Chapter 1 Red Redpaw sighed. He hated this stuffy medicine den! He was glad. WhirlClan and Feather. Featherthorn? Featherclaw? He didn't know. Nobody knew, but they assumed it was either Feather or Featherthorn. Some claimed he was Featherclaw, though. Not even Feather-claw-thorn knew. It was annoying. It's almost as annoying as this stuffy medicine den. Plus, some of the herbs seemed to give him weird nightmares of an earthquake and more random cats and a prison cave thing. A sigh startled him. It was a Feather thing. His eyes spoke of regret. “I'm so sorry, Redpaw…” he said. “Your leg will never recover properly... you'll have to limp on it for the rest of your life.” Redpaw almost choked. For the rest of his life? He growled, turning away from Feather and burying his head into his nest. “But you'll be able to train. There once was a deputy, Deadfoot, whose front leg was just as badly twisted as yours,” he said gently. “He would have been leader had he not died in a battle with BloodClan.” He glanced up and simply said one word: “When?” “In roughly two days.” Something like curiosity was in his eyes, and Redpaw couldn't help but wonder why. Redpaw smirked, climbing out of the den and into the territory. His red eyes glowed in the moonlight as he set down his leg. “AAHHHHHGGH!” he whined, quickly slipping his vest and pretending to have adjusted it wrong. “I must have rolled onto my leg... sorry, Featherthorn...” he said, wincing from the pain. “Here, I'll get you some poppy seeds,” Feather-dude said, handing him some poppy seeds. He reluctantly chewed the horrid-tasting seeds. Sure enough, soon the pain subsided. He wanted to sleep, but even the poppies couldn't help him rest. He sighed. He wished Bloodclan didn't exist, He wished he didn't have to run. He wished his mother was here. Back to the barn- with tough and rough and blue and dew and runner and gunner and Ted. He was Ted's match. Red and Ted. And his mother. And his pa. And the rest of the group. And the occasional visits from family who had left to go make their own life. The crunchy, dry hay instead of the weird moss he kept sinking into. He wanted to be back with his siblings, cousins, and friends. Running around, and all 7 of them getting into trouble. He remembered his first fresh kill and how the rats' taste filled his mouth with open glory. The way the rivers comforted him when he wasn't sure. Now, all those rivers did was make him feel like the water was caving in on him again, and his paw was caught between those rocks, twisted and turning. He just wanted to simply turn back time. Most importantly; Go home.
