just a little late

[tenacious]

HAWKFANG

The moor- a wide, windy barren land that had once housed one of the four Clans. Like the pebbles along a river shore, the old Clan had been washed away, and the land had been empty ever since. But times were changing and, soon, RiverClan would put up their scent marks around the borders. Or ThunderClan. Or ShadowClan. The three Clans all claimed they needed the land, but who was it that truly needed it? A puzzling thought, but Hawkfang was certain RiverClan truly needed the moor. The old argument that they had enough prey sources (prey rich sources) had sprung up in his head, but that didn’t mean something couldn’t happen to the river. And when Greenleaf came around, twolegs would return with their swan-winged boats and take over the river. They’d light fires on RiverClan territory and tromp around on the border. He knew they affected every Clan in Greenleaf, but the other Clans did not rely on the river for life. If the twolegs took too much fish, or frightened them all away, what would the warriors do? Starve? StarClan forbid!

The land was dry beneath the tabby’s paws, quite unlike the moist RiverClan soil he was used to, but Hawkfang knew he’d soon grow accustomed to treading these lands and hunting for prey. By no means was he as swift as the wind that danced upon every corner of the dry territory. But he could outsmart rabbits anyway and perhaps, today, he’d grow lucky and catch one. The creatures were rather big and would be a nice meal for a warrior or an apprentice- a refreshing taste from the usual aquatic animals they caught back at home. His back arched towards StarClan in a stretch before Hawkfang continued on, keeping a steady pace with his mouth parted. Air rushed over his scent glands but, so far, no prey stood out. The brown tom lashed his tail after a few minutes. Soon after, the scent of rabbit hit him.

A wild look of ecstasy played in the sunken blue eyes as Hawkfang dropped into a crouch and slowly crept forward. Hidden in a tangle of snowy bushes was the brown pelt of a rabbit. Oh, how good this catch would be. Hawkfang winced as snow crunched beneath his paws, but the rabbit only twitched an ear and continued munching on the malnourished bush. “Got’cha!” he cried, leaping forward, paws outstretched, but before he had landed the rabbit had kicked up snow and taken off. Cursing the damn mammal, Hawkfang scrambled up and burst off after it, but it already had a good head start and was far faster then he.

Bastard, Hawkfang thought irritably as the rabbit came up a slope. He slowed to a walk, flanks heaving, still muttering long streams of curses beneath his breathe. He should’ve shut up! If he hadn’t cried out, the rabbit wouldn’t have noticed until he was on top of it, and by then the creature couldn’t have run. But it was too late to fix that mistake now- though at least he knew for latter. With a sigh, Hawkfang scented at a rabbit track before padding along after it. He’d try once more, though he wasn’t willing to get another face full of snow. Turns out, rabbits are dumb.

The mammal was sitting in the snow, trying to blend in, when Hawkfang came down. But it was obviously late growing a white winter coat and the brown tabby spotted it as easily as he’d spot a ShadowClan warrior in a bunch of ThunderClan cats. Smirking, he dropped down into a crouch and crept up once more. The rabbit was wary, scanning the moor with wide, brown eyes, but Hawkfang’s coat was powdered with light snow and he was being as quiet as possible. When he was only a leap away, Hawkfang sucked in his breath and leapt. A cry burst into the air before he slit the rabbit’s throat. “Haha, loser,” he chortled, picking it up by the scruff with a proud gleam in his eyes.

[{Otter}]

((wow, Vixenfang and Hawkfang are about the same size ^.^))

"Stupid, ridiculous, idiotic mousebrain."

The softly hissed words seemed to stretch across the vast moorlands, issued from the mouth of the skinny ginger tabby stalking across the short, browning grass. Greatly to her chagrin, the small, wiry deputy of ThunderClan hadn't been able to force Timberpelt's words from her mind. The stupid, mousebrained badger of a cat!

"Cowards have their own way of surviving; otherwise there wouldn't be any left."

"Frankly, I won't believe you can handle it until I see it for myself."

"I've seen how you fight; you dance around real pretty, lay on your fancy moves, but in the end the only thing about you that's strong is your bite."

"Do you have the guts, the rock-solid foundation to lead a clan?"

She knew she did. That wasn't her problem. StarClan forbid that Vixenfang should ever be subject to any form of inferiority complex. She had the guts to lead ThunderClan. She was no coward. She could handle herself, and she fought as well as any cat her size could possibly fight. His words didn't bother her because she thought they were true, they bothered her because she hated that any cat in her Clan would think this of her. Even now that she was deputy, she hadn't escaped the taunts and the mocking. Yes, she was small. That was not her fault, the stupid mousebrain. She ate plenty, but never gained weight. Wasn't that how old WindClan cats used to be? Huh...and they were run off, she realized with a spark of anger. If WindClan had still existed, would she be part of it? It was a strange thought....

Distant pounding of small paws broke into her reverie, and Vixenfang looked up in surprise as a bracken-colored rabbit raced toward her. She didn't argue at the good luck--the skinny she-cat crouched against the snowy ground and grew motionless. Apparently too startled to notice her, the rabbit raced past her, and as it did Vixenfang leaped after it. It took several moments, but the rabbit had already run far, and Vixenfang was fresh and rested--she gained on the small creature and, with a growl, sprang forward to pin it beneath her paws. A quick bite to the neck ended its life.

But why had it been running? Towards her, no less! The cold wind shifted, coating her back with a thin layer of snow, and an unmistakable scent caught her attention. So, that was what made the rabbit run. RiverClan.

A small smirk played across Vixenfang's lips. Why was a RiverClan cat attempting to hunt rabbits? Weren't all RiverClanners big and plump? Surely they wouldn't be all that successful out here, where speed was the game of the day.

There's no point in hiding, and it's not like I'm not already warmed up for an argument, she thought with a shrug, her mind turning darkly back to Timberpelt for a brief moment. Shaking her head, she followed the source of the scent, preparing to see just another everyday RiverClan cat. What she saw instead surprised her.

The dark brown tabby that bore RiverClan's scent was...well, as scrawny as she was. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days, though she knew that couldn't possibly be true...uless, fo course, RiverClan was weak. Were they running out of prey? Was that why they were so desperate to get the Moorlands? She had never seen Hawkfang before, had never heard a cat of his size mentioned when talking about RiverClan. She didn't realize he was small by nature...she only thought about one thing: perhaps RiverClan cats were growing hungry.

Well, she set the rabbit downa and sat her butt in the cold snow and wrapped her tail around herself. She was dark ginger, clearly visible even when partially covered in snow, and she clearly wasn't hiding. She wasn't interested in initiating a conversation, but she watched silently as he snuck up on and snagged a rabbit. When he straightened up, she expected him to see her.

[tenacious]

Ooc: Sweet! I felt like making a non-plump river cat.

Bic:

Hunger gnawed at Hawkfang’s belly- would it have been wiser to eat at home before coming out? A light shrug of the shoulders clearly meant he could feed himself later; what mattered now was the Clan. But when he straightened up a ginger figure caught his eyes. The tom frowned as he narrowed his eyes and looked over at the ThunderClan deputy. He did not need to scent the air to recognize the she-cat that he had viewed, distantly, once in awhile while she was on her territory. Besides, cats had told him of her appearance and scrawny figure numerous times, though he had nothing to laugh about. But why was she sitting out here in the open? Or was she really stupid enough to think her ginger pelt and disgusting stench could be hidden by snow? For a moment, Hawkfang’s arrogance allowed that thought to become reality, but he pushed it away moments later; while he did not like ThunderClanners, he had to admit Elkstar wasn’t a plain simpleton who knew nothing about leading a Clan. Surely she wouldn’t appoint a weak deputy?

But that still didn’t explain why Vixenfang was sitting out in the snow, full view. Anger flared in the tom’s blue eyes; the moorlands didn’t belong to filthy ThunderClan felines. Part of Hawkfang wanted to march up to Vixenfang and send her off, but he knew that, even if she did leave, Rookstar would be unhappy when he returned to camp. For a few heartbeats, Hawkfang remained still, thinking. Surely it won’t do any damage to be…kind to her? If I don’t spill any secrets, no cat can really yell at me.

Pleased with his solution, Hawkfang padded towards the other cat, dragging the rabbit upon the ground with his tail tip twitches, that had started up when he had become angry, nothing more then soft movements that could’ve been because of a breeze for all any cat knew. When he was two tailengths away from her, Hawkfang set down his rabbit. Though he did want to at all, the brown tom dipped his head to Vixenfang, for it was only polite and he’d do it to a Clan leader.

“Greetings,” he mewed upon raising his head, “what are you doing upon the moorlands?”

Oh, well, there went that strategy. Upon reflection, Hawkfang realized the words may come off as snappy and cocky. He cursed mentally while waiting for a reply from the ginger cat, which was about as scrawny as he was.

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[{Otter}]

Deep amber eyes watched as the dark tabby tomcat finally noticed her. That, however, was all Vixenfang was able to get from his expression and countenance. She was not one who could judge a cat's temper or reaction based off of mere tail-flicks and facial expressions, and she was sometimes also poor at even catching verbal hints of "I hate you" or "I love you" or "Get out of my face, mousebrain."

Therefore, she did not catch the shifting emotions that might have been obvious to another cat. Was this warrior angry to see a ThunderClan cat here? Was he intrigued? Annoyed? About to attack? Truthfully, she had no idea, but she braced herself as he finally came towards her, dragging the small rabbit with him as if he thought she would steal it. Her claws unsheathed ever so slightly, digging into the soft snow littering the ground, and her amber eyes narrowed, but he didn't appear to be hostile. He seemed...a little strained, but at least he was being friendly. Vixenfang relaxed, if only slightly. After arguing with Timberpelt, she didn't have the energy to argue with another cat. She'd thought she was "warmed up" for a fight, but really she was just tired. So why not be amiable? The Moorlands didn't belong to ThunderClan anyway, at least not yet.

“what are you doing upon the moorlands?”

Perhaps it was StarClan's luck that had made Vixenfang so poor at catching verbal inflections. Whether he had meant his words to be challenging or not, she didn't catch it. Her ears flicked slightly at the words, but she didn't tense--she had been about to ask him the exact same thing. Besides, she despised cats who beat around the bushes and tried to weasel their way into asking a question. Abrupt, blunt conversations was what she respected.

It was nice, being able to look another warrior straight in the eyes without having to stretch up on her toes or have them bend down. Weird, but nice. "I felt like running a bit,"

[/b] she replied, decidedly not mentioning she'd been in an argument with a fellow warrior. Even that information could harm ThunderClan somehow. "Chasing after rabbits is a nice break from stalking up on mice and birds." She titled her head to one side and studied the small RiverClan cat before her. She decided not to ask him his name--it seemed a little too friendly for her likings, and they were still on neutral ground. If a fight broke out here, it'd be both their faults and Elkstar would probably be furious.

"And you?"[/b] she continued, lifting a ginger paw and licking the cold snow from the bottom of her pads. This weather was strange, much different from the wet, cold, soggy ThunderClan forest. She might have preferred it, had she not been so used to her warmer territory. "What brings a RiverClan cat out here on this cold day? The river hasn't frozen up, has it?"[/b] She said it without malice or disgust, but she did say it bluntly. Perhaps he'd take offense...she'd just have to wait and see.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[tenacious]

Hawkfang flicked an ear as Vixenfang spoke without tensing; either she was great at hiding her emotions, or she just didn’t catch the tone hidden behind his words. Whatever the reason, Hawkfang didn’t care at the moment, though he did hope for the latter. “I felt like running a bit.”

The RiverClan warrior twitched his whiskers slightly- running? He bit back a reply that probably would’ve proved offensive to the ThunderClanner. Instead, he listened carefully. Not that he truly expected any information that could benefit RiverClan. Hawkfang’s brow furrowed for a moment as he silently debated with himself. After the debate, he sat back on his haunches, tail twitching in the snow. He had grown tired of standing and running; it did put him in a disadvantage if the other warrior tried something, but a little voice told Hawkfang she probably wouldn’t. At least, not right now.

“I’m hunting,” Hawkfang replied simply- surely that information would not prove useful to Vixenfang, “And, no, the river hasn’t frozen up.” He did not say anything more, though he felt like adding something. That was enough to be a sufficient answer. Well…it answered the questions at least. There was no reason whatsoever to elaborate on them.

He studied Vixenfang for a bit, trying to read something more, but nothing came to him and so he carried on with a statement: “Not to be rude, but you’re one of the first ThunderClan cats I’ve seen that looked like they could run.” Indeed, he did not mean for the statement to be rude. Thinking it over, he knew she could easily take it that way, but perhaps it’d differ because of his own size? He knew he’d bristle quickly if a large warrior made such a comment, but they were about the same height…strange.

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[{Otter}]

“I’m hunting.”

Wow, very descriptive. Vixenfang's eyes narrowed slightly, but she saw nothing suspicious in the warrior's gaze. Perhaps he had only been hunting, eh?

“And, no, the river hasn’t frozen up.”

It wasn't as if she could trust those words, of course, but there was no point in arguing the subject. Only a mousebrained warrior would give away such information to a cat from another Clan. So, I know two things. He's small for a RiverClanner, and he's not stupid, she thought with a small flicker of humor. Well, that was enough.

“Not to be rude, but you’re one of the first ThunderClan cats I’ve seen that looked like they could run.”

A slight narrowing of amber eyes, a slight tensing of the muscles, and Vixenfang studied the tomcat with a sharp expression. Her claws sheathed and unsheathed; she couldn't decide whether or not to take offense. It wasn't exactly an insult to her. Even if he'd meant it to be, it wasn't. She was proud that she could run. He hadn't called her small, scrawny, skinny, underfed, but he called her a runner. She was glad--it was encouraging. But perhaps his words were meant to be an insult to ThunderClan. Was he doubting ThunderClan's ability to control the moor? Their right to be chasing after rabbits out here? Did he think they couldn't do that? There was no way she could let that go by without a response. RiverClan had no more right to hunt out here than ThunderClan did.

"Not to be rude,"

[/b] she replied sharply, though not too sharply--she wasn't angry, just wary. "but you're the first RiverClan cat I've seen that looked like they could run. Most of your Clanmates prefer water to land, don't they?"[/b]

Unless the river has frozen over, she thought.


[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[tenacious]

Hawkfang lifted one corner of his mouth in a grin as she came back with a wary reply. It was true, the majority of his Clanmates did prefer water to land, and if they had to hunt on land, quite a few had no desire to hunt on the moors. “Most of your Clanmates seem to prefer running through undergrowth- seems we’ve discovered most isn’t all,” the young tom replied easily, twitching an ear with a bit of humor as he spoke. He wasn’t usually a humerous cats, though there were some things he found so.

The warrior lifted each front paw in turn to twitch snow off the pads, his expression fairly annoyed as he did so. One of the many things he despised when it came to Leaf-bare. But, he had heard before, that Leaf-bare allowed the forest a chance to store its energy so all would be beautiful when the snow melted and the sun beat down upon the cats. When he was finished, the brown RiverClan warrior curled his tail around his paws, keeping his sunken blue eyes trained on Vixenfang.

He wondered while he watched. What would the she-cat really think of a RiverClan warrior out here hunting, in the dead of Leaf-bare? A frown took hold of his face; nothing good, that was for sure, and some warriors were bound to be irritable if Hawkfang was the reason ThunderClan saw weakness in RiverClan. Espiecally now. While nothing dangerous had happened on RiverClan territory that would affect them for long, they couldn’t afford any Clan walking away with that thought. A light huff slipped into the air- ShadowClan, if they found out, would surely take advantage of any weakness, real of fake, along with ThunderClan. No Clan was strong enough to fight of two attacking Clans…

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[{Otter}]

“Most of your Clanmates seem to prefer running through undergrowth- seems we’ve discovered most isn’t all,”

Touche. And undeniably true. Generally, ThunderClan cats weren't meant for sprinting across moorlands. WindClan...they had been the Clan for that. "True, but running through underbrush can be difficult in itself,"

[/b] she mewed amiably, shrugging her narrow shoulders calmly. The ginger tabby rose to her paws and shook her body roughly, sending a thin layer of snowy powder flying in all directions. However, as she sat back down, the soft snowflakes continued to fall, and soon had recovered her. She sighed and flicked her ears back in annoyance--frozen or not, she didn't like water.

Hmm....most isn't all. He was right. If only mousebrained Timberpelt could figure that out....An icy wind blew against her short fur, causing shivers to ripple across her body as she fluffed up her fur against the cold. Bah. Leafbare. Couldn't escape the wind out here, either. Maybe she wouldn't like it out here as much as she imagined....

"How is it that a RiverClan cat comes to look like you?"[/b] she asked, almost unconsciously--she hadn't even been thinking about it. It just popped out, but as she thought about what she said, she nodded slightly. Yeah, that was a reasonable question. If it had to do with lack of prey, he probably wouldn't tell her...but if he had another reason,s he'd know RiverClan wasn't as starved as she imagined. "You look more like I'd imagine a WindClan cat to look like."[/b] There went her tact. Not like she had any. She didn't mean for it to be offensive, but it could easily have come out that way. She just didn't know how to ask questions without seeming frank and blunt.


[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[tenacious]

“How is it that a RiverClan cat comes to look like you?

Hawkfang frowned as she continued on. Of course WindClan would look smaller and thinner- for StarClan’s sake, look at where they had lived! “I can’t give you an exact reason,” the brown tom mewed, “don’t even know for sure myself, but I suppose it has something to do with my parents.” A light shrug of the shoulders sent snow fluttering to the ground. The tabby fluffed out his coat as a particularly cruel wind began to blow, making a whistling sound in his ears as it did so. He’d be frozen when he went back. Moonwing probably wouldn’t appreciate having to look after a warrior because he was too mousebrained to come in when he couldn’t feel his paws anymore. But he’d rather sit out then sit in camp and listen to a cat complain; at least, right now. Perhaps all would change if the snow began to fall heavier and the wind became crueler.

He wondered, briefly, why Vixenfang was asking all these questions. Surely it didn’t matter why he looked like he did? He was a RiverClan tom and that was that. His sunken eyes swirled with thoughts for a moment before he frowned; of course it was odd to come across a RiverClan cat that wasn’t plump. But that didn’t mean they were all plump and they certainly weren’t fat cats incapable of running. “Why do you ask?” the younger cat ventured. Snow fell off his cold tail as he swished it, making an adder like pattern in the snow.

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[{Otter}]

“Why do you ask?”

As stated before, Vixenfang was not one for tact. Nor was she one to lie. Unless lying would protect ThunderClan or keep a secret from being exposed, she despised lying more than she despised foxes. And cats who lied? Disgusting.

Ginger ears flicked, sending a tiny shower of snow to her head. Growling softly, she shook her head to rid herself of the cold frost. Darn leafbare, she thought darkly, glaring up at the cloud-covered sky as tiny snowflakes continued steadily to fall. Vixenfang stayed still, her face turned up to the sky, and let the snow accumulate on her face. Perhaps she should head back to camp. Or at least resume her hunting. She had only one rabbit to take back, and she'd been out here so long that she should have caught several by now. After a few moments she shook her head again and the whiteness fell from her ginger fur.

She hadn't forgotten his question. It was a reasonable question, of course. And she had every intention of answering it. But how? Just say it, she thought with a shrug. What happens will happen.

"RiverClan cats have always seemed to be well-fed and thick-furred,"

[/b] she replied, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she surveyed him. How he'd take her next words, she wasn't sure. "I was wondering if RiverClan was lacking in food. Perhaps the river had frozen up, or fish were scarce. You look...very hungry."[/b] she shrugged, managing just a little bit of tact--she said "hungry" in stead of "scrawny" or "starved". That was something.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[tenacious]

She was taking her time answering, look at the cloud-covered sky and letting her face grow full of snow. It wasn’t that difficult of a question, unless her answer would harm her Clan. Hawkfang shook himself, though he remained seated for his hindquarters had grown cold and he hated the feeling of them tingling when he stood again. Snow fluttered to the ground and then he returned his blue eyes on Vixenfang, waiting for a reply.

Her reply made Hawkfang’s eyes narrow. So that was why she had been so interested. Of course! The tom growled lightly, “RiverClan is strong enough to take on any intruding cats, how about we leave it at that?” he replied. He didn’t want to tell her if RiverClan was lacking in prey or not. This answer, he thought, would be sufficient. It didn’t give much away, but if she had any thoughts of invading it did tell against that idea. Not that he meant to chase her away, for Hawkfang didn’t mind the conversation. He just wished to steer it away from dangerous waters; espiecally if the wrong answer could get his pelt ripped off and his Clan seen as weak.

The brown tom lifted a paw and licked it, a shiver rolling down his spine as cold snow melted in his mouth and rolled down the back of his throat. He hadn’t meant for that to happen; all he had wanted was the damn white fluff to get out from between his toes. It was irritating, the feeling of having something there that didn’t quite belong.

[/size]

[{Otter}]

Just a narrowing of his blue eyes. That was it. And a few sharp words. She was surprised, frankly. If any cat had said that kind of thing to her...had based her Clan's strength off of her appearances, she'd have been furious. Well...not any cat, she supposed. A cat bigger than she. Maybe not Hawkfang. Or a cat his size that wasn't an apprentice....

“RiverClan is strong enough to take on any intruding cats, how about we leave it at that?”

A soft smirk appeared on Vixenfang's ginger face, and she dipped her head in acceptance. "Yes, let's leave it at that,"

[/b] she conceded. That was fair. There was no point to press him any further--he already knew her reasons for her questions anyway. She didn't feel the need to tell him that ThunderClan was virtually unaffected by the leafbare. ThunderClan was never affected by leafbare, at least not nearly as much as the other Clans.

Hawkfang shivered, and Vixenfang realized it was getting colder and colder. Her fur had accumulated quite a bit of frost, and she didn't have very thick fur. It was cold out here, and the wind was no help. How did those WindClan cats survive? And the rabbit was getting cold. And no doubt most of the rabbits would be hiding in their burrows now. It would take awhile before she could find more, and she did need to find at least one more....

But she didn't really want to leave yet. First because she didn't want to be the one to retreat. She wouldn't leave first, because she wouldn't let any RiverClan cat think she was giving up the land to them. Second, because she was interested. Interested in how a RiverClan cat got to look the way he did. Perhaps they were related? She'd never seen other cats look quite as small as they....

Stop that, mousebrain, she thought firmly as she narrowed her eyes. You're only thinking this way because Timberpelt made you angry. You don't need to make yourself feel better by knowing there's another cat like you. You're just as good a warrior as anyone else. So shut up and stop being insecure. Now she was angry. Her ears flattened against her skull and she glared across the snowy moorlands.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[tenacious]

She appeared to be thinking and Hawkfang sat in silence for some while as snow gathered on his pelt once more, chilling him to the core. Suddenly, Vixenfang’s eyes narrowed and her eyes flattened against her skull as she glared…not at him, but at the moorlands. Or, perhaps, (and he thought this much more reasonable) into space, a memory. The brown male could not stop his neck fur from rising, though; it was involuntary. A reflex he had developed from the fact that he had to protect himself. Hawkfang closed his eyes for a moment and, when he opened them, his neck fur was lying flat once more.

Hawkfang considered asking the ThunderClan she-cat what she was thinking about, but realized it would be too personal. She had stopped pestering him about RiverClan’s current situation; he would not pester her about personal facts in return. Now, if she had continued on…oh, that would be a different story. The warrior twitched his whiskers slightly before opening his mouth to speak, “What is your name?” they had been speaking long enough for him to feel…well, not really comfortable, but well enough to ask this question. And even if she refused to answer it wouldn’t hurt Hawkfang’s pride at all. This was the deputy of an enemy Clan, after all. He couldn’t care less if she didn’t want to share such a fact.

Oh, who was he fooling? Of course he cared. He just wouldn’t admit it.

[/size]

[{Otter}]

Several moments of silence, but that was okay with Vixenfang. She did not see the hair on the back of Hawkfang's neck bristle, which was probably good--she would have become defensive very fast if she had seen it. No, when she looked at him, he seemed perfectly serene...or, not serene, but at least calm. Unaffected by any form of anger or hostility. Or, so she thought. Maybe this whole time he'd been hiding it. She didn't know.

“What is your name?”

The question she resolved not to ask, thrown at her. Vixenfang tilted her head to one side, a bit confused. It was one thing for her not to know the name of a random warrior from another Clan, but for him not to know the name of her, a deputy? It was a little strange, but so what? RiverClan minds worked differently than ThunderClan minds, she supposed.

"Vixenfang,"

[/b] she mewed quietly, seeing no problem with this. What could he do to harm her just by knowing her name? Surely he wouldn't run back to RiverClan and make up some story of how "Vixenfang of ThunderClan" attacked him on the moors, or something. He didn't seem that low. "And you?"[/b] She had been wanting this question answered, she had to admit, but she tried not to show it by keeping a distant, half-interested tone. To complete the picture, she raised a ginger paw, licked it, and ran it over an ear, repeating the cycle several times and brushing more snow from her head as she went. Her amber eyes watched the snowy ground for a minute before raising to Hawkfang again. Would he answer her?

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[tenacious]

As he had thought; Hawkfang noticed she was a bit confused by his answer and she spoke quietly in reply. The tom lightly flicked his tail before answering her question: “My name is Hawkfang.”

There. Formalities could be pushed aside now; all that mattered, to Hawkfang, was getting the naming out of the way. Part of Hawkfang knew there was a chance she could go back to camp and tell her leader he had been hunting on the moor; could give her grand information. A name, a description. ThunderClan wanted part of the moor for themselves after all, right? Wouldn’t it be nice to know what cats to eliminate so RiverClan really did look like the blundering fools the other Clans loved to make them look like? Another part of the RiverClan warrior put a tiny bit of trust into Vixenfang; she would not run back to her Clan. Even he knew that none of the Clans (expect maybe ShadowClan) were low enough to do that.

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