Closed Thread [Closed] Dreaming of Feathers...

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettlepaw's nights had been sleepless in most regards since the troubling incident of Duckfeather's demise right at the end of his paws. A lesser cat might have been disturbed about how it all happened, that maybe her death could have been prevented - but there wasn't anything he could do but watched her body's life seep from her, like water evaporating in a shallow pool. Since the incident his dreams had been afflicted, each scenario a bit different from the last. If they were omens of comfort or torment he couldn't entirely be sure, but tonight was no different.

The lanky cream tom stirred in his nest lined with moss and mouse fluff. He always spent meticulous time making sure his nest was comfortable and clean, but it brought him no respite. His paws itched for motion, and he was sure he could neaten their stock of herbs, or fuss over their placement, but before he could decide for himself his pale blue eyes flickered to the den's entrance. His head lifted, nostrils confirming the stranger's presence. Coldgaze. His eyes narrowed slightly in the darkness of the tunnels, more curious than accusatory. It would have been more inconvenient to have been woken up.

A small yawn peaked his jaws before he rose delicately from his nest, making extra sure not to disturb Willowfrost, who was more or less a deeper sleeper. He met the deputy at the entrance of their sleeping den, and pushed by him as he tried to lead him more towards their stock of herbs, closer to the sickroom. There was little explanation needed between them after everything they had endured, and his rather brisk greeting was uttered softly.

"So you couldn't sleep either, huh? Well... What can I do for you, Coldgaze." Nettlepaw, at least compared to his brother, thought himself very mature for his age. His duties kept him eternally busy, far too busy to socialize with his clan. Willowfrost needed tending too just as much due to her failing eyes nowadays...

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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If Coldgaze had spoken, Nettlepaw seemed not listening. Instead he headed purposefully to the herbs to seek desired distraction. He did not want to dwell on anything besides his duties. Starclan had seen his potential, and he had every intension of living up to that. His tail was stiff as he settled on his haunches in front of the herb storage, pausing to reflect on each by smell as Willowfrost had taught him. She would understand the importance of scent as much as sight, and he followed her example - learning these herbs inside and out.

He only stopped once the silence was broken. He felt his hackles straighten against his spine - moved by his words, although he felt as cold as the deputy's name. He slowly inhaled, breath surprisingly steady as he finally turned to look at him fully as if he were really there. Eyes hard, the apprentice whispered, although it was more like a hiss. "Duckfeather was an optimal warrior; she was strong, healthy, she had a litter of kits - the ultimate gift for one's clan. She deserved a dignified death - not, n-not that!" The tom might have implied that not every cat was worthy of such, but for his dame and all her accomplishments, he couldn't imagine why Starclan had taken her in such a way.

He steadied himself after another moment of silence, fur smoothing over as neatly as it had risen. Icy calm fell upon him, and turned towards the herbs again, peering through the darkness and smelling where his sight failed him. It was good practice...

"Dreams are powerful things if you're blessed enough to remember them... let alone dechipher. I've been having them too as of late. Even as a kit, mine have always been vivid, if not cryptic. Starclan doesn't measure in absolutes."

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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While the apprentice didn't seem very attentive, he listened carefully to Coldgaze's dream. He tried to picture what the other tom had seen, and he felt himself shiver as if he imagined the water rising up to meet him. Drowning in one's thoughts, so to speak. Once Nettlepaw had arranged a dried pile of thyme appropriately and fussed a bit over a spilled leave or two, he stilled from his work.

He nodded slowly with each description, pausing to ponder, and blinking back at him. The idea of suffocating in the endless stream of rising water was a bit chilling, but there was little question as to what was bothering his deputy. The fact that he revealed his dreams to him was a strange comfort, unable to fully describe. It was as if the tom trusted him, and he wanted to respect that trust.

"Go on..." He bade, if a bit sharply. Nettlepaw, while skilled in his own right, wasn't the warmest when it came to his bedside manner. Willowfrost was the more calming of the two cats, even when she didn't roll in lavender. He found himself studying the tom as if he were some foriegn animal - fascniated about the emotion, however small, that plagued his thoughts. Few things could move the stoic deputy and had been hit, perhaps, equally if not harder by his loses.

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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In the warming darkness of the tunnels Nettlepaw absorbed the fallacies of emotion, or lack there of. No doubt it ate at them like fleas, biting where one could only scratch without ever finding the source. But there was hope for them, as the apprentice would reveal soon. Head tilting back at the deputy, there was no hiding intent as he stared directly at him.

"Listen... Tonight I dreamed I was wrapped in a storm that followed me. The storm grew bigger, encompassing the camp and I could hear the calls of my clanmates as they tried to reach me. I knew that if I stayed, the storm could destroy everything - so I wandered out into the wilderness that stretched in around me. I ran and ran from the storm until, breathless, I came across a pond where the sunlight shone down from the darkness that threatened to consume everything. In that pond a single, sunny duck splashed around, happy in its existence and oblivious to the horrors around it."

He paused, strictly to observe the silence. Perhaps to detect if something, or someone might be listening. Blinking at the tom, he sat on his haunches, fringed tail coiling around his white paws on his otherwise cream ticked body. "To live is to struggle. While life is punctuated by joy, living is assuredly full of suffering despite even a medicine cat's 'best intentions'. Splashpelt... Duckfeather... They are in a better place now. They are happy and at peace in Starclan's starry embrace. Life here is short... and our loved ones shouldn't have to look down and see us suffering in such a way, not when living can be so tough to begin with."

In a way Nettlepaw had evolved to escape the utter monotone of warriorhood, but now lived to tend to his clan's woes and, likewise, ease whatever suffering he could. Remembering this, he recalled his training, and motioned towards the herb stores. "If you need it, I can give you a poppy seed to help you sleep. Maybe I should have one too."

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettlepaw would have gladly given the seeds if needed, although sleeplessness was a multi-headed beast. Treating the symptoms was one thing, but elevating the cause was the main concern of a medicine cat. Hopefully his advice was well taken, and before long Coldgaze returned to the stoic cat he knew him to be. He gave a sleepy nod, deciding to pass on the poppy himself too. Perhaps the deputies insight had given him a bit of confidence as well. "Yes, you're right. There will be much to do. Good night, Coldgaze." He mewed softly before he shifted, turning back to his nest and circling the mossy divot. It wasn't long before his eyes fluttered closed, even breathing finally. Sleep came.