recoil. Blinking steadily, he meowed, "You're very much wrong. I don't need information about my home nearly as much as I need information about the RiverClan apprentice who was brutally attacked and is recovering in my home. What I want to know is a matter of security. What you want is to satisfy idle curiosity. You want to know why I'm not popular with kits? You want to try to solve your mommy issues? We can do that, but first tell me why I shouldn't worry that whoever attacked you won't return to finish the job." He hated to admit it, but WindClan knew nothing about security. They hadn't even managed to stop Coyote from entering the camp, although knowing how to protect one's home was the most basic of all measures. "I think you have to admit that my concerns are valid here. Who attacked you, Deadpaw? Why?."

Whatever reaction Wolfsbane had been expecting, it wasn't the anger that seethed from Flint like churning water as the latter fought to pull his eyes away from Wolfsbane's chest. He wretched the stick he'd been working on into place as he met Flint's eyes, which were as full of blind rage as a badger that ripped through the camp, destroying simply because it could. He'd been pushing the other cat, testing his limits, but he hadn't done anything worse than usual, so why as Flint so upset? He clambered down to pick up another stick, finding it easier to focus on the object than on his shadow.

Flint's actual words confused him. He'd expected yelling, a tantrum, not the icy, bitter tones that Flint actually used. He still didn't fully understand what it meant not be a girl and still like toms. Wolfsbane was trying to fit the information into the narrative he'd been taught from the time he was a child, but whole idea was a square peg, and try as he did, he couldn't shove it into a round hole. He'd need to either shave the sides of the peg, filtering out the parts of the information that didn't fit with his preconceived beliefs, or he'd have to figure out how to enlarge the hole or change its shape.

He'd been trying to change the hole since he'd arrived here, hadn't he? He'd taken everything the Clan cats spouted about females hunting and fighting alongside the males and tried to make sense of it. No, he realized bitterly. He hadn't. He hadn't done a thing to that hole. He'd been working on the peg all along. He'd tried explaining every new concept he came across in terms of what Liverpool had taught him. He hadn't tried to understand why the WindClan concept of equality might possibly be better than his concept of equality. Instead, he'd focused on all the flaws he'd both observed and inferred from WindClan's system.

But was that such a bad thing? Did he truly have to change everything he'd been taught because the cats in his new home held different opinions? Visitors had been so rare as a child that he could barely remember anyone staying with them who didn't already agree with his family's way of doing things. Coyote had agreed. Poppy—well, he'd thought that she did, as she'd never complained or argued, but it was quickly becoming clear to him that she sided with the majority of WindClan. He was alone in what he thought. Did that make him wrong? Or could he keep resolutely going forward until something fell apart and he was forced to either leave or adapt?

Wolfsbane was strangely flattered when Flint admitted that his body was something to be admired, even if the other tom was comparing it to a chunk of meat that one drooled over but didn't actually care about. Still, flattered as he was, he couldn't help but feel annoyed that Flint bypassed answering his question in favor of snapping at him. Yes, he wanted the information to use against Flint, but he also wanted an answer to his question. How was he supposed to even begin trying to adapt if Flint wouldn't work with him? "Flint," he began, but broke off as the tabby turned toward him with bared teeth.

He didn't get a chance to respond before Flint shoved past him, roughly clipping his shoulder. His scabbed over wounds itched ferociously as Flint's fur brushed against them, but Wolfsbane set his mouth in a line, refusing to give the other the satisfaction of seeing how the movement had affected him.

When Flint was gone, he eyed the small pile of sticks still remaining, pearly teeth bared. Where did Flint come off calling him ignorant if he refused to teach? Wolfsbane couldn't deny that he was interested in the matter because of the power it might give him over his guard, but he was also interested for the sake of the topic. He couldn't adjust to Clan life if everything he did was viewed suspiciously! Was there a purpose to trying?

Huffing, he violently kicked one of the sticks away from him, watching with satisfaction as it flew across the den. Laying himself across the frosty ground, he considered the whole conversation again, sulking and mulling over what he'd learnt in turn. It was some time before he finally rose and grudgingly neatened the pile of sticks, weaving the last few into the roof until the den was fully covered.

-----

He wasn't really interested in speaking to Flint again, but Wolfsbane couldn't ignore him forever. His ruminations had gotten him nowhere. All they'd managed to accomplish was to confuse him even more, until he almost wished that Liverpool was there to make everything make sense again. Wolfsbane was enjoying his new freedom, but he couldn't help but miss the time when his family had still been together. He hadn't had the luxury of confusion then. He'd known to obey everything his father thought and said or risk punishment. Life had been simpler. There hadn't been things like sexism or homosexuality to consider. He'd been able to do what he was told to with the knowledge that he was doing the best he could. He hadn't had to make moral decisions. All he'd had to do was keep his head down and refrain from making waves.

Funny, but it seemed that all he'd done since joining WindClan was make waves. Would Liverpool be proud of him? Did it matter? If Liverpool somehow found him and the others, would WindClan support Wolfsbane, or would he have to go back to life under his father's thumb? Would he himself even be willing to take a stand or would he meekly obey Liverpool?

Wolfsbane wasn't a hero. He wasn't brave. He knew the answer: he'd probably do whatever Liverpool wanted simply because he was too scared to argue with his father.

Wolfsbane didn't want to, but he knew he'd have to speak to Flint. It was almost ridiculously easy to find the grey tom: Wolfsbane had seen a few apprentices carrying sticks to the apprentice den, and when he questioned one of them, she quickly revealed that Flint was repairing the roof. Relieving her of her burden, Wolfsbane clutched the twigs between his jaws and headed toward the apprentice den.

Dropping the sticks near the entrance, he examined Flint. The tom wasn't facing him, which meant that Wolfsbane had a moment or two to eye him before he was noticed. With his luck, Flint would probably walk off as soon as he noticed his visitor, as though Wolfsbane wasn't actually trying. Resentment started to build up within him, and he quickly trashed it down. Now wasn't the time to be resentful or bitter if he wanted to accomplish anything.

"Flint," he finally called, trying (and only partly succeeding) to wipe the sullenness off of his face. "We're stuck with each other, and I hate it just as much as you. Unless you could change that, do your job and help me become a WindClanner." He pushed his way fully into the den, locking eyes with Flint. "You didn't answer me. You wouldn't run off on Petalkit asking you a question. Don't run off on me. I don't have the same background as the cats born here, and I'm sick of being viewed as a villain for something no one can explain to me." He'd heard the others say that it had been wrong when he'd hit Petalkit, but no one had listened to his defense and explained things. No one had told him why he wasn't helping her. He'd learned his whole life that a she-cat who mouthed off was liable to make tom fly into a rage with her. He'd seen it happen, and his father had often explained that although it looked wrong, punishing mollies who spoke out of place would keep them from experiencing greater punishment at the hands of others. That made sense to Wolfsbane, and although his clanmates had no problems telling him he was immoral, they couldn't explain how what they did protected cats any better.

"I want to fit in, Flint. I want to be a WindClanner." His eyes dropped. Of all the cats who had to see him like this, Flint wasn't the one he wanted it to be, but who else could he turn to? "I want to learn. It's not going to happen overnight. Everyone expects big changes, but I can't change my worldview in a day, and I can't change it if I can't figure out why it's so bad. You're willing to fight me over me beliefs. Are you willing to try to understand them?"

That was the root of it. They were too busy condemning him to give him a chance. "I wasn't trying to upset you, but I don't know what it means for two toms to like each other. I never heard of anything like that before today. I never heard of choosing your own mate until I came to WindClan." Taking a deep breath and trying not to hate himself too much, Wolfsbane asked, "I've never known anything different, but I want to learn. Give me a chance, Flint. A real one."

Since he'd joined WindClan, Wolfsbane had become increasing comfortable with sleeping under the stars. Although there were perfectly good dens, few of the warriors and apprentices chose to use them. When he'd questioned the tradition, a rather snooty elder had explained that being as WindClan was closest to StarClan, they slept with nothing between them and the stars. (Wolfsbane's opinion on this answer had been influenced by his opinion on StarClan in general: starry ancestors were fine and all, but he spent enough time worshipping Liverpool when the tom was alive. He didn't plan on worshipping him after he died, too.) On the colder nights, the Clan would sometimes huddle for warmth, and no matter his opinion on sleeping outdoors, Wolfsbane had to reluctantly admit that he enjoyed being part of a fur-pile.

It had started snowing the previous night, and fur-pile or no fur-pile, the chocolate and white tom didn't intend on sleeping in the snow. The rest of the warriors were free to continue being batty, but he intended to rest in the warrior den. A few others had agreed with him, and as he'd curled up, Wolfsbane had silently breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he and Flint had spent the previous morning repairing the roof of the warrior's den.

The night passed uneventfully. Outside, the snow glittered, and as it grew heavier, a few other warriors joined Wolfsbane in the cramped den. The sun was just starting to rise, heralding a new day, when the roof of the warrior den gave a loud groan. Wolfs shifted in his sleep, uncomfortable, only to spring awake when the groaning increased and the roof gave way under the weight of the snow.

As snow and sticks tumbled down, Wolfsbane bent his head, only rising when the air had stilled. Only half of the roof had caved in, he noticed—the half he'd been working on. Letting out a loud sigh, he surveyed the wreckage and asked, "Everyone okay?" No one would be buried beneath the snow, right? It wasn't deep enough for that, unless they were as short as Tort. Oh. Where had the tortie chosen to sleep?

Wolfsbane wasn't sure whether or not he wanted Blossomkit to accept his offer, but he didn't get a choice in the matter. The tortoiseshell was quick to accept, grinning up at him as though he was going to give her a wonderful prize. If that was what she was expecting, she'd be sorely disappointed: he had nothing to give, nor anything that anyone could possibly want.

"What game?" he started to ask, but broke off as he noticed that Blossomkit was looking past him. Turning, the ex-rogue's gaze fell on Halfeyes. The white tom was pretty distinctive, considering his dual gaze, and although Wolfsbane hadn't had more than a handful of conversations with him, he recognized the tom. The ivory feline irked him, in part because he was too anxious to live up to Wolfsbane's standard of masculinity.

Of course, he recalled, he was trying to be a good Clanmate, which was why he was with Blossomkit in the first place. Cutting his eyes to Morningfrost, Wolfsbane bit back his reservations and nudged Blossomkit. "Go ask him if he also wants to play, ok?" he ordered.

Sitting back, Wolfsbane tried not to let Petalkit's sniffles and high pitched squeaks get to him. He wasn't much of a comforter, especially when it came to children who hated him, but he could probably manage a conversation if he treated Petalkit like an adult. Of course, he reminded himself, ear flicking, treating her like an adult was exactly what had gotten him in trouble before. Dear spirits, did kits have to be so complicated? If he'd been born female, he'd know exactly what to answer her, but as it was, his first inclination was to tell her to stop whining and disturb her mother instead of him.

He nearly lifted a paw of his own for comparison when Petalkit showed him hers, but Wolfsbane didn't need to do that to see the different between them. His paw was large, made larger by the long tufts of fur hanging from it. Comparing it to Petalkit's paw was like comparing a giant to a mouse. "It is tiny," he agreed, returning his pale gaze to the child's face. Taking a breath, certain that she wouldn't like his explanation, he tried, "My goal wasn't to hurt you. I wanted to make sure you understood you shouldn't attack older cats. Plenty of cats would have given you more than a cuff if you tried to claw them."

She wouldn't be satisfied, he knew, but the only thing that would satisfy her was a promise to stay far away from her. That wasn't a promise Wolfsbane planned on making. "And I had nothing to do with Mottledkit being taken. I didn't Coyote was coming. I didn't even know he's your father. He's my brother. I couldn't fight him. Would you fight Mottledkit or Sparrowkit?" He wouldn't have been able to beat Coyote even if he was willing to try, perhaps only because of his own hesitation, and perhaps because he knew that Coyote was everything he wasn't. Strong, powerful, a better son to Liverpool than Wolfsbane could ever hope to be. "But none of that matters, Petalkit. I said I won't hurt you." Tail twitching, he added beneath his breath, "Your uncles would get back at me if I tried."

Tortoiseshell wasn't alone in her distaste of Wolfsbane. The massive tom had made very few friends since joining WindClan, mostly due to his difference in culture. Flint had warned him that he'd have to fight to be accepted, as though he couldn't have figured that out on his own, but he was starting to think it was a lost cause. No matter how many lives he saved, no matter how many good things he did, Wolfsbane was always going to be viewed with suspicion. There would always be an eye on him to make sure that he didn't hurt anyone, always someone watching to be certain that he wasn't trying to keep his sisters from fitting in. He'd never have it easy, but he'd keep trying. Eaglestar wasn't WindClan born either, but he'd become accepting enough to become leader. Of course, it helped that Eagle's brother hadn't attacked a clanmate when he'd joined, that Eagle hadn't cuffed a kit his first week in WindClan, and that Eagle hadn't gotten into a fight that had ended with both involved parties in the medicine cat den.

He'd just returned from a hunting patrol and had deposited his prey on the freshkill pile when a tingling on his pelt made his look up. Glancing around the camp, he caught Tortoiseshell watching him, but as his colorless gaze met her blue eyes, the tortie point looked away, returning to her grooming. Hesitating for barely a minute, the chocolate male turned toward her. He couldn't imagine that it would take her very long to finish grooming, considering how small she was. If it wasn't for her feisty attitude, he might have found her lack of height adorable.

"Hey," he greeted the mottled point, making himself comfortable beside her. "Cleaning up from your busy day?" Although his whiskers twitched, he kept his tone serious. It was well known that Wolfsbane was of the opinion that females shouldn't be warriors. Less well known, perhaps, but obvious to anyone who'd ever bothered to consider his thought process, was what he had trouble believing that Tort was a warrior. Bad enough regular she-cats tried to hunt and fight: Tort was so short that she'd likely get walked over in a battle, and her stubby legs had to make it nearly impossible for her to catch anything other than mice.