Ask to Join Better Be Ready

Tiptoe through the murk and mire
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He exhaled sharply, standing stiff legged where he’d landed after their last bout. His chest rose and fell with steady, measured breaths, but the tension in his shoulders never quite left. The cold air felt sharp in his lungs but it was nothing compared to the hollow gnawing weight still curled up inside him.

Heronsong called for a break, and Duskpaw hesitated. Stopping meant thinking. Stopping meant remembering. His whiskers twitched as he forced himself to sit, though his tail flicked restlessly behind him. "Alright." He muttered, rolling one sore shoulder before glancing at Heronsong. She was watching him, and he didn’t like the way her gaze lingered.

"What’s there to discuss?" He asked, dragging his claws lightly through the dirt. "I was dodging fine. My footwork was solid." His voice was even, but there was something edged beneath it.

Tiptoe through the murk and mire
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Duskpaw's ears flicked at Heronsong’s praise, but he didn’t relax. His tail still twitched, and his gaze stayed fixed on the ground where his claws traced shallow lines in the dirt. It made sense to reply to his mentor though, and he managed.

"Yeah..." He said after a moment, his voice flat. "I’ll work on it."

Normally, he might have felt something at her words - pride, satisfaction, maybe even a flicker of smugness. But now, they just felt distant, like they were meant for someone else. Someone who cared. He wasn't really sure what to make of this training, if openings would have mattered for the she-cat who had died needlessly.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and finally looked up at Heronsong. "Openings aren’t always obvious. Not every fight is clean. If I miss one, I’ll just have to make another." Duskpaw moved to slip passed Heronsong, the tip flicking just a bit as he inquired. "Should we go again?"

Tiptoe through the murk and mire
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Duskpaw’s ear flicked at the question, but he didn’t answer right away. He knew what Heronsong was doing. He wasn’t stupid. "I said I’m fine." He muttered, but this time, it lacked the sharp certainty he wanted it to have. He swallowed, shifting his weight, claws pressing into the dirt before lifting again.

For a moment, he looked past her, past the clearing, past now - but when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "I just..." His whiskers twitched, and he let out a breath, shaking his head like he could shake the thought loose. "It’s nothing. I just keep thinking - would I have made a difference if I got there sooner?" His shoulders tensed, ears flattening briefly before he forced them up again. Was his own father safe out there? "Probably doesn't matter. Doesn't seem like anything really does anymore."

His jaw tightened, and he looked back at her, guarded but searching, like he almost wanted her to have an answer. 

Tiptoe through the murk and mire
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Duskpaw’s ears flicked at her words, and for a moment he stayed still as if weighing them against the heavy, gnawing doubt in his chest. He wanted to believe her. That they would figure it out. That justice was something real, something that actually mattered. But it hadn’t stopped Whisperingwind from bleeding out alone in the cold.

His jaw clenched, and he let out a slow breath. "Justice doesn’t change anything." His voice wasn’t bitter, just quiet. "She’s still dead."

Her tail against his shoulder was a warmth he hadn’t expected, and he almost flinched before forcing himself to stay still. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that - not in sparring, not in passing, but just to be there.

His claws dug into the dirt, his shoulders tense beneath her touch. "What if we don’t figure it out?" He met her gaze now, something raw behind his guarded stare. "What if nothing we do makes a difference? Or worse, more cats end up dying?"