“Don’t move Dustpaw. I mean it this time.”
The gravelly mew resonated from the large den in the shadowy corner of the camp, accompanied by stifled squeaks of outrage. Scuffling sounds ensued until a harsh growl stopped all movement and noise.
“Sorry Yarrowpelt,” came a shame-faced meow from the den. A flash of tan flicked out of the entrance to the cave disappeared as soon as it had come.
“If you were sorry you wouldn’t have started this.” The speaker’s voice was grave and serious, though held a note of amusement at the apprentice’s antics. “Don’t try that again on me Dustpaw. I hate jumpy patients.” The large yellow-furred medicine cat gently eased the thorn out of Dustpaw’s flank, careful to avoid wrenching it.
“See, all better. Now run along, it’s not bleeding enough to warrant cobwebs.”
Nodding with empathetic agreement Dustpaw rushed out of the den as fast as she could, only pausing the lick up the single ruby droplet of blood that stained her tan pelt. “Ugh, medicine cats,” she muttered aloud in a mutinous voice, obviously displeased with Yarrowpelt’s treatments.
--
Snorting at her nestmate’s antics a thin dark gray she-cat padded out of the apprentice’s den, bedding clutched in her jaws. “Help with this,” the newcomer meowed crossly, attempting to speak without dropping her bundle.
“Right,” Dustpaw said unenthusiastically, grabbing part of the moss from her sister’s jaws and grasping them with her own. “Surprised you need help,” she mumbled as she started walking to the camp’s exit.
“Mmmnfff,” was all Brindlepaw deemed to say, following Dustpaw at a fast pace.
--
“Don’t move Blackfang. I’ve just gotten a hold of this tick.”
Grumbling with irritation a large black tom whipped his tail to and fro as his sister delicately nipped at the tick stuck to his shoulder. “Why you?” he complained in a deep rumbling mew, shooting a deadly glare at her.
“Because I was there to help, mouse brain,” replied Kestrelwing cheerfully. Purring as her teeth closed around the pest’s fat body and the blood from it flowed into her mouth, the small russet-and-red she-cat licked her brother’s cheek affectionately.
“You don’t really mind anyways. Stop being so grumpy Blackfang.”
--
Crimsonpaw dozed lazily in the strong sunlight that streamed through the roof of tangled branches and leaves that sheltered the sunning stone. Her pale orange pelt gleamed ginger in the golden aura and she purred and wriggled with delight as it warmed her up.
“Just what I needed,” she mewed with a sigh, feeling the wrenched muscles of her back-leg loosen.
--
“And Doomstar wins the fight!”
The ecstatic yowl came from in front of the apprentice’s den, leaping from the mouth of one of the large brown apprentice’s rolling on the dirt.
“Go Webpaw!” cheered a smaller and more petite apprentice from the sidelines, his eyes bright with amusement at his two denmates.
“I thought we were friends,” the larger tom grunted, though without a trace of anger coloring his voice. He heaved with his shoulders and slammed the other apprentice into the dust, though more gently than in real combat.
“Look out Doomstar! Battlestar has just won the battle!” he crowed as he rested one sheathed paw on his fellow apprentice’s neck.
Grumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘Foxdung’, Marshpaw slithered out from underneath Bramblepaw. “Right, right,” he meowed dryly, nudging his friend gently. “But I’ll win next time.”
--
Blinking sleepily as the light invaded the Warrior’s den Goldwhisker stood up stiffly, feeling his joints creak and groan with the effort. “Foxdung,” he hissed as he worked out a particularly painful kink out of his foreleg.
--
“Shhhh,” his mate hissed softly, curling up tighter. “I get to sleep in today and I’m taking advantage of that.” Grumbling slightly Poppydawn shot Goldwhisker a partially furious glare. “So don’t go stomping around the den like a half-witted badger, dear.”
--
“Ah,” came the soft sigh of pleasure when the large reddish-brown warrior finally found a plump mouse to break his fast. Gripping it delicately in his teeth Redthunder padded over to the overhang that sheltered the warrior’s den, settling down in a patch of gra$s to eat his meal.
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Ashmist 
Coalfire
Smokeblaze
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