One day, he would confront Mottledfur and her irritating habit of using up all the coltsfoot he possessed just to make her paw pads silky smooth. One day, he would demand she fetch her own herbs if she wanted to use up that much for such a banal reason, and good luck to her getting all the way to the waterfall. One day he would stop this nonsense.

Of course, Shadetooth knew that day was unlikely to come any time soon, because he just didn't want to risk the old she-cat trying to link her tail with his, or to wink at him when he was treating her for ticks. Or to lick his face when he wasn't looking.

Again.

Sadly, that meant he had to traipse out to the waterfall yet again so he could pick more of the yellow and white flowers before leafbare completely snuffed them out. Why couldn't that old bat just behave herself? Almost every cat in the Clan was too awed, or just plain afraid, to touch his herb supplies without permission, but no. She helped herself. So off he went, having grumbled his intentions to Ivypaw, and stalked out towards the waterfall without speaking to anyone else, his no-nonsense stride the usual picture of misanthropy and irritability. He collected what he needed efficiently, securing the plants in a tight bunch and locking his jaw around it, marching back the way he had come without delay. He was busier than ever these days.

Any memory he had of a small orange and black kit wandering onto the territory was long since buried in responsibility, medicine and stressful preparation. He had far too much on his plate getting ready for a bitter leafbare and the dark times that seemed to loom over all their heads to wonder whether lost strays got home safely. It was no wonder he had all but forgotten the odd encounter he had had not long before.

So when he saw a small shape nosing at a patch of bushes he had snappily declared totally, completely, utterly and wholly off-limits to everyone except me, it did not register as anything familiar or unfamiliar. All he knew was that ice slithered into his veins, and like the warrior he had once expected to be, he reacted like lightning. The coltsfoot was flung aside, scattering wildly, but Shadetooth cared little. He charged towards the small shape, rage and panic sweeping its way onto his face as he snarled "No!"

He was at the creature's side in seconds, swiping a paw out and striking, but instead of knocking the berries aside he hit the kit, bowling her over before she could take her first sip of death.

"You little fool!" he roared, inspecting the cluster of vibrant red berries and confirming that the wretch was about to unknowingly forge a path straight to whatever the kittypet equivalent of StarClan was. Disgusted, Shadetooth slashed at the soft earth beside the bushes and gouged out a furrow deep enough to thrust the deathberries into, covering them and concealing them from sight and smell. Only then did he take a look at who it was who had nearly cost herself her own life.

"You!"

"It wasn't my food, you stupid creature," Shadetooth snapped bad-temperedly, his glare still ferocious. "It's not anyone's food, except the stupid and the downright suicidal!" He sighed inwardly, knowing there was no point in shouting words she wouldn't understand. He eyed her with vague irritation, his lip curling as the immense bubble of anger slowly receded. Quite quickly he felt almost sorry for the little wretch, and rather guilty for yelling when she was sitting there looking so pathetic and terrified. But who did this kit think he was? Some kind of surrogate father? He had enough problems with the kits in his own Clan, as well as the nightmarish disasters that kept striking them all. This scrap of ginger and black fur was just another misfortune befalling him! StarClan be damned; what was he supposed to do with it? Ignoring her pathetic mewls about being hungry, he eyed her severely, a snarl reappearing at the use of the word Shade. He cringed inside, wondering how the little brat even knew half his name, since he didn't recall ever letting it slip. He hoped nobody else ever got wind of it.

"I told you not to come back to this land! Go back to your mother. Go back to your kittypet home. You don't belong here," he growled, though his voice was significantly less loud and harsh now. He tried to curb the annoyance, reminding himself that it was just a midget of a kit who didn't know better, and that the fastest way to get rid of her would be to persuade her to just go home. And he certainly wanted to be rid of the nuisance before he ended up getting inextricably involved in its bothersome existence. "If you're hungry, then go home. This is not your world, kid."

This world was one that would eat a little lost kit alive. It would be better for everyone if she just went back to where she came from so he could pick up the scattered remains of the coltsfoot that now fluttered in the breeze and go back to camp. How would he ever explain it away if anyone realised he had met a lone kittypet kit not once, but twice, and failed to report it? No, he decided. It would have to go back to where it came from, or they were both in trouble.