She still had no idea what she was doing here. She had wanted to join the clans, even dreamed of it for so many moons. Now that she was finally here and a part of the clan she didn't have a mouse pelt of what was going on. Last week one of the kits had tried to excitedly tell her stories she didn't understand in the slightest. The next day she went sniffing around the elders den only to be chased off by a grumpy elder yowling about ticks. That was Pickles' first encounter with mouse bile and she had no desire to repeat it again. The brown she-cat stretched in a patch of warm sunlight, yawning big. There hadn't been much out there on her own anyways, so at least she wasn't alone anymore. Ever since her mother died and her litter mates disappeared one by one she had struggled more and more on her own. A few had decided to become house cats, but Pickles never had a taste for their food and did not enjoy being touchy by the large, wet creatures. "Maybe I'll go for a hunt," she mused aloud, shrugging her shoulders and heading out into Summerclan territory. She was a Summerclan warrior. This is what warriors did... right?