3.14.10 GATHERING

[Spec]

A silent purr coursed through her veins, blood singing as the tabby pointed she-cat entered the clearing of Fourtrees. Her mind had been abuzz with excitement from first step to last tail flicker. At last, Fogclan arrived first at a Gathering. Finally the greatest of all clans stepped onto the sacred ground of Fourtrees without delay, and without distinction of the less noble clans. Having Pineclan outmatch them at punctuality at every gathering was much too frustrating, and at times, positively disgusting. Lacking in affirmation and leadership enough to nearly miss Gatherings was one thing, but being second best to Pineclan was something she could never forgive Owlstar for. Miststar was eager to fix this problem, and addressed it as soon as the sun set across the forest, shrouding the forest in a blanket of darkness, if not for the bright full moon to guide her and her clan. With a punctual step, she led Fogclan into the clearing, nostrils quivering as she tested the air, imagining the purity of their arrival seeping out into the ground and into the foliage. Miststar's gleaming sea foam optics turned upon her clan as they padded up from behind her, her voice just loud enough to be heard in all her clan's ears. “Disperse and enjoy the Gathering. I expect good behavior, as always. Don't stray too far and keep in mind who you are associating yourselves with.” Her last words would be issued in a mock warning, a keen ring to her voice as she eyed her Council and nodded towards them, her eyes giving them the message to keep an eye on the clan, open their ears...One can never be too careful, especially not while in such close proximity to the blasphemous Pineclan that would soon tarnish Fourtrees with their savage lack of belief.

Notes:

-leaders must post first before the rest of the clan
-keep cat count at a reasonable number for each clan
- <3

[Whiskers]

The moon's glow was more of an ominous mist tonight, as the sky clouded and rumbled with thunder from leftover storms that had filled previous days. The rainy weather had seemed to arrive with the loner Rain, which would amuse her if she didn't hate the tom so much. So, instead, she found the weather annoying, the cat annoying and this gathering annoying-- and the gathering hadn't even started yet.

But she knew that this Gathering would, indeed, be horrible. It was mostly the weather's fault; the clouds would most likely cover the moon, and though it wouldn't be a "sign from Starclan," every braindead cat out there would think it was. Everyone would get frantic,the Gathering would be canceled and she would have hauled her clan out here for nothing. A waste of her time and her energy. The sad thing was, she did not want that to happen. She had been looking forward to the Gathering, if only so she could get out of her own camp where the loner was residing.

Gingerstar sighed heavily, and as her breath left her body, she decided to let any frustration she felt leave too. Best to enjoy the little time she would have at this Gathering before the weather interrupted. At least she had decided not to mention the loner's appearance-- since he was going to be gone soon, there was no need to draw criticism from the other leaders. She would easily dance her way around Rain, only telling the clans of the rat attack. She might as well warm them they had rats in the area.

She left her clan with a grunt (she didn't feel like saying any parting words) and nearly stopped dead in her tracks when she reached where the leaders sat.

Fogclan was first. But that was not what was so shocking. What was so shocking was that Owlstar was not the one sitting where the leaders sat. Mistpelt, her deputy was there instead.

Her head ached. Something was wrong. There was no way Owlstar died in a single moon...well...it was possible. But Gingerstar didn't like thinking about that.

"Mistpelt?" she managed to keep her voice polite, but she couldn't help but sound curious as well. "Where's Owlstar? Could she not make it tonight?"

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[Spec]

The weather overhead gave off the slightest indication of animosity, perhaps a storm would decorate the sky and send rain to fertile their earth. Still, Miststar wanted to keep this particular Gathering as curt as possible, not only because of the threatening sky looming above them, but also she felt the need to stay clear of Pineclan whenever possible. There was no telling if her own clan still harbored doubts about her rule, she would have to weed out the wicked in time. The she-cat stepped elegantly ahead, head held high and regal as she kept her image subtle, yet her white fur was a beacon in the moonlight. Starclan would surely provide a clear and unhindered moon for them to exchange news. Miststar made a beeline straight for the leader's circle around Fourtrees, taking her usual spot underneath Fogclan's tree as she scanned the clearing for any hint of approaching clans. The first scent to hit her nostrils came from them. Pineclan was nearby, and soon they arrived, swarming around her and her clan like a plague with their greatest sinner leading them, pelt blazing red with fault. She kept her gaze level, sniffing slightly with distaste but nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps it only appeared as if she was mildly annoyed with the weather. Trying not to look down her nose at the approaching Pineclan leader, she held her ground, softening her eyes as she donned the appropriate mask for the occasion.

When her deputy name was spoken, Miststar hardly reacted. She had long discarded her passed life in order to embrace her new name; Mistpelt was nothing, a husk of a name to dignify her new found role as Starclan's servant. Still, her ear twitched, briefly acknowledging the flame colored she-cat followed by a stiff nod. Her voice sounded polite enough, but the ivory pointed she-cat could also distinguish other, pressing emotions, underlying tones benefiting a snake of a leader. “Good evening Gingerstar.” She replied without hesitance, tail curling around her paws with a tight lined half smile. If she didn't lighten the mood, then Gingerstar might become suspicious. Casting a sideways glance at the Pineclan leader, she added, “I'm sorry. Owlstar is no longer with us.” She left it at that; if Gingrstar wanted to pry further, then she would have to be patient and wait just like everyone else would have to. News would be exchanged soon, and then, Miststar could inform them all of Owlstar's plight and her banishment when necessity allowed. Outwardly, she surveyed the incoming cats, mostly Pineclan pouring in as her own clan meandered listlessly. Miststar looked on, chest heavy with mixed feelings. Act as if everything is normal. She wanted to say to them, encourage them. It was Gathering, not a death sentence.

[Cloud of Diamonds]

He'd left as quickly as he could - unfortunately, that was not as quickly as he would've liked - a hunting patrol had come back late, and one the cats who'd been picked was on it. So he'd waited for them, giving the feline only a look before ushering them into the crowd and departing.

And now he padded majestically into the Gathering space, noting that Gingerstar and Mistpelt were already here. Wait, Mistpelt? Where was Owlstar? He was not that worried - why would he be? It wasn't like they were friends, let alone neutral toward each other - but it did strike him with slight curiosity. Illness, probably. Though it was the beginning of newleaf, it was not unheard of for cats to get sick around this time, there was so much in the air. In the air. He silently snorted at his own private joke, said again under different circumstances.

He looked back over his assembled patrol. "Careful."Was the only thing he meowed deeply, before padding over and jumping up on the leaders' tree stump.

Just in time to catch: "...Owlstar is no longer with us." His eyebrows raised, but he did not speak. The deputy would surely explain, come news time.

He looked out, hoping StreamClan would arrive soon.

[Crowzerplorodon]

The rain had echoed like footsteps leading up to this hazy night. With the footsteps came thoughts of the past, actions of the present, and mysteries of the future, melding together in a temperamental torrent of confusion. It was too loud in his head. Each droplet of rain that smacked down from the heavens brought yet another worry to Cloudstar, and each worry sent him closer to spiraling toward some sort of insanity. He wasn't sure which one just yet, but give him a few more days of this rainy madness, and Cloudstar would have an answer for you.

His eyes, green like the moss which flourished in the weather, scanned the clearing below, realizing that they had been last tonight. An odd enough occurrence, considering how StreamClan seemed to have the easiest time of getting to the open expanse of grass. Granted, MeadowClan was just arriving themselves. Cloudstar wouldn't have to feel that bad about dragging his clan late to this fateful gathering. And – though the white tom would never admit it – he had been dreading this meeting for the last few nights. Some part of his subconscious probably led to this late arrival. “As usual, mind your companions and keep check on your words. Do StreamClan proud, my friends. Tonight will be eventful.” He spoke cryptically, eyes narrowed in unusual rage.

The rage, of course, was spurred by an unpleasantly familiar sight. Mistpelt's – sorry, Miststar – ivory coat stood out like a moonbeam in the gathering place. From the looks of things, she had already greeted Gingerstar, with Cedarstar approaching near behind. Not wanting to miss out, Cloudstar hurried down, his large paws carrying him swiftly down the slope and up to his fellow leaders. Before he arrived, the StreamClan leader managed to replace his previous demeanor with a more acceptable one, greeting the three other cats with a pleasant smile and clear eyes. “Greetings, quite a night, yes?” Then – as if just noticing Mistpelt's presence instead of Owlstar's – he turned, addressing the light pelted she-cat. “Oh, is Owlstar ill? That's terrible. Or maybe, considering our weather, she's benefitting.” Wherever Owlstar was, Cloudstar really did hope she was benefitting.

ooc: FYI:
In FoF's timeline, Cloudstar has met with Owlstar and knows about what happened within FogClan. This hasn't actually be role played out yet, but it will. P: Other cats may post now, but please try to keep the cats you bring to a minimum. Spec, please wait for a few other conversations to get started before Miststar speaks to the leaders.

[[ hardyrex ]]

Silverpelt was covered by a thick blanket of clouds, making the night even darker. It felt like StarClan was hiding, as if afraid of what this new Gathering might bring to the Clans. The clouds themselves looked bleak, dark and gray as if there was no hope. But that sadness the clouds carried could easily turn into rage, with winds tearing at the trees, rain pounding onto helpless ground, and lighting racing in the sky followed by thunder roaring. The only thing not hiding was the Moon, shining brightly to assure that the Gathering would continue.

Of course, this would not be the first or the last time that Rabbitstep saw darken skies. They would come and go throughout his life, and even beyond it. He would rather stay in a nice warm nest then head far away from camp with the clouds looking they were just begging to release their fury, but as long as the Moon shined the Gathering would commence. This Gathering was one he was looking forward too, bad weather or not, due to the fact his kits, Sootpaw, Shrewpaw, and Fawnpaw, were made apprentices and it would be announced.

As the tan tabby semi-lead MeadowClan's ranks to up to the sacred land ( A little later than normal, Rabbitstep's own mistake when organizing patrols ), his eyes spotted a white pelt where a black and white one should have been. Owlstar must be sick? Surely the weather had not been that rainy. New-Leaf was known for rain, but cats normally didn't get sick this early. Perhaps a bad piece of prey? It wasn't any of his business anyway. Glancing one last last look toward the leaders before trotting his way to where the Deputies sat and shared news. Or, in the last Gathering's case, Otterfur. Curling his tail over his paws, Rabbitstep watched the clouds glide across the sky.

Rabbitstep

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart

It was Fogclan’s first Gathering under their beloved Miststar’s rule, and the sky was threatening to devour them. Rowanheart was worried about this; why would Starclan be so upset on the first night that Miststar was going to be introduced to the other clans? Was it some sort of sign that They did not want Fogclan going to the gatherings—were the other three leaders not ready for the new leadership of Fogclan? Rowanheart did not know. He was no medicine cat and so interpreting the signs of Starclan was like understanding the gibberish of two-legs, or fathoming the stupidity of Pineclan cats. But whatever the reason, Rowanheart was hoping it was in Fogclan’s favor—it had to be, yes? There was no way Starclan were angry at Fogclan, not when Miststar was in her rightful place, as divine leader and Chosen One. He asked Finchpaw to be sure.

”Oh well,” his son fidgeted nervously, which brought a sigh to Rowanheart’s lips. ”The moon isn’t covered so…They still want the gathering to go on. Perhaps this is just a warning for all clans to—uh—behave…themselves? Yes. That’s it,” Finchpaw’s eyes flicked upward and he increased his pace. ”Tensions will be high so They just want to keep everyone in check—I’m going to go now uh—I see Storkpaw. I need to ask him about a herb.”

And then he was gone before Rowanheart could say another word. His worry rumbled in him like the thunder rolled in the clouds above his head. Finchpaw was not well—he could see it in his son’s nervous eyes. And as for Firepaw?

Well, Firepaw was avoiding Finchpaw—Rowanheart wasn’t sure why yet, but he planned to coax it out of his sons eventually, though he was hoping they would make up before he would have to intervene. Still, because his sons were not speaking to walk with one meant to ignore the other.

He spotted Firepaw quickly though; it was not hard to pick out the bright red coat.

”Be careful tonight,” he told his son with an affectionate cuff to the ear. ”Our behavior reflects on Miststar. Remember that.”

Firepaw shrugged and half-smiled. ”I know. I’m just going to talk with the regular crowd. I’ll see you later.”

His other son departed just as the first had and just as quickly. For a brief moment, Rowanheart felt lonely and he blinked with an aching slowness, his eyes searching for the last bit of his family. But the moment passed when a warning grumble from the clouds reminded Rowanheart of where he was and who he was. He was not just a father—and his sons were growing up anyway. Now he was a council member. And now he had to do his duties.


Goosefur

Goosefur was excited for the Gathering—but then again she was always excited for every Gathering! And how could she not be? She was going to see her old friends, plus Elmpaw, Loonstep’s new apprentice. At least, that’s what she was hoping. She actually did not know if her friends were coming; if not, she’d just have to talk with someone else, most likely from her own clan. Yet she didn’t let that thought get her down. The odds were in her favor, yes? She had three friends and just one of them had to come to the Gathering to make tonight a special, fantastic night. It would be amazing if all three came but she was trying not to get her hopes up. So she only let herself hope for that one. Just one.

Meanwhile, she was also hoping that sky would wait to rain until after the Gathering. She loved rain, true—she liked to leap in the puddles it made and she liked the way it made the rivers run faster. But if it rained she couldn’t see her friends.

She hesitated but then decided to send up a prayer to Starclan. Couldn’t hurt right? If they weren’t real, they could do nothing and if they were, maybe they would hear her.

Calm down Starclan. Just let me have this one night.

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[glowlynose]

With his black coat, Crowpaw was able to blend into the milling cats with ease. He was naught but a shadow amongst them, a shadow with glimmering eyes. Normally he would have stopped to be friendly, but this time, Crowpaw had a mission. He had to find Finchpaw. His friend would be here with his family, and he would want a distraction from them.

It was very convenient for him, being a medicine cat apprentice, because when he was off duty, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted. Lynxpelt was back at camp tending to his sister and that loner Rain, so he'd sent Crowpaw along to report back about the Gathering. Boy, would that be interesting. Weaving through the cats from the other clans, he was able to pick up on little bits of conversations. Most concerned Owlstar and Mistpelt. Only the cats from FogClan and himself knew the real reason that Owlstar was not there. FogClan had driven her out of their territory, seeing her as unfit to lead them anymore, and now Mistpelt had taken her place. It was sad, really. FogClan probably thought they were the best clan ever now, but the truth was, they were weaker than ever. They'd lost good warriors and some apprentices in the course of banishing Owlstar, and in the process, they'd also lost sight of the Code. That was even worse than losing half your clan. Without the Code, you couldn't even be a clan. All FogClan was now was a group of cats living together.

Speaking of FogClan, Crowpaw's nose crinkled as the very distinct scent of those cats washed over him. It was worse than usual, somehow. He really didn't mind the smell of most FogClanners, but this... this scent was absolutely repulsive. He'd smelled it once before, at the last Gathering. Crowpaw racked his brain, trying frantically to pinpoint the name that went with the smell, but before he could reach a conclusion, the two StreamClan cats that had been hiding him moved away, and he knew who the cat was at once. It was Rowanheart. Even though it was just a view of the warrior's back, he was able to pick out Finchpaw's father with ease. They had the same ears. It was no wonder he didn't like his smell, he was an absolute jerk! Jerks smelled worse than everybody else because the nastiness of how they treated others oozed out their sweat glands.

Crowpaw's claws dug into the earth as he tried to figure out how to handle this situation. Finchpaw didn't appear to be anywhere near his father, so he should probably concentrate on finding him. Then again, perhaps he should go up and talk to Rowanheart. Even though he was a jerk, he looked lonely, and even jerks didn't deserve to feel lonely. He would probably reject his company though, since he was a PineClanner. It would be best just to find Finchpaw. Time to go back to looking for the scent of fog and herbs.

Things would have gone fantastically if a big, bruising warrior had not accidentally bumped Crowpaw and caused him to fall over onto Rowanheart as he was passing him. Crowpaw frantically scrambled off of the FogClanner, eyes as big as the moon, but the damage had already been done. "I-i-i-i-i'm so sorry, R-rowanheart! S-somebody knocked into me, and I f-fell over."

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[Pyro]

Aspenheart

Aspenheart followed his clan without hesitation into the clearing. However, his mind was more hesitant. There were...things. Wrong things. One, FogClan had arrived first. How unusual. His pale green eyes flicked to Gingerstar's face. He had no doubt she'd make plans to arrive as early as possible the next gathering. But of course, that minor detail was not the only thing wrong. With only FogClan and PineClan in the clearing, it was easy to see who was there and who was not. And there was one cat in particular...a very important cat. FogClan's leader. Owlstar...she...she...

Was gone.

Aspenheart observed the careful posture of the cat who was a fellow deputy. No. There were more differences. She had an air about her that was...dismissive. And something else. Power. She stood with Gingerstar- now Cedarstar and Cloudstar as the other clans arrived- un-humbled. She stood with them as if she were there equal. As if she had every right to talk with them as if she were a fellow...leader. A tingle ran down his pelt as he heard her words.

“I'm sorry. Owlstar is no longer with us.”

He felt an odd mix of emotions and thoughts. The first was a sense of dread. FogClan's leader was gone. Maybe dead. And if she was dead...that thought gave him a bittersweet sense of triumph. If she was really dead, only fools would believe dead cats gave them nine lives. Cats with nine lives didn't die that fast. But it was hard to feel triumph in the face of the news a cat like Owlstar was dead. Sure, he didn't exactly have the most pleasant views toward FogClan, but he didn't exactly wish death on them.

He shook his head. FogClan arriving first...and Mistpelt with the leaders...what did this mean for his clan? What would it mean for all clans?

Storkpaw

Storkpaw glanced around nervously. There were so many cats! Dealing with all the cats of StreamClan was stressful enough for the tom, who was impossibly unused to being around more than one cat at a time. He felt frozen in place as the rest of StreamClan surged past him to join the gathering. His hazel eyes flicked left and right. Maybe there was a place where he could just...hide.

The medicine cat apprentice darted to the edge of the clearing, careful to stay away from everyone. He. Did. Not. Want. To. Be. Here. He'd make sure he'd never go again. Just...look at all the cats. Some looked like they could crush him beneath one paw, like they'd rip his throat out without hesitation. And others...Well, he knew for sure none of them would like him. They'd hate him. They'd make fun of him for something and he'd bring shame to StreamClan and then Cloudstar would abandon him and kick him out of StreamClan as easily as his father had done.

The poor tom twitched. This was not going to be a fun time. Not in the slightest.

His gaze flicked to Cloudstar. StreamClan's leader was easy to find. He looked at the other cats with him. Storkpaw supposed the long-ginger-furred she-cat was Gingerstar. She didn't look friendly. The large brown tom beside her had to be Cedarstar. He didn't look friendly. And the she-cat who held all their attention? ...Storkpaw thought Owlstar was black and white. Whoever she was, she didn't look friendly.

Storkpaw stared miserably out into the crowd. Why had Badgernose made him come? This was horrible. He hardly knew any of these cats. Even those of his clan were practically strangers.

This...was not going to be a fun time. Not in the slightest.

He turned his eyes to the sky, hoping for some comfort, but he cast them down as quick as he had raised them. Clouds traced the sky. StarClan was not pleased. But what could they...

The small cat sank deeper. Owlstar. The cat with the other leaders...That had to be Mistpelt. The usurper. How could he have possibly forgotten? He eyes grew wry. With a memory like his he was surely going to be the best medicine cat StreamClan would ever have. He was hopeless. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. He was a failure. Just a run-down, no good, two-bit failure. He tried to make himself even smaller. The sooner this night was over, the better.

Harepaw

Harepaw shook her head, trying to rid herself of her troubling thoughts. She dropped her eyes to the ground when they tried to look to the sky for answers. She tried to tell herself she would get no answers from the sky. It would tell her nothing. Why? Because dead cats didn't speak to the living. And the only way you could honor the dead was by living. Prayers didn't reach them. She resisted the urge to snort as it registered past her turbulent thoughts that it was cloudy. Believers would no doubt be skittish as mice.

Believers. Believers like Firepaw.

Curse him for the son of a badger! It was that damned tom who had given her this ludicrous hope of being watched over, who had inserted the tiniest seed of doubt...But she couldn't let him find that out. She couldn't give that arrogant fool the satisfaction of seeing his words had had some effect on her. And yet, at the same time, she was overcome with the desire to talk to him. To question him. To learn all she could before sinking back into the comfortableness of knowing her actions were her own, her life, her own...The weather, its own. The breeze, its own. That signs didn't exist. That a higher power was not needed.

And yet...And yet she was filled with a yearning for that to be all wrong. A yearning for there to be a higher power, for there to be a place to go when her body was long gone. She wanted to look at the stars and see her ancestor's faces...And yet...how could she, while wanting that, not want it? How could she not want it, and yet desire to seek it?

Her heart skipped a bat as she saw his fiery pelt out of the corner of her eye. Her head twitched, turned ever so slightly to see a form that was unmistakable to her eye. It had haunted her enough. She calmed herself and talked forward, weaving through the milling cats. All else disappeared as her paws took her to walk causally by his side.

"Ya'll must 'ave run like...rabbihs...to get here before us...Firepaw."

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart

A little black body of poofy fur ran into him headfirst. It was an unexpected assault, so unexpected that Rowanheart let out a shocked yelp of his own-- not exactly a very attractive noise to make, but luckily, the chattering of the cats drowned the noise out anyway. He recoiled, his claws glinting in the air out of nothing but pure instinct. Of course, once he got control of himself again, they retreated. No need to shred someone for being a bit clumsy. He shook off his shock, transforming his serene features into a good-natured, forgiving smile and he looked down at his little "attacker"-- the smile slid off his face a second later.

The scent of this cat finally registered in his mind and he nearly pulled back again out of disgust. This was a Pineclan apprentice, a dirty soulless creature, and by the size of the tom, he was young, barely out of kithood. A surge of pity filled him up. So young, so filled-to-the-brim with lies and sin. He wanted to take this tom home with him, if only to cleanse him, but he had to remind himself that Pineclanners could not be saved. They were doomed. And he doubted Miststar would approve of him bringing the epitome of wickedness into the heart of the Holy land.

He brought in a deep breath and the scent continued to move through him, and he had another shock as the faint tinge of herbs reached into him, and that was that: he saw Finchpaw before him. He choked on his unsaid words, eyes wide. This is what Finchpaw could become.

It was probably this reason why Rowanheart did not scoff and excuse the small apprentice with a pawful of casual words. His smile returned; it was unsteady, but honest.

"No need to apologize, little one. Mistakes like this happen; after all, there's a lot of cats here and you're very small. Be careful, alright?" He gave him a pointed look-- it was his father look, he really really couldn't help himself and began to move away. An impulse seized him though and paused his steps.

He looked back at the black apprentice and he breathed out his next words, a silent plea directed at this pineclanner, but also and moreso, his own son. "May Starclan bless you."

Firepaw

Gatherings were usually boring. At first, when he was younger and it was his first one, Firepaw had loved them. But the thrill wore off pretty fast once one got used to the whole event. It was always the same for him. He always talked to the same cats. Met them in the same spots. He listened to the leaders with the same amount of brain power...which wasn't a lot. The best part about Gatherings was just getting out of camp, mostly. After all, he didn't talk to many cats out of Fogclan anyway. Why should he? They were the best out of the best. Meadowclan was okay, he found Streamclan cats a bit annoying and Pineclan was off-limits.

Today, however, he was actually excited. Maybe because this was going to be his last gathering as an apprentice (he was so sure of this he wanted to go around calling himself by his preferred warrior name, but he knew that would just be obnoxious...plus he wanted to save that moment for next time when it was official), maybe because Fogclan was going to be the talk of the evening. Whatever it was, Firepaw felt his blood rushing faster and his excitement was raw like hunger in his belly. He couldn't wait for the leaders to get down to business tonight. And he couldn't wait for all the other clan apprentices to ask him was was going on.

But before he could make it to the usual spot to hang with the usual crowd (as he had told his father), the sweet scent of pine-and-honeysuckles blocked his path as it danced in front of him. A pair of footsteps had joined him, and the flanks of a she-cat touched his own briefly, causing him to flinch in surprise. He was no longer traveling alone.

This scent could only be the infamous Harepaw. And a turn of his head confirmed his guess. He stopped short, as if he had just gotten stuck in some extremely sticky mud. And in a way, he had. This was an extremely sticky situation.

"Ya'll must 'ave run like...rabbihs...to get here before us...Firepaw."

His mind lost itself (was that possible?) and he couldn't think, couldn't get past the fact that Harepaw 1. had the nerve to come talk to him; after all they were supposed to pretend their little tryst in the woods never happened. And 2. that he actually wanted to talk to her back.

He shook his head to get that last thought out of his mind, but his attempt was futile. He hissed in frustration, looked around the Gathering with paranoid eyes, and then shuffled Harepaw to the very back of the clearing, where, hopefully, no one would see them.

"What are you doing?!"

[/b] Firepaw hissed and he pinned her down with accusing eyes-- because she was doing something very wrong and he wanted to make her know that, see that, feel guilty about it. "I'm Fogclan, you can't talk to me. If my dad sees us, he'll probably kill me! Well, kill you and then me-- why are you even talking to me anyway? We were going to pretend we never saw each other, remember?"[/center][/size]