Stormtalon openly scoffed at the medicine cat, though the patterned fur of his pelt lay flat. His eyes flickered in embers of green, but Storm betrayed no anger or irritation, instead using the sardonic, natural curve of his jaw to regard Fawn with cold amusement. Fawnsqueak wasn’t going to rile him up. It took more than that to coerce an emotional response, and in all truth, he didn't believe the reddish-brown tom was capable of it.

But the opposite was true for Fawn, apparently, as Storm had burrowed his way under the medicine cat’s skin with exemplary ease.

Nosy, he thought, definitely nosy.

“You’re right. I don’t know much about pouring effort into pointless, self-indulgent, unasked for investigations. How exciting to meet an expert in the field.” Storm’s tone morphed to something more closely resembling their banter at camp, words said more to test the other’s boundaries, their fortitude, than any other reason. Even if the tom did mean everything he said.

Did Stormtalon think what Fawn investigated was interesting? …Of course he did. Secretly, it was part of the reason Storm agreed to accompany Fawn in the first place, because he wanted to see abandoned ShadowClan territory with his own eyes. Being curious was not the problem; the problem was acting on it in an inefficient, unreasonable way. An admirable quality misapplied.

Fawnsqueak’s only logical justification for this trip was his own meddlesome curiosity, masked under the guise of collecting valuable information that might serve some strategic purpose down the line??? Well, it wouldn’t. Give it some time, and whatever “valuable insights” gained by Fawnsqueak would become small talk of elders and kits. Every cat would know sooner than later.

“Apparently, politics do go over some cats’ heads,” Storm murmured to himself before following the medicine cat once more, padding deeper into the marshes of ShadowClan’s husk. He intentionally made no promises to stop being a jackass. It was his only form of entertainment at this point.

Fawnsqueak was a piece of work, but complaining about it wouldn't change the situation. And it wasn’t like Stormtalon was going to leave him here. He wasn’t extremely bothered, just unimpressed by the medicine cat’s carelessness, but besides that-- the tabby kept his agreements.

Despite himself, when the toms made their way into the ghost-camp of the shadowcats, Storm’s annoyance began to fade. He started to observe little haunting details that were, in all honesty, fascinating. Like the scuff marks in the earth where WindClan claws might have torn into ShadowClan flesh. The empty dens, the hollow area nearby Storm assumed was something like a fresh kill pile.

“I wonder how long it’ll be till Icestar retaliates,” Storm said aloud, then instantly regretted it. StarClan, he was being suckered in.