Early Morn [Open]

[kin]

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[/style]When Frostheart opened her eyes, the world was lit by the stars and moon. If she'd awoken to such a sight during greenleaf, the scarred warrior would have tucked her nose back against her fur, curled her tail tightly around herself, and gone back to sleep. However, with leafbare heavily upon them, sunlight was a much rarer commodity, and she had to trust her own internal gauge of the passage of time to begin her day as early as she was accustomed to.

Despite the fact that sections of her skin were bared to the air, Frostheart rarely grew overly cold in the cold climate of PeakClan's home. In fact, during sparring sessions, those swathes of silvery and pink skin helped cool her overwarm body and kept her from panting; they enabled her to continue longer in a more comfortable condition, giving her an edge over her opponents. These days, she hardly ever thought of her scars in a negative light, preferring her tactical advantages and the visual representation of the breadth of her dedication.

But, when she'd first gotten her wounds, they had been a mark of shame. Bearpaw's parents had kept a vigil in the medicine den whenever they could, only leaving to patrol, eat, and train their own apprentices. They'd looked at her with scorn, with blame clearer and clearer in their eyes the worse Bearpaw became. Frostheart had accepted the blame, heaped it onto her shoulders beside her own guilt.

And accepting that blame had nearly killed her twice. She had thought herself a failure, unable to do so much as defend her apprentice from a pair of BrookClan idiots. Where had her tactical mind been, that fang-sharp tool she wielded with purpose and certainty on all other occasions? Why hadn't she been able to put herself between Bearpaw and his attackers, been able to halt the fighting? BrookClanners would fight all together where one fought, and spit on the odds. The thoughts caused her lip to curl, baring slivers of off-white tooth to the dark den.

Frostheart shook her head, dispelling the old thoughts. Once, she had thought it a sign of her unworthiness as a warrior, a sign that she hadn't been meant to earn her suffix. Now, she knew better. Now, she knew that it had been the harshest of lessons, but the most useful. She had persisted in a habit of not thinking as swiftly or as often as she ought, and had to bear the consequences. As a result, she was now a much more thoughtful cat, weighing multiple plans conjured at speed before acting.

For all that she took a moment to actually think now, it slowed her down but a heartbeat. Frostheart stood, stretching as best she could with sleeping warriors all around her. The white she-cat threaded her way through her fellows, moving with a spry agility characteristic to her Clan. Emerging from the den, she turned her gaze to where the moon set each morning, finding no sign of the great light in the sky. Morning indeed, then.

Shaking herself absently, Frostheart sat near the mouth of the den and groomed the clinging scraps of dried moss and dirt from her long fur, the muscle below the bared skin of her scars twitching at the rough rasp of her tongue. The cold breeze blowing through camp chilled the damp skin and wrung a shiver from the warrior.

[Dawn]

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[atrb=background,http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z193/islandhope/cccm_zps02850845.png] Cedarstone plodded back towards the camp, a single mouse held in his jaws. It was all the tom could find during his outing this morning, and he felt a chill of unease. Perhaps it was just the darkness, tricking the prey into thinking that it was not yet time to stir from their nests. But as he dropped his measly prey on the already small pile, his heart sank slightly. Leaf-bare was always the toughest season the Clans endured. The temperature, already low, could drop even further to create freezing nights that harmed both cat and prey. The darkness made hunting and patrolling even more dangerous, and he always felt himself looking over his shoulder, searching for an enemy that was not present. He shook his fur, trying to shake away his bad thoughts with it. They always made it through leaf-bare. Well, not everyone, but the Clan had seen leaf-bares for many many moons. That didn't shove the worry down though; it never did. Every leaf-bare was a new challenge, a challenge that was trying and difficult for all involved. He just hoped they made it through this challenge without too many casualties. He looked up towards the warriors den, doing his typical sweep of the camp to see if anyone was awake. The darkness, which had seemed to press in on his eyes so heavily before, had been adapted to. It wasn't easier to see by any means, but he was able to see as well as he needed to. His eyes caught on the white form of Frostheart, and he waved his tail up at her. "Morning, Frostheart." He called from his position at the base of the rock that was PeakClan's camp. He heard a commotion and looked around, just in time to see Blackpaw tumble out of the apprentices den, her sister Birdpaw giggling in the entrance. The little black she-cat growled and launched herself back up at her sister, who darted back into the den. Cedarstone shook his head, smiling slightly, as he turned back to look up at Frostheart. Those apprentices, they still had the youthful energy of kits. It was nice to see, actually. Made him feel slightly more relaxed.

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[kin]

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[/style]"Morning, Frostheart."

Her ears flicked toward the source of the sound. Frostheart recognized the voice as belonging to Cedarstone, and she stood, sweeping her pale blue gaze over the camp. By the meager light of the stars and moon, she was able to pick out the faint outline of a dark shape below the warriors' den. She assumed that it was Cedarstone, on sentry duty or even just unable to sleep.

The she-cat flexed her claws, scraping them against the cold stone beneath her paws. It sent a little thrill up her nerves, pushing her from slightly fuzzy wakefulness into crystal clarity. She stood, tail swaying behind her, and padded toward Cedarstone. Behind her, there was a faint rustling, and Frostheart's good ear canted back. Her reduced hearing capabilities were barely strong enough to determine that the sound was that of a cat leaving a higher den.

Faint giggling and growling accompanied the cat leaving the den, and the scarred warrior mentally assigned the labels of "apprentice" to the cats, and "apprentice den" to the den in question. The stub of her ruined ear flicked back toward a particularly loud giggle, then turned forward once more. She moved down toward Cedarstone, paws automatically picking the best route downward.

She savored the flex and roll of muscle needed for the smallest amount of climbing or conquering of angled land, still unable to take the freedom of movement for granted. Even after the moon and a half it had taken for the scabs to form over her wounds, she'd had to move delicately under the medicine cat's watchful eye, unable to stretch her body to anything near its full potential, lest she crack her scabs and ruin the progress of her wounds.

Frostheart had fallen into the habit of moving with short, careful strides after being released from the den, and it had taken her several moons to work the habit out and resume her long, powerful stride. That stride now carried her to stand before Cedarstone, and she sat beside him, face raised toward the sky. "Good morning," she mewed quietly. "You're up early."

He wasn't the only one. Even in greenleaf, when the sun dominated the sky, Frostheart had a habit of rising before it. Today, her internal clock told her that sunhigh was still a ways away, and that she should wait a bit before hunting, that dawn might creep up and provide better light. Hunting in darkness relied more heavily on one's ears and nose than eyes, and while Frostheart's nose was as sharp as ever, her hearing had suffered greatly.

[Dawn]

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[atrb=background,http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z193/islandhope/cccm_zps02850845.png] Cedarstone watched Frostheart climb the rock down from the warriors den, struck by how easily she carried herself. She was probably one of the most battle scarred cats in the Clan, if not the most. The fact that she was able to move so fluidly was impressive. He had always derived inspiration from Frostheart, and had great respect for her. As she finalized her climb down from the warriors den, Cedarstone inclined his head in greeting to her. He too looked up at the sky when she did, wondering what she hoped to see there. He couldn't see much, just the darkness of the leaf-bare sky. What he hoped for was some sort of sign or deviation, but nothing caught his attention. Not that logically he expected it to, it was the Time of Silence from StarClan. The time when the deceased could not reach the living, and their influence was absent. That, and it was very unlikely that a sign would come to him, but he could hope. "Good morning, you're up early." Cedarheart sniffed at the air, trying to sense what time of the day it was. He couldn't really tell, though he supposed it would be nearing 'day time' when the majority of the Clan was awake and out of their dens. "Yeah, I just sort of woke up and thought I might as well make myself useful." He meowed, his eyes moving for a moment back towards the pitiful fresh-kill pile. "You as well; unable to sleep?"

[/color] He asked, knowing that the Time of Silence tended to mess with everyone's internal clocks. Without the light of day, everything just seemed messed up somehow. And many cats became unable to function normally, their sleep schedules not able to adjust accordingly.

He had supposed, when he was younger, that, considering it was the way things had always been, he would get used to it as he got older. But to no avail. Every leaf-bare was the same, with uncertain schedules and the ever present darkness that masked the passing of the suns. It was always something of a shock after the lovely, lit new-leaf and leaf-fall seasons. But, most adjusted after a while. Seemingly just in time for the season to change and the sun to appear again.

He recalled how, as a kit, he would constantly pester his mother, Silverflower for the answer to the puzzling change. She had never given him a satisfactory answer though, and so he had always asked again and again. It seemed so long ago now. Back in the time when Willownose probably did the same thing. Back in the time when he and Willownose were as thick as thieves, before the scandal of their different fathers came to light.

Cedarheart pushed the thought to the back of his mind, not wanting to dwell on the past. In all truthfulness, the reason he was always up so early was because he wanted to impress his sister with how helpful he was, or how willing he was to serve the Clan. Not that it did anything. After a while, his body just seemed to set itself to waking up that early, even if he didn't want it to.

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[kin]

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[/style]"Yeah, I just sort of woke up and thought I might as well make myself useful. You as well; unable to sleep?"

It was as logical a thought process as any. Frostheart nodded absently in acknowledgement of his words, gazing at the stars. When she and her siblings had been kits, they loved sitting outside the nursery under Snowfang's careful watch, making shapes in the stars. They'd found, to their delight, that the change of seasons brought a new set of stars, a new canvas for their imaginations.

Her eyes were now fastened on what Ternfur had called the Big Bear, with Sleet-tail finding a Little Bear only moments after. She shrugged, the motion tugging on the skin of her scars. "Seems I can't help but wake with the greenleaf sun even when leafbare is upon us." The stars shone with a steady, pale light, unwavering and unchanging. Though StarClan bore the name of the pinpricks of light, they were unable to remain present throughout the seasons, coming and going with the aurora. Their eyes had been averted the day she and Bearpaw had fought those dung-brained BrookClanners, and yet she'd taken it as a sign.

Perhaps they could not speak as medicine cats and leaders were accustomed to hearing. But if the Clans were guided and protected by StarClan, they would surely have more than one way to contact their living descendants. Or, perhaps, like their shapes in the stars, cats simply saw signs where there were none. But thinking like that would make her question every sign StarClan ever sent, and that was a path she'd rather not take.

Frostheart had never claimed an unshakeable faith in StarClan. She knew they were there, and that they looked after the Clans, and that was enough for her. They had done more than they were obligated to when they gave the leaders each nine lives, and communed with the medicine cats. Time and again they'd offered their aid, advice, and warnings to the Clans when they could have remained silent and aloof, allowing the living to deal with their own world. Regardless of whether it was affection, obligation, or some other emotion that drove their starry ancestors to watch over them, Frostheart appreciated and was touched when she thought on their actions.

"It looks like the sun will be rising soon," she commented. After moonset, the sun was never overly far behind. It had already descended from the sky, leaving the stars to shine on their own. With the dampening of her hearing had come the slight strengthening of her eyesight and nose, which the medicine cat claimed were her body's way of compensating for the dearth of one sense.