Oleanderkit was feeling cooped. Every day was starting to feel the same, and it was draining her. Almost too big for the nursery now, she wanted adventure. The politics of Nightclan were lost on her young mind, but all she knew was that Kier was in charge, he hated mothers, and he was ugly. It was fine, though, because she didn't have a mother and therefore it didn't matter at all if they weren't supposed to mean anything, because that was practically a reality for her already. There'd been less to eat, and she couldn't help but complain loudly. 

She laid on her back in her own lone nest, a messy thing in the corner of the nursery (the entire space was hers, she'd claimed it and anyone who stepped foot in Oleander's Room got a cuff over the ears), fluffy white fur draping around her. She looked at the rest of the nursery upside down until it made her head feel weird, and only then did she turn over onto her stomach. 

Letting out an exaggerated, over the top sigh, she flopped her head onto her paws, "I'm bored! Someone entertain me before I die." She was — what was the word called? — going stir-crazy. But every warrior and apprentice had been so on edge that she hated being outside the nursery at all, so she was left in the company of the other kits for the most part. And Oleanderkit wasn't known as particularly friendly.