Birchpaw didn't want to admit he was happy.

His rational mind seethed against it. Everything he professed to know about himself shouted that he should be trembling, begging for home, fearing for the scorn of his clanmates or his sister's concern, but he... wasn't. He felt liberated, as if he had spent his whole life in a small, dank-smelling cave so narrow that it touched his shoulders on both sides, and now all of those restraints had been taken from him and he had slipped out into the light.

He strode from the makeshift den Sleetpaw and he had created, haphazardly, in the dead of night. It was a few sticks slumped against a tree with some leaves thrown over it, but there hadn't been much threat of rain or predators, so there was no reason to care. Sleetpaw was still in the den, his stomach swelling with the morning air. The tom tended to twitch in his sleep, not obnoxiously as his siblings did, with the intent of taking up space, but rather in quick convulsions, like he was sneezing. Birchpaw felt a purr rise in his throat, which rose to join the clamor of morning noise and fell out as the world quieted around him. The morning was patches of silence interspaced with birdcall and cricketsong, pausing only for heartbeats, shifting like water. He thought he might be able to sit and listen forever, were it not for their journey.

Sleetpaw got to his own paws, stretching out, and his tongue curled as he let out a kit-like yawn, shrill at the ends. Birchpaw blinked, and then Sleetpaw was smiling, and they were both unreasonably pleased with themselves. Sleetpaw's head jerked towards the horizon, around the long side of RyeClan's territory, and Birchpaw nodded, still watching Sleetpaw. The two of them set out, side by side, scanning the air for prey.They were far off RyeClan's territory that they had a good radius for hunting, but it would serve them both best to be wary and to stay oriented. Birchpaw was far from hungry, but Sleetpaw's stomach grumbled with discontent.

The tom looked at him abashedly and mewed, "I'll go get something. For both of us."

"That's fine." Birchpaw said. "Don't wander too far towards the fields. If we cross RyeClan borders again, they're going to come after us."

Sleetpaw nodded stiffly, and a brief spell of discomfort fell over both toms at the thought of it. The white tom added, tail low and eyes insistent, "You don't think our clanmates are in trouble, do you? For us?" When Birchpaw didn't respond, Sleetpaw quickly added, "We'll explain everything when we come back. Of course."

"Right," Birchpaw responded, looking away from his companion. "When we come back."

Sleetpaw nodded gratefully and slunk out of view, towards the forests on their right. The cover of the trees went on for quite some time in either direction, but they were flat, which was disorienting. Furthermore, no matter how long you walked through them, the river never appeared in the distance. A stream trickled lazily through the woods far away enough that the sound was no longer audible, but Birchpaw and Sleetpaw had moved away on purpose due to the thick rogue stench that filled the area.

Birchpaw watched their den for a while before swiping one of the support sticks over, which caused the entire structure to crumple down, crushing their bedding. Then, he began dispersing their former home into the underbrush. These sticks had been good, but it would be far more trouble than it was worth to drag them along with them to their next den, and it would attract all kinds of unsavory company. Better to return their home to nature and start anew tonight. Birchpaw sat in the wreckage, batting a leaf about, waiting for Sleetpaw to return, but the tom remained nowhere to be seen. At least, Birchpaw got up, tasted the air for his companion's scent, and followed him into the woods.

The air was rich with birdsong and rustling in the undergrowth. Birchpaw bet he could hold out a paw and something would run right into it, so what could be taking Sleetpaw so long? Birchpaw edged through the brambles and found his companion's silver tail sticking out of a bush in a nearby clearing. He crept towards him, slowly and quietly as he could muster, and

Sleetpaw sprung. There was a fierce caterwauling in the bushes, and Sleetpaw jumped back out with another cat on his paws.

"That's not a rabbit," stated Sleetpaw.

The cat, who was lean and scrappy as a fox, with the tufted, ragged fur to match, cackled. Sleetpaw began apologizing profusely beneath his breath, and the tom, undeterred by the surprise attack, merely said, "Unfortunately for you, no, I'm no rabbit. Name's Garial, an' I was a kittypet far from here before my owners moved, then I got turned loose. It's been a lifetime of adventure, sure, but I'm happy to settle down. These valleys are rife with friendly folk, long as you stay far from the river, an' even more full of prey."

"- so, so sorry. It won't happen again." Sleetpaw finished.

"Don't be. I'm honored you think I have enough meat on my bones to be worth chasing," joked the elderly tom. "What would your names be, kits? You look a little young to be travelling on your lonesome."

"Are you clan cats?" Garial asked. "Lookin' a little gray and scrappy."

"We're not from RyeClan. Most ShallowClan cats look more like us," Sleetpaw explained, pushing his chest out. "They're fierce, slippery, and deadly!"

"No need to show off to me. I'm not going to mess with the likes of you." Garial said. "Clan cats've been taking lives, lately. Us rogues can only keep retrating back towards the marshes."

"We're passing through peacefully, promise." Birchpaw said. "We're looking for my mom. She's a Starkeeper."

"So that's why... well, you've got a Starkeeper's traveller's eyes, that much is certain. Those cats travel the whole world. They know no territory, no allegiance, and thankfully no evil. If they wanted, they should swarm us lesser sects below, maybe even yer odd new 'clans' that popped up a few generations ago... but they travel alone instead, pop home, head out again. Aye, the Starkeepers are an odd lot. Good luck dealin' with the likes of that." Garial smiled, rolling his old shoulders as he turned to depart. "I wish you safe passage."

"Are all the other rogues nice as you are?" asked Sleetpaw.

"Not to clan cats." Garial snarled, revealing a mouth half-full of teeth. The two toms' tails puffed out, startled, and Garial smirked, shaking his head. "Wherever you came from doesn't mean a thing out there. Do no harm and no harm will be done to you."

"Thank you," the toms said, in unison, and Garial departed back into the brush.

"Wish the clans were like that," Birchpaw said.

Sleetpaw nodded.

"Thank the stars he was nice."

"Mhm. Now I'm really hungry, though." Sleetpaw said.

"I'm not a good hunter," Birchpaw said. "I barely trained before I left."

"I'm alright," bragged Sleetpaw.

"You're good at everything," Birchpaw whispered.

Sleetpaw smiled. "If you insist."

Sleetpaw and Birchpaw hunted together that morning, the older apprentice demonstrating proper footfall to prevent other animals from detecting ones presence, how to best go about catching each kind of prey, and by twilight they'd made significant headway in location and training. Birchpaw held a thick squirrel in his mouth, while Sleetpaw had a finch, and they had a mouse apiece buried close enough that it they could retrieve it the next morning without wasting much time. The two of them strode through open field together, far past even the wildest imaginations of the RyeClan cats, save for a single, stale scent. Birchpaw breathed it in, sensing two intermingling cats, and his heart lept when he realized that they were both toms as well.

Sleetpaw watched the stars overhead, and then his head tilted towards the mountains to their left. They loomed heavy in the distance, a constant reminder of how far they had left to go, but Birchpaw couldn't muster up disappointment.

He sat next to Sleetpaw, wind rustling their fur, and though the leafbare chill had long since blanketed the land the two of them felt warm. Sleetpaw inched closer and at last the two of them touched, a gentle brush, and Birchpaw felt himself twitch.

"Don't," Birchpaw hissed, suddenly.

Sleetpaw withdrew from his side. "Are you..."

"I just don't like being touched," Birchpaw scrambled to explain. "I don't know, I- I don't know. It's just-"

"Sorry." Sleetpaw said.

Birchpaw felt guilt prickle up his spine. "You don't have to be sorry, either. You didn't know. Even my sister forgets sometimes, that I'm... weird." he said.

Sleetpaw almost bent in again, then drew back, opting for a tail flick and a wide grin instead to lighten the mood between them. "Can Poppypaw hold anything in her brain besides fluff?"

"She's smarter than she looks," Birchpaw said.

"As smart as you?"

Birchpaw's ears burned, "I'm not very... I mean, whatever I am, it's not good enough. Poppypaw is fast, she's determined, she's- nothing gets in her way! Nothing scares her!

I'm worried she'll come after me and drag me back," Birchpaw admitted.

"Sisters." scoffed Sleetpaw. "Try living with Quailpaw. She practically sits on top of us at all times. She's so mean."

The two of them resumed their silence, consuming their prey and enjoying the cloudless sky. At last, Birchpaw said, "Thank you for coming with me." Birchpaw said. "I'm glad to have you by my side. I don't think I could do this alone."

Sleetpaw's eyes glittered with starlight. The tom said nothing, as there was nothing to be said, and the two of them returned to their makeshift den.

Birchpaw slept well that night, but his dreams were no longer separate from his days- in both, all he did was running, running free over an endless expanse of land with Sleetpaw by his side, never touching yet close enough that their scents intertwined into a story only they would ever know.