"Newleaf is beautiful, isn't it?"

A bird screeched in terror and exploded in a flurry of wings and feathers, landing on a branch high in an old oak tree to squawk indignantly at the sleek predator marching her way through the undergrowth, though the tiny she-cat would hardly count herself a vicious and ruthless predator. She paused in her movements, tilting her head up to stare at the bird, body loose and relaxed while the small creature screamed of the coming rapture and end of all life. Or so you'd think.

"OhhushIhaven'tthetimeforyou." She breathed under her breath, not even differentiating her words. Mostly it came out as a soft slur with a shake of her head. She wasn't out here in the middle of the forest, only an hour or so before sunset, to hunt. It was new-leaf, and the young leader wasn't concerned with feeding her clan. Prey was plentiful, and hunting parties had been in and out all day, each time bringing back a feast to add upon the fresh kill pile. For once, it meant Littlestar could breath, it meant she could take a nice walk in her territory- screeching and complaining prey or not- and think. Newleaf is beautiful, isn't it? Prey is plentiful, yes, but flowers bloom, the sun is warm, the water sparkles. Peace is everywhere. She could take a moment to enjoy it, couldn't she?

She pushed through the low bushes and tangling brambles, to find herself in the training grounds. The mossy ground beneath her paws gave way to sandy, dusty earth, warmed by the sun from the long day, though now the dappled light was weak and turning dim. The sun was truly beginning it's decent, though she was in no rush to return. One-eye would handle evening patrols. Her warriors would keep the clan safe. She inhaled harshly, and threw herself to the soft, sun-warmed sand with an audible "oof."

For a long while, she laid, eyes shut tight, and slowly unwound. How many moons had it been since she became leader? She supposed not many, though she already felt it had been a lifetime- and she hadn't even had to pull the clan through any hardships. It made her feel weak and pathetic, being so drained from barely doing more than any warrior. What had changed so quickly? Was it the way the senior warriors still ridiculed her? Was it the way some apprentices gave her looks as if she was a mere kit and they held more rank? Or could it be the sympathetic look she received from her parents at least once a day? She knew they worried for her, she worried for herself, but she wanted everyone to believe in her, not pity her- the way her friends did. One-eye saw a leader who gave him another chance. Oakfang knew there was some reason she was chosen. Blackclaw... just always had. She huffed another sigh and opened her eyes, rolling on to her belly and pulling her paws beneath her, tail flicking lazily as she stared up in to the green canopy above. Self pity would also get her nowhere, she'd have to toughen up if she wanted to be a good leader. In this moment though, she'd allow it, if only a little, if only to decompress and just be a cat, not a leader who felt she had the world on her shoulders.

Blackclaw

I DON'T THINK THAT IT'S GONNA RAIN AGAIN TODAY — THERE'S A DEVIL AT YOUR SIDE BUT AN ANGEL ON HER WAY.

The newleaf air was filled with all Blackclaw's favourite scents: grass, dark earth, mouse and the faint tang of salt blown in from the sea. It had been a busy day, too: every hunting patrol seemed more successful than the last, all that fresh-kill going straight to the kits, mothers and elders of the clan. They'd survived the cold, somehow, and leafbare was behind them again—and in spite of all the grumbling ThunderClan seemed so prone to these days, they were flourishing. All those naysayers could just go and chew their own paws. His former mentor, with her own teeth and claws, had pulled this clan kicking and screaming behind her. Well! All that poached food those rotten ShadowClanners were getting off ThunderClan land hadn't diminished ThunderClan's own freshkill pile even a little.

And after all this upkeep, Blackclaw was exhausted, as he always was in the evening: a warm, comfortable ache had filled his overworked muscles from his weary paws to his throbbing shoulders and hips. This was the natural consequence of a day spent busy. He had taken the dawn patrol with some near-warriors and their mentors, delivered freshkill to the elders, gathered fresh bedding for the medicine cat, stopped to wolf down some freshkill and then dove into the sunhigh hunting patrol. Then that had abruptly turned into another border patrol when Badgerpelt scented RiverClan uncomfortably close to the border and told One-eye, and then somehow a scouting party was arranged to make sure there would be no trouble on the sunset patrol. He made sure Badgerpelt had gone through One-eye first. The idea of going behind a deputy's back made him uncomfortable, nearly as uncomfortable as it had been to stand up to his boulder of a sister. Blackclaw was big, sure, but he wasn't hard like Badgerpelt—she had skin as thick as her namesake and a bite to match.

It was with Badgerpelt's warning on his mind, even hours after they had cleared the border and given One-eye the good news, that the warrior caught sight of Littlestar leaving camp. Maybe One-eye hadn't told her yet--he still looked busy, organising the motley crew assigned to the dusk patrol. He recognised her posture, though--she had that collected, measured step and front-and center ears that said move aside, your leader has work to do.
He felt an uncomfortable pang in his chest. Things were different between them since she had become leader. They didn't talk as much, and she seemed to be pulling away from everyone. No-one had treated Rushstar this way: for every cat who disagreed with him there were two more to support him.
So Blackclaw called them selfish motivations that tore him from camp (a few minutes after Littlestar, to avoid questions), that made him flinch at every rustled leaf from his heavy paws. He had fully intended to charge after her as soon as they were out of earshot of camp, but something kept putting him off—a sideways glance, a disturbance in the trees, the little twist of self-doubt in his chest. (He glared daggers at the bird, which seemed to be staring straight at him. 'Shut up! She'll see you!' The black, beady eyes mocked him as he passed.)

She wasn't heading for RiverClan. The training grounds? They'd had so many green-leaf evenings here, when he was green too and a useless lump of fur. She used to correct his stance here—and there, there was the heady-scented heather where he'd made a total mousebrain of himself trying to sneak up on her one day before training. His whiskers twitched with the fragrance and the memories it had knotted itself into. Some of the other warriors loved heather bedding, but its pungent scent made him light-headed. And as Littlestar crumpled onto the sand, an answering thing crumpled in his chest. 'Look, StarClan, this isn't how it was supposed to go.' It wasn't as if this was just a patrol he could take from her shoulders—this didn't have an easy fix. Who could take the weight of ThunderClan from its leader? She was stronger than this, he knew it, the same way he knew a hawk from a sparrow. But muscles can't stay tensed forever. Sooner or later, one way or another, they have to relax, or else seize.

His pawsteps were silent on the light sands, but he wasn't making an effort to go undetected as his heart dragged him out of the wood. As she rolled back onto her paws, he nudged her shoulder affectionately with his muzzle. They were alone, so the gesture felt natural—something he would never have dared with the clan's dissenters tripping over themselves, hunting for any sign of weakness. He noted the loosening of her muscles, the undoing of the taught, professional face she'd worn so long.

"You can't beat them lying down," the tom quipped, recalling the same advice she had dispensed after the first week of training together. He'd been lazy, dragging his heels all morning. She had always known which buttons to push to get him moving again—even if he hadn't shown it at the time. Did she know how wise she was? Did she pay attention to the way the older apprentices sometimes looked at her, like she could take on the world and win?

He folded himself onto the sand next to her, their sides close but not touching, and glanced at her as she glanced at the sky.

OOC: Gah, not much, but we're getting started! Is the quote OK? I should've really asked you if there's something you'd like her to have said </3 consider the above a placeholder--I'll edit if you've got something you'd like better!