russetstrike's evening

Russetstrike stretched on the rock, her pelt drinking in the gentle fire of the greenleaf sun. She didn’t want to move one bit, she was perfectly fine staying in the sun, preparing for the cold chills of leaf-fall and leafbare that were moons to come. To her dismay, the ShadowClan deputy padded over to her, with something like amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Enjoying the sun, Russetstrike?” the deputy meowed.

“I am, Cragheart,” she replied with a flick of her tail. “Are you secretly plotting to steal my spot in the sun as soon as I get up?”

Cragheart purred. “Not at all! The sun’s rays are all around us. The only plot is RiverClan and ThunderClan fighting over a bunch of rocks.”

“I’ll never understand why they fight over rocks, for StarClan’s sake! Like, couldn’t they find their own Sunningrocks?” she meowed, sitting up.

Another purr rumbled in the deputy’s throat. Then he plastered on a serious face. “Yes, but that’s not why I was here. I want you to join the dusk patrol later. Do you think you can do that? Stormfeather’s leading the patrol.”

“Of course!” Russetstrike meowed eagerly. “What kind of patrol?”

“Border patrol,” Cragheart replied instantly.

Her whisker’s quivered. “You can count on me, Cragheart! I’ll be there at dusk, sharp!”