[friends on the other side] hera

Hera was in an unusually volatile mood, having just been chased from ThunderClan territory by an unexpected patrol within a few hours of venturing there from her ShadowClan haunts. She sulked, padding sullenly in no particular direction with large, silent steps. She knew she had spoiled herself lately, approaching first a nervous loner who wouldn't have had the nerve to attack even a kit, then later a small ThunderClan apprentice who was out without backup. She had let her guard down too much and ran headlong into a hostile patrol. Her skin stung with numerous fresh claw marks, including one from ear to muzzle that would surely leave a scar; they were her payment for allowing herself to be caught unawares by the enemy. Naturally, she couldn't just walk away from Clan land, even for a moment. The rogue thrived on the fact that she lived and hunted by wandering the Clan territories, hardly stepping outside their borders unless she had an appointment with a loner. Sprinting across a  stonepath, or Thunderpath as the  Clans called them, she was sure she would shred the first cat who looked at her wrong.

Hera thought back to very early that morning, trying to remember who was in the patrol. She had been napping on their Snakerocks, sure she still had an hour left until the first patrol came by. Being such a light sleeper had probably saved her life, as she heard them just as they first smelled her. Two ThunderClan toms charged out of the trees followed closely by a molly, all spitting mad and ready to fight. Their hostility was by no means unwarranted; an unnamed rogue had been a soecter on their borders for many months. She flitted at the blurry edge of the Clans' nearsighted vision, never clearly seen or heard, leaving only traces of footsteps and hints of a scent. Almost every Clan warrior would know her by scent, and would attack on sight.


The trio of warriors streamed towards Hera, who knew it was too late to flee. She stood her ground, engaging first the largest tom. He leaped at her but, lightning-fast, she ducked under his leap and threw his body to the side with both paws and a quick heave. Unexpectedly, he found his hind legs thrown sideways and he crashed to a hard landing, momentarily stunned. Taking advantage of the time, Hera whirled past the molly's defenses to gash the side of her neck. Glancing back at the bigger tom, who was still down, she tripped up the other, receiving a collection of scratches to her person in the process. She turned to escape past the recovering tom only to discover the molly, who was much swifter than excpected. Her claws flashed in exactly the wrong spot, lacerating the right side of Hera's face from the base of her ear to her muzzle; it just barely curved around her eye. Blinded by blood and pain, Hera's hasty retreat included multiple more wounds. 


The long gash still weeped blood in  the rogue's matted fur as she crossed back over tthe ShadowClan border, lending a dangerous hand to her appearance. Only minutes into the dark terrain, a fresh cat scent caught her  attention. Ignoring the lingering pain from several hours ago, she focused on identifying the threat. With another whiff, Hera could tell it was a ThunderClan tom, quite nearby by the freshness of the trail. She instinctively crouched as if stalking prey, expertly silencing her footsteps as she crept. There seemed to be no other cats in the area, and possibly her battle-torn look at the moment would deter any attacks. Ahead, she thought she glimpsed a black pelt in an overgrown cluster of bramble, looking in the wrong direction. Shifting her position until the wind was on her side, she approached the tom with a call, "Expecting someone?"

Hera almost managed some excitement at the prospect of a new plaything, but intuition told her this tom would have none of it. In fact, the way her luck was going, he would hardly even let her get a word in through flashing claws. Many clan cats seemed to become lax with their policy of chasing away rogues on sight, but not all. Some wouldn't  even give her the courtesy of a conversation, usually the big grumpy ones who she could easily evade. Speaking of which, this tom was quite far off the beaten paths in ShadowClan territory. Looking for rogues like her, possibly? That wouldn't bode well. She didn't relish the thought of another real fight, whether she won or not.

At the sound of her voice, he slid into view with a snarky reply: "Running a little bit late, aren't you Princess?" She knew those tactics far too well to play along; it wouldn't be that easy to get a rise out of her if he wanted to. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of bristling, Hera merely offered a condescending smile in response. Meanwhile, she got a good look at the warrior. He wasn't solid black as she had originally assumed, bit rather a dark brown-black mix accented by bright eyes. Even better, he was so small! She highly suspected he would be touchy about that and so filed it away for future reference.


All in all, with the annoyed look he now wore, he just looked like an impatient apprentice. It was honestly sort of cute how close the resemblance was, even though she knew well not to underestimate even a runt. With a judging look at her wounds, he snapped at her again. "Looks like you've been making all kinds of friends so I'm going to make it short and sweet: Get your mangy tail to the other side of the border and raid someone else's prey." She smirked at the assumption that she would go quietly. Just because she was in no shape for battle didn't mean she would swallow her stubbornness and leave on request. Rather, she planted herself impudently on the ground and began to lick her wounds, all the while keeping one watchful eye on her opponent. After a pause, she practically dared him to make the first move, perhaps not the best idea in her position. "I don't think you understand, bud, I don't take orders from fussy midgets with attitude problems. I'm not in the mood for it at all. Besides, didn't anyone ever teach you that rogues are dangerous? You shouldn't be out here all by yourself..." She hesitated, looking around as if searching for something. Where's your mentor anyways?" She added innocently, if it was possible for her to do anything innocently, knowing full well how much that was likely to get under his skin.

If Hera had learned anything in her years alone, it was that a well placed taunt could turn the tide of a conversation. It could ignite tempers, or defuse a tense exchange, and she had picked up just how certain types of cats reacted to certain things. Almost sny clan cat would be offended at being called a kit or a kittypet, whereas many kittypets objected to being considered trained and soft. Even the laziest, most compliant kittypet still kept some buried wild instincts deep down. After all, they must have come from somewhere, and where if not from the wild? In this case, prodding a physically healthy and angry potential enemy was not the smartest plan, but Hera wasn't about to back down. That was what got her in trouble in the first place, might as well see it through to the painful end. Her scratches smarted as she licked them, still exuding a calm demeanor, and she wiped blood out of her eyes multiple times. Underneath, she was prepared for fight or flight at the slightest sign. Most likely the former.