Miststone’s legs ached, and she couldn’t figure out why. Like any other diligent warrior, she had been hunting and patrolling everyday, scouring the edges of ShoreClan’s vast territory, keeping ears pricked for the sound of intruders or prey, and marking the borders when necessary. She took a pride in her efficiency, took pride in being able to serve her clan as well as she did. And for most of her warrior life, she had performed those tasks effortlessly.

Now, it was a struggle to even return home after a hunting trip. The ache in her leg persisted, groaning and creaking whenever she applied pressure to her muscles. She soldiered through, of course—she wasn’t going to let a cramp prevent her from her work—but she did find herself out of breath, by the time she made it to camp. As she dropped her bird on the fresh-kill pile, she glanced up at the medicine den, wondering whether she should see someone. 

She decided not to. 

As she went to pick out fresh-kill to eat, she noticed Jellyfishstar approach.