Of Temper and Tansies (Dusty)

If he were to be honest with himself, Rabbitfur would have been surprised by the kits reaction to his stiff command; might have paused to give it deeper thought, and perhaps stumbled across certain facts that he wasn’t ordinarily equipped to spot. However, the aging medicine cat was in no mood for such contemplation or honesty, and instead opted to ignore that fleeting glimmer of surprise – to flick it away with a single irate twitch of an ear, and an ease that betrayed the frequency with which he side-stepped such unwelcome trains of thought. The slip didn’t so much as register within his eyes, allowing him to maintain his too-hard stare throughout the long pause that followed and finally – finally – salvage something of his strength and pride.

The openness and vulnerability of the past few moments was gone. Pushed back into the background, the shadows to which it belonged.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t say the same for his ever-observant eyes.

The problem with making a point through stares was the fact that one had to maintain eye contact for such stares to work, which meant that it was all but impossible to avoid noticing certain details about whomever the gaze was centred upon. In Rabbitfur’s case, these details were the very inflections of behaviour that were often so critical to one in his field, and also details that were applying themselves to a wholly unfamiliar context. Truth be told, the tiny tom knew he had an appalling grasp on the social aspect of behaviour and had never been much use at reading any sign that wasn’t connected to his own craft – a fact that had bought him low countless times before – and kits always seemed to be the most complicated of them all. His attempts to read them invariably went awry, and he had long since lost patience with the matter: come to believe that such nuances, unless speaking of injury or disease, weren’t worth his time.

But he couldn’t stop himself from noticing them.

Hawkfeather had seen to that.

The long dead healer had been something of a master at reading their clanmates and had often tried to teach that art to his apprentice, though he’d not had long enough to succeed. Unfortunately, he had had long enough to turn his lessons into a lasting habit, which meant that Rabbitfur couldn’t help picking up on the body language and gazes of his peers when he looked upon them, and couldn’t now avoid noting the way Palekit’s shoulders fell at his too-harsh words. This should have been a good thing, but the fact was that he had never really come to grips with what the signs meant…and it was something of a miracle that he could see the defeat that laced the kits body now.

A miracle, and a fluke.

The tom had barely identified it before he was throwing his initial interpretation aside, assuming, as always, that this gesture was yet one more mysterious signal of another cats disgust; an explanation that was confirmed by the unmoving gold eyes that bored into his own grey stare. Hawkfeather himself had said it: the eyes were the window to a cat’s real thoughts, and it was their look, always their look, that should be taken as the truth of a cats mind. It didn’t even occur to him that he himself was the living proof that this was not always the case, for his one-time mentor had said it, and that meant it must be right. Meant that even he must let more show in his gaze than he thought.

It was upon this gospel that Rabbitfur was inclined to act, and because of it that he was soon lifting his lip in a soundless growl, issuing the last warning he would give before he let his temper loose. The message was clear enough that even a feline who had no knowledge of him or his ways should have had no problem understanding it, and this particular kit, a cat who bothered him more than near any other member of the clan, would have been a fool to ignore its declaration. But he did ignore it. Was too caught up in playing the stubborn little ‘warrior’ to heed those signs that would keep him from further trouble.

In truth, the medicine cat’s expression had shifted but a heartbeat before Palekit had started to speak, leaving him little time to take note of it, but Rabbitfur was already too irate to care. In his mind it was a wilful rebellion, and a crime that would require a nice, sharp tongue lashing to prevent a repeat offence – even if such a tirade might keep the kitten from daring to visit him again. In fact, he was half-convinced that he would welcome such an outcome-

Knew in his heart that he would regret it

Wondered, somewhere beneath it all, why this idiot fluffball was rambling about a herb instead of getting whilst the going was good.

Despite himself, Rabbitfur found that he was faintly curious. It was often that one so young showed any interest in herbs, and he sensed that this was something that he should, perhaps, make some vague effort to encourage, if only because it might keep the youngster occupied and out of his den for longer periods of time. More than that, there was always the possibility, however slight, that Palekit had slipped out of camp and come across something of actual use – something that could prove to be important.

Now it was his sense of duty that leapt up to take control. Personal feelings couldn’t be allowed to get in the way of the clans wellbeing, and this was something he knew better than near anyone else – a philosophy that was so engrained within him that it might as well have been an instinct. It was one of the painfully few facets of his nature that had served him extremely well throughout his life, and it was easy for him to give into it. Easy to let it wipe the hostility from his features and bring up a more business-like air, then dredge up equally business-like words.

Unfortunately it was already far too late. The two toms were no longer alone.

The ginger she-cat arrived so swiftly that Rabbitfur had no opportunity to register or decipher her hurrying pawsteps, and even less chance to speak. Worse, he didn’t even have the time to ease the half-snarl from his lips; found his features frozen into a hostile mask by the surprise of her entrance, and the horrific realisation that she would almost certainly have seen it. Would know that the look had been turned upon her son, and, in her none-too-stable state, almost certainly leap to the wrong conclusion.

He shuffled backwards, the hard stare and brief curiosity replaced by barely concealed unease.

Unsurprisingly, the she-cat declined to let either of them greet her, or even respond to her words. Instead she fell into a cascade of scolding and concern that was hardly broken by breath, let alone pause, and filled his usually quiet den with a whirlwind of dizzying noise. Even Rabbitfur, who had faced more than his fair share of hysterical cats, could barely keep up with her talk, and it wasn’t long before he gave up trying completely, instead resigning himself to a distant, unfeeling stare and trying to decipher her meaning using her body alone. He failed, of course, just like he always did-

Until he caught the hissing lilt that laced her words.

There was an accusation there. It wasn’t said outright, but the content of her ramble, and that too-obvious hiss, had made her meaning clear enough, just as it had allowed the connected words to form into some semblance of sense within his whirling mind. Their sharp, unwelcome forms were enough to bring a certain clarity back to his mind and steel to his grey stare, and it wasn’t long before he really was snarling – a low, long, hissing growl that filled the den and bounced back at them from all sides, giving a certain added power to his narrowed eyes.

“If you think my den will make him ill, then perhaps you should stop bringing him here,” his words were clipped; dripped with the venom for which he was so well known. “Or perhaps you think me diseased. Is that it, Heatherstorm? Nasty medicine cat spends all his time alone or round the sick, so there must be something wrong with him, right?” The fur was beginning to rise along his spine now, making him look quite ridiculous – more like an apprentice than ever.

“Can’t leave the little hairball with the filthy healer, can we? He might be hurt – contaminated – is that what you think? Is it?” His body was practically quivering with rage by now, but he made no move to rise from the den floor; merely jerked beneath the force of each emphasised word he spat and glared at the she-cat as if he’d like to shred her – seemed to have forgotten that Palekit was there, and well and truly in the line of fire.

Ooc: I have no idea what this is, or where it came from, but apparently it’s time for Rabbitfur to go off on one. Hope you guys can work with it..

Having swiftly entered the medicine cat’s den roaring, the harried mother hardly had a chance to notice either cat responding to her, let alone that her kit was perfectly fine. While most kits would be embarrassed by the outburst she had had, verbally attacking both the medicine cat and her own kit, Heatherstorm was not. The situation had given her plenty of reason to over-react, if that’s what cats would call this.

Heatherstorm sniffed, curling her tail around her son’s body. She protectively drew him even closer to herself, nuzzling him. In turn, Palekit nuzzled her chest affectionately, likely trying to make it up for her. The contact with her kit slowly steadied her beating heart, reassuring her of his safety. He was not sick; he was not hurt; he was just talking to the medicine cat. As she calmed she finally noted that her kit had also tried to assure her of his safety, and she purred back slightly in response to him. She hoped her outburst hadn’t freaked him out. She didn’t want him to stress himself out. That could cause him to become sick.

Heatherstorm’s gaze shifted from Palekit to the medicine cat, finally noticing that he seemed surprised from her outburst, but definitely not in regret of his actions. She seemed to have made him possibly a bit uncomfortable. But what she noticed the most was that he didn’t even seem to be listening to her. Did he, the medicine cat, who was supposed to be one of the most respected cats in Waterclan, just decide that she wasn’t important enough to listen to? If he wasn’t going to answer, then maybe she would just leave his den with her kit; she had said what she needed to, there was no reason for her to stay.

But when Rabbitfur finally began to answer her cascade of words, she had no choice but to stay.

Heatherstorm narrowed her eyes, her glare full of pure hatred. “I’m sorry, perhaps my words came out in a way they weren’t supposed to. Your den is where the healing takes place. However, you have to see it from a mother’s eyes. I don’t want my kits-I mean kit-to spend time in here anymore than he needs to. He’s just too young. He could get ideas about herbs, and then come back when you aren’t here any eat something that he thought was something else. Can’t you see why I would worry that accidents could happen?”

Heatherstorm now felt as if she was trying to cover her back. She couldn’t make an enemy of Rabbitfur in case her kit became sick again. But, at the same time, she couldn’t just allow him to come in this den any time he wanted. Or spend time with a cat that could harm his impressionable mind.

“I want my kit to spend time being a kit. He should play those kit-hood games that all kits play, albeit supervised, and have no responsibility.”

Heatherstorm stopped and calmed her voice that had begun a steady rise in volume. She couldn’t get worked up again. But Rabbitfur was not making it easy on her.

“I am Palekit’s mother. Therefore, it is up to me to decide who I think is safe or not for him to talk to. You can speak with him all you want as long as it’s in the camp. I just don’t want him to be in here, where he might eat something while you are not watching.” She said, using a much calmer voice compared to Rabbitfur’s, which seemed to be laced with venom.

Heatherstorm’s eyes opened wider in surprise as Rabbitfur basically spat his angry words at her. She immediately drew Palekit even closer to her, using her fluffy tail to try to cover his face from the look of rage and hatred on Rabbitfur’s. She was suddenly realizing it was bad to argue in front of Palekit-it could scar his young mind for his entire life.

Heatherstorm ignored Palekit’s cry, although noting it in her mind that he was listening intently still, and hissed at Rabbitfur. “I don’t want to leave MY KIT with someone who doesn’t respect the fact that he is just that, a kit. I also don’t want you talking to him if you are going to call him something so vulgar. What on earth did he ever do to you?” She exclaimed, her voice dropping into a low, slow hiss, making sure every word would be heard. She could feel, even with herself wrapped around Palekit, the fur on her back standing on edge as she awaited Rabbitfur’s obvious rebuttal. Perhaps to save Palekit from getting any more scarred than this conversation already was she should just make him leave…

OOC: Sorry from about half way on to the end it was very rushed, and I probably made her speak way too much...

As far as Rabbitfur was concerned, the coughing fit could not have been more poorly placed. Though his shortened breath and hacking coughs pressed him into silence before he could say anything even worse than he already had, they also highlighted something of his developing infirmity to a world that wasn’t meant to see it. His body shook beneath the force of the sounds, instantly robbing him of any power he might have seemed to hold – turning him into nothing more than one more elderly, bad tempered cat who was virtually past their time, and knew it. This was a not now a figure to inspire confidence or apprehension, not one to respect for their skills and their role, but rather one to pity and doubt: to meet with scorn and question at every turn.

Waterclan could be forgiven for seeming to want him replaced.

Could not be blamed for wanting an apprentice in his paws, even as they held to the impossibility of such an event.

In his heart Rabbitfur knew and hated this, but at that time, in that place, these things palled in comparison to one other point. The last few moments were catching up to him. His mind and conscience were taking his silence as their opportunity to make him see what had been said, and not even fury could hold back the horror that came in realisations wake. Though he loathed every word that had triggered his tirade and seethed at the suggestions held therein, he knew he could not condone his reference to Redkit. Knew that a line had been crossed, and that there was no taking it back.

Worse, he had not meant it.

The words had spilled from him out of anger alone; had been snatched and used purely to make her feel some semblance of the hurt he felt. The suggestion that the kits loss was Heatherstorms fault had been nothing but a slash where he knew it would hurt most—if anyone was to blame for Redkit, it truly was him—and he could tell, even without looking, that it had done its job well. Too well.

He had not meant it.

But he had said it, and that was enough.

Knowing this, and remembering anew just how damaging mere words could be, Rabbitfur made no effort to rise to the she’s furious response. Though his coughing had finally subsided, and he was capable of speech once more, he chose to hold himself to silence and let her speak just as freely as he had not seconds before. Resigned himself to accepting the consequences – the rage and the blows he had earned – without complaint or fuss, for he knew he could do nothing else.

To his surprise, she didn’t lash out at him. He had braced himself for the weight of a full-sized paw and the sting of unsheathed claws, but Heatherstorm merely drew herself up and restrained herself to rapid-fire words. She merely ranted, revealing how painful a nerve he had struck with his spiteful snarl, and how close she was to an edge that it might not be possible to save her from. In a few heartbeats she managed to compound his guilt and quell his anger, stripping his emotions back to simple pain—pain at his hurt and hers tangled into a single inseparable ball—and robbing him of the strength that had Boyed him not moments before.

Then she paused and breathed; flitted from wrath to startle to something else – something he did not know or understand.

Something connected to the tiny voice that had wriggled into the conflict.

To the sudden pressure against his foreleg.

Rabbitfur immediately glanced down, utterly failing to hide or prevent his startled retreat from the touch. This, like so many other parts of the day, was something with which he was not familiar, for it had been many seasons since he’d sought or received such contact from his clanmates. It was also something that he was briefly unable to interpret, and he couldn’t help but scowl at the kit in response – until he registered the purposefully gentle edge that laced the gesture. Until instinctual knowledge reminded him that this was good and welcome, not something to fear or avoid.

His eyes softened the moment this thread of understanding reached him, but it was a fleeting change. Heatherstorm was not yet done with him, and it wasn’t long before his gaze was upon her again; wasn’t long before that harder edge was back within his features, informing one and all that these newest words had been taken no better than their predecessors.

Fortunately, he refrained from launching into yet one more tirade. Instead, he simply glowered at the she-cat as she sank to the floor of his den; lashed his tail at her assertions and the situation.

“If you think that I am dangerous, that my names are ‘mean’, that I don’t know how frequently kits get into trouble, then you are more Naïve than I thought,” He growled, watching her with obvious displeasure. But it seemed that something between his coughs and the return of his voice had had a somewhat positive effect, for his growl no longer held the venom it had imparted before. It was, instead, a faintly tauter version of the growling tones that were his norm: seemed almost to be making some stab at consideration; taking some notice of Palekit’s lingering presence.

“I am the one who deals with the aftermath of that trouble. If any in this clan know the consequences of kit stupidity, it’s me.” He turned from her then, his gaze briefly flickering towards Palekit, then darting away as if frightened to see how he might react to these newest words – to his ‘refusal’ of the kits affectionate display. “However, since you clearly think me the greatest threat to your precious kitten, I’ll bow to your demands. I’ll stay away.”

With that, the undersized tom stalked to the back of his den, evidently intent upon ignoring them…and concealing his own hurt from their view.

Ooc:...Not sure if this is better or worse than the ranting. Dusty, I thiiink it's up to Palekit to save the day?

Heatherstorm continued to lash her tail back and forth, breathing slightly erratically as she attempted to calm herself after her tirade. Her eyes narrowed, she took in the remaining situation around her. She was physically and mentally exhausted. How had this pleasant day turned into a disaster after just mere moments in this den?

Rabbitfur, looking worse for wear after his coughing fit and their fight, did not look nearly as menacing as before. He looked… old. For the first time in all of her moons Heatherstorm finally realized that Rabbitfur was a very elderly cat. Definitely one of the oldest in Waterclan. More so than that, he did not have an apprentice yet.
 
Is that why he was allowing Palekit to get so close to him? So that Palekit could be a medicine cat apprentice?

The thought shook Heatherstorm’s mind. She had never even thought of Palekit as anything but a little warrior-if he survived into adulthood. In her dreams, Redkit and Palekit had been her two little warriors, always to fight side by side in battles together. None of her hopes could come true now.
Heatherstorm’s eyes flitted from the elderly medicine cat to her son, who had rubbed his head against the medicine cat’s leg. Her sharp eyes softened at this. In all of her anger, she never exactly paid any attention to how her son would react to this. She may be his mother, but she wasn’t ignorant to his wishes. The care she could see in his eyes was eminent.

Her stance was being chipped away, and the she-cat was beginning to suspect that she couldn’t possibly hold the ability to keep her son away from this den if it was what he wanted.

Rabbitfur’s word suddenly filled the air, and brought a chill to her spine.

“How could and elderly tom such as you be dangerous? It’s any of the possibilities of this den, and any possible accidents that come with it.” She huffed, not yet ready to relent on her beliefs of Palekit being safer within her sights. Was it not in a queen’s definition to constantly worry about her kits?

“And your names can damage Palekit’s confidence. Do you ever remember what it’s like to be a kit, who doesn’t know if he will succeed or not? It’s a delicate time, but maybe you are too old to remember the feeling.” It was a low blow, even for Heatherstorm. But she couldn’t just sit and take this old tom calling her naïve. She wasn’t naïve. For Starclan’s sake, her son had died.

Heatherstorm sighed deeply. Why did it feel like she was putting herself into a cycle of destruction? She didn’t want to become petty, resorting to name calling to prove a point.

The queen continued to listen as the tom spoke-briefly-responding to her rant. What had taken him moments to tell had seemed to take her an eternity.
Heatherstorm guiltily dropped her head as she realized the tom seemed to look almost defeated as he talked. They were both defeated. Their arguments were seemingly pointless. She blamed him for a death he couldn’t even possibly prevent, and the same goes for her. But she was his mother. She was supposed to know everything about him, be able to tell when he was sick.

How.

Could.

He.

Die.

Palekit’s soft voice interrupted her thoughts as she felt him push himself against her chest. Reached down and licked his head a few times, trying to sooth him-as well as herself. “Honey, I’m sure many cats know about…things. If you need something come to me. And I do trust you, Palekit.”

She felt like a phony, even to her own ears.

Movement in the den forced Heatherstorm to glance up and watch as Rabbitfur walked to the back of his den, as if he was running away from the conflict…Or their reactions.

The queen felt the fur on her shackles raise slightly, a low, barely audible growl resonating from her throat. He couldn’t just run away from an argument with nothing decided.

The she-cat was preparing to follow Rabbitfur when Palekit’s calm voice came again. Immediately, the mother’s fur lowered as she dropped her head, the growl stopping. Her eyes filled as she looked down at Palekit, as innocent as could be, yet wrapped in entrapped by their argument. She couldn’t possibly call Rabbitfur mean, and herself a good mother, if she constantly yelled and argued in front of her kit, who she herself had professed to be incredibly impressionable.

Heatherstorm returned the cuddle and rubbed her face against Palekit, licking his head affectionately a few times. She couldn’t find the words in her to thank him without breaking down.

“No, of course I didn’t mean it sweetie. It wasn’t my fault, Rabbitfur’s fault, your fault, anyone’s. Your brother was very sick, even if we didn’t know it, It was j-“ Heatherstorm stopped as her voice broke. She let out a small gasp as she tried to compose herself to continued, her voice strained with emotion. ”Sometimes Starclan has a better purpose for a cat. Your brother. He was special. That’s why Starclan needed him. It wasn’t anyone’s fault at all, and it couldn’t be helped. And now, he isn’t in any pain. He can be peaceful in Starclan.”

Heatherstorm clenched her jaw tight, attempting to maintain any dignity she had left and to hold back the rest of her emotions. She looked down at her pleading son’s eyes and gulped.

“If - and only if - you ask me first, I suppose you may visit Rabbitfur.”

Mother or not, Heatherstorm wanted to see her kit happy.

(OOC: Sorry for any late-ness and the attempts at fixing the situation. But I hope this can be worked with.)

“Respectable, he growled; a low, tight repetition directed more at himself than at anycat else. It was accompanied by a fresh snap to his gaze, but this was a harshness that lacked much of its earlier ice: had already been whittled down by the sharp verbal claws of their argument, and the incautious question that had finally forced an unwanted, but long known, truth from his jaws. “That word has never applied to me.” now he really was speaking to himself, and the softness of his growl was a testament to that – ensured that none but he was likely to catch the full content of the phrase, and that that particular jibe passed by with relatively little fight attached.

Then Heatherstorm spoke again, and the tom stirred; found a new and soundless snarl rising up to claim its predecessors place. His response to this comment was far sharper than the last, leaving no doubt that he was addressing his company yet again – and that the bitterness for which he was so well known had by no means lost its grasp upon him. In truth, it probably never would, for there were some things that were hard to let go of…particularly if one had never really learnt how to read anything but negatives from those that addressed them. “There is nothing playful in the names directed at me, she-cat, but I’ve no need nor desire for your babying. I was merely making a point – and even were I not…”

He paused; blinked; snorted. Prevented the kittish ‘I’d only want your care if it was real’ from escaping his jaws.

He’d already highlighted his weakness more than enough; wasn’t about to underline it all the more.

It was this that finally drove him back into the grasps of waiting silence, leaving him with nothing more to do but watch and listen and scowl; hold himself to his stillness whilst he waited for the impromptu meeting to draw to its distinctly belated end. But unfortunately it seemed that she-cat and kit were not done with him yet, and he soon found himself consigned to further talk; to a tone and a topic that was well and truly out of his depth. It was another simple shift—nothing more than an attempt at apologising—but to the elderly tom it was about as alien a set of words as it was possible to get. His clanmates simply didn’t bother with such things: almost never survived his company or tirades long enough to even try. As such he had no idea how to respond to it or even handle it – could only stare, his eyes a hooded tangle of lingering anger and fresh bewilderment: a near-complete incomprehension of what was going on.

In the end, he settled with doing and saying nothing. Gave way to the necessity of seeming rude, rather than attempting to blunder through yet one more complication that would doubtless lead to further provocation.

But his silence did not guarantee an end to the confrontation. The anger was still very much there, albeit temporarily quieted by guilt and bewilderment, and its lingering proximity ensured that his temper was still all-too-ready to rear yet again. It was merely waiting, and he knew it; still expected a fresh round of judgement and hate to spill from Heatherstorms jaw, and his temper to flare—

Found himself flinching instead, grey eyes snapping downwards as an unexpected pressure emerged at his chest.

This, too, was something to be met with confusion, but he made no effort to retreat or rebuke. Instead he simply held to his silence, eyes softening almost imperceptibly as he felt his lingering, waiting temper inexplicably fade—just a little—and finally accepted a set of offered words for precisely what they were. A simple, wholly honest attempt at reassurance.

…A ‘reassurance’ echoed mere heart-beats later, when the main target of his temper spoke yet one more time, trying for another tone that seemed impossible in the wake of their fight. This he met with a similarly blank response to the attempt at an apology, for it was something belonging almost exclusively to Hawkfeathers time, and offered almost exclusively by the deceased tom’s well-loved form, but here, at least, was a ghost of a stir. A fleeting glimmer of recognition. In these latest words was something that he could almost understand, and though they were greeted with as much scepticism as their predecessors had been bewilderment, they did, at least, pass him by without any additional protest. And when Palekit uttered one more too-hesitant purr, one more follow-up to the unexpected nuzzle, there could only be one response:

“Do as you wish.”

But it was edged with a rare fleck of softness – just enough of a ‘flaw’ to mutter that he had no intention of, or will to, turn the kit away.

Respectable. Rabbitfur doesn’t think he’s respectable? He’s the medicine cat! Who would ever believe he wasn’t respectable?

Heatherstorm felt a tightening in her stomach as a horrendous feeling of guilt enveloped her body. She had made this cat-this guiltless, respectable cat-feel like trash just because she worried over the safety of her son, and obviously over reacted. But it was clear to see that the damage had already been done. She couldn’t easily ameliorate his pain, especially since he so obviously distrusted, or at least disliked her.

She knew there was likely not much she could say to help Rabbitfur. It was obvious that damage had been done to him earlier in life that she could do nothing about; however, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try, even if it just resulted in another negative reaction.

“Rabbitfur, don’t be ridiculous. You are the medicine cat, for Starclan’s sake. You are one of the most respected cats in all of Waterclan. And you are the last cat I would think who would take into consideration what any other cat thinks of you." She said, taking any babying words from her response.

Heatherstorm knew that he words were likely to be ignored. But she was a queen; it was in her nature to comfort a cat-any cat-that was in pain or distress.
The queen’s emerald eyes followed as her kit nuzzled Rabbitfur. She was just about to warn him not to but stopped as she watched the tom’s reaction. His entire persona seemed to change at the mere touch of another cat. While the changes to him were miniscule, the air around her no longer made the fur on her back stand up and it seemed as if their argument was officially over on both sides.

Heatherstorm watched closely as Rabbitfur looked at her son, his eyes seemingly softer and less accusatory than earlier. His response, while not heartwarming, was at the very least sincere. From Rabbitfur, a response without any malice was almost a miracle.

Her attention was then brought to her kit as he pleaded for an end to the argument. She let out a loud sigh, just wanting to leave this den and everything that had happened behind. She placed a smile on her face as she looked at Palekit, becoming him over to her with her tail.

“Of course we can be done sweetie, right Rabbitfur?” She asked, giving him a pleading look to agree. She gave Palekit a small smile and nod, agreeing that they were from the same clan. But what he didn’t know is that it seemed cats within clans almost seemed to argue more than cats from different clans. The skirmished just seemed to be of larger scale when they were in different clans.

“Palekit do you want to stay here with Rabbitfur now? I think I should leave and stretch my legs, maybe grab a piece from the fresh kill pile. Are you hungry? Maybe…Maybe Rabbitfur wants something from the fresh kill pile?”

Heatherstorm felt her time was over in this den. Perhaps if Palekit was to spend time in there, she could go on a short patrol soon. He was getting older after all, and would eventually be an apprentice, meaning she would need to go back to her warrior duties.

OOC: Sorry I kinda had lack of inspiration and felt that Heatherstorm was basically done her ^^