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Tom | Warrior | 12 moons
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Everything had happened too fast. Before Polkastrike knew it he was a warrior, a full warrior of WindClan with siblings who up until a few weeks ago he had forgotten existed. In retrospect he should've known that it wasn't the last he was seeing of Adder. He should've been prepared during his vigil, maybe then Rowanstar wouldn't have lost a life and maybe then he could've actually defended his friends and family like he intended.
Polkastrike refused to make that same mistake again. The once happy apprentice now seemed slightly paranoid, jumping at every small sound and whipping his head to face the entrance every time he heard someone enter. He felt as if Adderstrike was constantly watching him and there was nothing he could do about it. The only thing that brought him any comfort were his siblings. Especially his sister, despite the scar that had been inflicted by Adderstrike, Polka still saw his mother each time he saw his sister. It wasn't just the fact that she looked like her, Polkastrike was even certain that she sounded
like her. She was kind and sweet, everything he had remembered about his mother.
The young warriors eyes found their way over to his sisters familiar tortie pelt, and they lingered there for a moment. Polkastrike tried to imagine a life where Dashingwind had never died, where they all lived happily ever after as a family and grew up together in WindClan. His sisters head turned, revealing the scar across her face and that only served to shatter the illusion. Their perfect family was just that, imaginary.
Polkastrike made his way over to his sister, placing himself beside her. "Hey Swiftpaw, we should go on a border patrol together, I can show you around a bit more."
He offered. Up until this point had hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Swiftpaw one on one. It was nice.
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