Waking up the morning after was like some sort of muddy dream.

Adderheart rose to his paws rather slowly, limbs dragged down by exhaustion that seemed ever present at this point. His ears flicked and twitched as he dragged his dark gray eyes around the den as if to survey everything around him. Everyone was still asleep. Well, most cats were.

Light snores filled his senses and the faint breathing of everyone within the warrior's den seemed to combine together to create some sort of pleasant and familiar melody, a melody that all cats knew and had ingrained into their memories. Adderheart seemed to glance at his paws, unsure of how to get out.

A few tails and paws were strewn in the way of his usual path of exit, and so the tom bunched up his hindlegs and took a large leap forward, limbs stretching out in order to land safely. Luckily, he managed to get onto the other side with a swift motion, and following that the warrior left the den.

Now, outside lay another familiar melody. Yet this one was not as soft or pleasant as the one chiming politely within the warrior's den. This melody, created by the dawn breeze of a leaf-fall morning, was sharp and biting.

The chilly wind skimped and whisked by, twirling all sorts of random specks of dust or dirt along with it. The sun glimmered brightly upon the horizon, spreading a soft and pleasant light onto the camp. Adderheart liked it all. It seemed to be the perfect morning.

A haze of brightness seemed to cloud it, though. It was as if someone had accidentally spilled a little bit too much sunlight onto the camp and now had to clean it all up, but had forgotten or done the job wrong, and now everything was slipped into a sort of strange haziness that only a few cats could see.

Adderheart shook his head as if to clear the thoughts from his head, reprimanding himself sharply for being so spacey in the morning. He had to be focused, clean-cut, and overall, in top shape in the mornings. He glanced upward toward the sky, noting the moon slipping underneath the the horizon.

A few peachy shades began to take more of a prominence within the sky after a few moments had passed, and the darker tones of night faded away into a pale blue that many attributed to leaf-bare. However, of course, it was not leaf-bare just yet.

The warrior padded over to the fresh-kill pile and he inspected it. The few things in it were stale, a day or so old. It was easy to tell, really, for each prey's eyes held a darkened gleam, as if death had taken a far greater toll than usual on it.

After a few moments of deciding what to pick, the warrior selected a skinny frog, presuming it wouldn't be too bad of a choice. However, as soon as he picked it out and padded to a different spot in the clearing, Willowdapple popped into his mind.

I'll check on her in a few moments.

He reassured himself that the kitting had likely gone just fine, as most kittings did under the excelling healing and assisting skills of both healers. No matter their personalities, SageClan healers only excelled in their duties. It only seemed to get better as time went on.

One would think that there would be more elders, but many cats just clung to warriorhood for as long as they possibly could. It was funny, really, for some cats who really should've been an elder many moons ago just simply tried to do the things that younger cats did. It wasn't funny to them, of course. They simply wanted to help their Clan.

Taking a bite of his prey, the tom settled firmer against the ground as if attempting to solidify his place in the world. The pale-furred warrior seemed to finish his meal rather quickly and he rose to his paw, burying the bones after a few moments had passed.

The taste of the frog hadn't been bad or disgusting by any means, despite the fact its slimy figure had been tinged with staleness. His ears twitched and Adderheart licked his jaws, shaking his head as he glanced absently to the nursery.

Shuffling his paws, he slipped toward the den, ears pulling tightly to his skull. Quickly, he cast a look at the rest of the clearing, observing and searching to see if anyone else was around. Nobody was awake. Everyone was asleep. At least, it seemed that way. The warrior entered the den.

It smelled strange. It was sort of like blood, with that strange metallic tang that seemed to taint the area around, but it also was soft, pleasant, like the milk of a nursing queen. His dark gray eyes searched the den and he spotted Willowdapple, alive, and a spark of relief flickered within his eyes.

She was asleep.

Way to make it hard for me. He flicked his tail, a little frustrated, but the she-cat woke up immediately. It appeared to him that she had caught the sound of his tail flicking through the air, or his pawsteps had given it all away.

Her head jerked upward, tail curling fiercely over her belly as she looked up and over to Adderheart. At noticing who it was, she snarled furiously at him, tail thumping against the ground as if in silent rage. What had he done?

"What do you want?" She demanded, voice low.

"I just wanted to see how your kits are doing," he admitted, inching a bit closer to the she-cat. His movements were nothing short of tentative, ears flickering.

She seemed to take a deep breath as if to compose herself, like being around him was difficult or so infuriating that she couldn't keep her normal cool. The pale-furred warrior shifted on his paws as he waited for an answer or some sort of reply, and the she-cat let her paw curl sharply around where he presumed her kits to be.

He could not see the little bundles of fur, or perhaps they would be better described as flesh and bones at this point. He had never seen kits that were a day old, for his parents had no other litters after or before him, and there had never been a time where Adderheart, when younger, had wished to enter the nursery in order to look at little kits.

He'd only really ever seen them around camp, eyes bright, movements swift as they bounced from paw to paw, chucking mossballs at each other or whispering soft and delicate words. Spreading webs with their phrases, spreading cheer among the queens with their antics, causing other onlookers to be somewhat brightened by their little games... it was all too common for kits.

But they had to go through the first stage of life, and that was surviving the first couple sunrises or so.

"They all died," she said flatly. "Except two."

"What? How?" He demanded, concern filling his eyes as he stepped forward, but the she-cat thrust out a paw and tripped him. The warrior's paw collapsed and soon he fell to the ground with a hiss, but he scrambled to his paws, shaking out his pelt.

"No matter," she dismissed it swiftly, lightly brushing back her tail. "These two are the only ones left." Her eyes brimmed with emotion as she licked them both gently, rasping her tongue over both of their bodies.

Both already had some fur upon their tiny bodies. One had a gingery-brown pelt, with what seemed to be tabby stripes, the other wearing pale brown fur, and this one seemed to have white patches.

Adderheart's heart swelled. They were so small, so helpless and he felt an urge to protect them, especially considering that they had siblings, dead siblings, that they would never know of or about. And neither would their father, whoever that was. The warrior sat down, and the she-cat snarled.

"Don't sit down, you're not staying."

He rose to his paws, not wanting to irritate the she-cat further. "What are their names?"

"Stagkit and Featherkit." The words dropped from her muzzle like glass. Seemingly, they cut through the soft carpet of the air around them, but it wasn't soft any longer. Now it was tainted by glass, shiny and shattering within Adderheart's mind upon impact.

Vixenfeather.

"Originally, a litter of four..." she trailed off. "A litter of four. The others were named Whitekit and Snowkit."

Milkfrost.

His eyes seemed to sharpen a little bit, but he would not expose it for he knew that was the intent. He didn't need any sort of confirmation. It was clear. Was there a reason she was telling him? Was it a secret message to him, saying she wished for him to do something about the idiocy within the Clan? Had she been close with either of them?

He couldn't recall, couldn't remember. His mind was too full of random thoughts, too clogged of ideas and theories that were too big for his mind to handle. His ears felt like they were to blow off his head within moments, tail similarly, except it was to fall off due to the sharp flickers that seemed to control it.

"Is that all?" The she-cat asked, seeming to return to the shielded version of herself from before. She wrapped her tail tightly around the two kit's forms once more, and her eyes sharpened nervously. Did she figure out that I know?

He nodded.

"Now get out." Her voice was cold and he watched as she shifted backward, lips drawing backward. She seemed to pause, as if she knew something, and then hissed quietly, "I know you know. Don't."

He dipped his head quickly and left the den, and as soon as he left, he couldn't seem to forget her words.

As he walked across the camp he was unable to forget the way she spat the words from her muzzle. The way that they dripped mercilessly from her lips, tinged with anger and fury, yet injected with venom at the same time. The way her eyes shone coldly, staring him down as if daring him to say anything in reply.

Adderheart shook his head fiercely, glancing at the camp's entrance. What he should he do? The tom's gaze flitted to the sky and seemed to notice and observe the fact that it was still sunrise, or at least it could be considered as such. What was he meant to do now?

Hunt?

Without really considering it, the pale-furred warrior darted toward the camp's entrance and left.

Instantly, a weight was pulled off his chest. It was as if an entire Clan of cats had been settled upon his slim form and had been shoved off as soon as he left. His pelt felt long and luxurious, sleek and shiny all along his figure. His limbs felt light and airy, like he could float away.

...like he could lift into the air at any moment, and as soon as he did so, he could fly, with wings he could sprout easily, long and flowy, feathered with pale-colored bits of fluff, alike to fur but different...

He could be a dove within the air, fluttering upward before breaking into a clean and easy soar across the pale leaf-fall sky. He could flap his wings every few moments and still not fall, still not fall because he was free and away from the camp. The camp where everything seemed to go wrong, where everything seemed to get away from what the world was meant to be.

He could fly as long and as easily as he wanted to, away to wherever he wished to go in that moment. And if he changed where he wanted to go, he could do so easily with a quick swerve of his slim, airy body. If he were to run into issues, he just could fly above them. He could fly above and around everything.

A small smile rose upon his features and within a few moments, the tom was charging into the territory.

It didn't matter where he was going, for the wind that rushed by his pelt told him it was going to be okay. It whispered and muttered soft, comforting bits of speech to the stressed tom. Everything seemed to be piling up, sharply settling atop the previous edged object or item, stacked up and up and up till he couldn't see the top.

But running now, running to who knows where, it seemed as though everything had fallen. Of course, not to injure or harm him. Everything fell because it was fine as it was. It was fine falling, as long as he was running and was away from cats. Cats were stressful, he'd come to learn, very stressful. Especially when they all seemed to hate another, and that other just happened to be oneself.

His paws moved quicker and quicker and quicker, slamming endlessly against the ground covered by pine needles, and he felt no pricks of pain like usual. He didn't mind the usual pricklings of pain but this time it just seemed to be dulled as if the pain helped him settle into his home. The home within his mind of course.

The tom's tail was a flag behind him, fluttering and streaming out in a fluid motion, and his ears were pinned tightly to his skull. He was not afraid nor upset yet he didn't allow them to lift, for he felt if he did, he'd disrupt or ruin something.

In his running cycle, his mind was empty. Not the bad sort of empty, where no thoughts floated within his head, where it was deserted and desolate and sad, but simply it was vacant of any and all upsetting thoughts. Only pleasant ones skimped in, and only they stuck around for a little bit. Nothing seemed to be able to be held onto as a thought in his mind as he kept on running.

Did he mind? No.

Cougarstar.

Rapidly his speed decreased and he seemed to pull to an abrupt stop, but his limbs did not comply with that idea, and he rammed headfirst into a tree.

Rearing backward and swallowing a hiss, the tom shook his head intensely as if to get the pain away that he felt. His head began to ache, slowly at first, before it turned into some sort of writhing, shivering, painful mass within his brain, his mind, infecting his happiness and infecting how he felt.

He rocked absently on his paws before he fell to the ground, groaning. It hurt, and bad.

He ruined it all again.

He couldn't be mad at Coguarstar. He wasn't even here. Was he? A light spark of panic consumed Adderheart but he laid his head on his paws, burying his head there. He couldn't believe it. How had a simple thought of the leader caused him to mess up so badly while running? Was something happening back at camp?

There's no way that I just happened to randomly think of Cougarstar, right?

Adderheart sniffled, pulling himself closer to the tree behind him. He lifted a paw tentatively to his skull and found there to be a little scrape on his head. Of course, it was covered by fur, but he could still feel the sticky blood around it, and he cringed, pulling his paw back. Giving it a few licks, he ran it over where the bump had begun to form.

He was displeased with the events of the 'hunting trip' that didn't even turn into a hunting trip.. all because of his stupid mind, he was injured now, and it wasn't all that easy to go to the healers anymore, not after Willowdapple and the incident regarding her.

And it wasn't like he could go back to Willowdapple to check on the kits.

The kits. He was reminded of the names that were given to them and absently he truly wondered why they had been named the way they were. Had the queen been particularly close to the elders? And if so, how come he'd not caught it? They had to of been close, right?

I should've noticed.

Frustration pulsed within him. How come nothing went right? I was just... running. How did I mess up? I'm a good runner. That's one of my finest skills of all time. Running and hunting. I can't even do that right...? No, I can. I can! It's just a little mistake.

...right?

A truly sad frown rose upon his features, and it wasn't the kind that was pouty or whiny. It was truly, genuinely sad, because he just felt sad. Really just... sad. Why? He didn't know. Because everything seemed to be going wrong? Maybe. The sadness didn't seem to directly have a reason for appearing so suddenly.

He was actually able to talk to Pantherleap now, unlike before, when his conversations were short, stupid, random bits of a cat's day that he didn't care about. And they didn't care about him, either. He was just a blank face, perhaps one that messed up a bit more often than expected. Pantherleap was one he could speak to somewhat easily-

No, I'm not. I'm angry with him.

The warrior's form stilled.

...is that why I'm sad?

Immediately, he rose to his paws, whipping around and shaking his head. No. Surely not. He didn't want to think about it anymore. Adderheart turned slightly, spotting that he wasn't close to camp at all. Obviously. That's what running away does.

So, once more did he turn around and charge off toward the camp.