Of Temper and Tansies (Dusty)

Ordinarily, Rabbitfur would have – should have – sensed the kittens approach. Although he was well and truly in the more advanced stages of his life, and no longer had the means to deny it, his senses were a long way from failing him: had perhaps even been preserved by the relatively easy life he led. He was lucky enough to own a nose that was about as keen as they came (he might have made a fine tracker, had things turned out differently), and his near constant proximity to strong smelling plants had merely seemed to enhance it as the seasons had slipped by. A strong nose was essential for any who hoped to smell the clan over the assorted herbs, and it was a trait he had been proud of for much of his life…but it did him little good now.

A single bundle of lavender had been more than enough to strip it of its power.

The strong scent still hung heavily in his nostrils, perhaps, in part, because he had just replaced the dried stems on his shelves, and were quite happily mingling with the herb scents that had already stained the short fur surrounding his nose. The result was a lavender-dominated concoction that blotted the rest of the world from his reach and consigned him to a new and more violent round of sneezing – an attack that shook his undersize frame from head to tail and might have had many the inexperienced feline thinking him desperately ill. Worse, these sharp, frustrated sounds blotted out his hearing in such a way as to make it all but impossible for him to hear the soft-ish approach of tiny paws, just as reflex kept his eyes from falling upon the familiar and often dreaded pelt.

All this conspired to keep the kits approach from his notice until it was far too late for him to do anything about it; ensured that his first warning of company was the eager little voice that rouse up in the wake of his snuffles. Unfortunately for Palekit, this meant that his first answer was not the short growl he had probably been expecting, but a startled shriek and instinctive arching of an elderly spine.

Unfortunately for Rabbitfur, it took some moments for the messages of his rapidly firing synapses to translate into something resembling sense, and his mind to regain control over his body. Worse, he found himself obliged not only to unbend his back but direct his grey eyes downwards, for they had instinctively leapt up towards the face of a warrior that simply wasn’t there: a warrior that was a good three times his size, and a veritable giant in comparison to the kit that had so startled him. This did nothing for his ever-sour mood, and it was with a very obvious irritation that he finally sank back into the support of his haunches.

The eye’s that met with Palekit’s were cold – held none of the eagerness brimming in their counterparts.

“Trying to give me a heart attack, kit?” He growled, making no effort to soften his voice, and apparently failing to notice that he was still as fluffed up as a the head of a seed-heavy dandelion.

Ooc: If it was rushed, then I didn’t notice. I don’t believe it effected the quality of the post at all.
Your posts length is fine; I didn’t exactly give you much to work with there XP

Bic:
Rabbitfur failed to notice the effect he’d had on the kit until he’d spat his venomous question and found a seconds grace to review the past moment, and it showed. Though he was no longer snarling as if expecting an attack, the expression carried by his face was of a decidedly ugly nature – too ugly to belong to someone who was in full possession of the facts. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that he was convinced that Palekit had frightened him on purpose; that the young cats quiet approach and suddenly loud words had been a ploy to make him leap and yowl like some low-born coward.

It was only after a moments review that the elderly toms scowl lost some of its edge, the harsh contours smoothed, just a little, by a flyaway thread of the truth. It was pure luck that bought it to his mind. Something in in the kits eyes had fired some obscure corner of his mind into life and driven it to spit forth a snapshot image of the huddled little ball of fluff his eyes had found when they’d finally darted down to the correct height; had shaken his certainty with all the ease of a breeze brushing against a lone leaf. Despite the words muttered by his more paranoid edges, he found it impossible to hold onto his unjust interpretation of what had occurred; couldn’t reconcile that pitiful image with the gleeful looks of the malicious prankster.

These new-found facts weighed heavily upon his heart; grew heavier still when the kittens slow words met with his ears.

There was fear in that apology. It was obvious by the halting nature of the words, the uneasy scrutiny of his features, the hasty averting of those gold-hued eyes. The flicking tail tip and pawing of earth were merely the final touches to an already fully formed picture, and it wasn’t a picture that sat well within the toms mind.

He found a bitter taste in his mouth that he knew to be guilt. Answered the sentiment with a newly soured scowl.

“What do you think, you little mousebrain?” he snarled, inwardly flinching at the habitual harshness of his own words.

Silence met his words.

Rabbitfur gave a slow blink, his sour expression wavering slightly as the guilt grew. It held, of course – it always did – but he found himself dimly wondering if the kit might have detected the subtle little changes that he had felt upon his face as the front had battled with his true emotions; discarded the notion almost as soon as it had arrived. Only an idiot could have believed such a thing, for it was obvious that Palekit’s mind was still distracted by the fear that had leapt to him at the medicine cats shriek. There was no other explanation for the hush to which he had fallen: no way that he could be so attentive when he was doubtless desperate to find some means by which to derail the toms ire, or else make good his escape.

The only question was why the kit hadn’t simply fled. No one would have blamed him for such an action, for it wasn’t like he was facing one of the clan’s even-tempered elders. No, he was dealing with their vicious medicine cat, and everyone knew how little he cared for manners or company. Leaving without a word wouldn’t have bothered him at all, right? He wouldn’t care.

Rabbitfur snorted, narrowing his eyes at the thoughts running through his own head.

This was a trail that could do no cat good, and it certainly didn’t help the medicine cat in his half-noticed desire to let the hostility fade, for he couldn’t help but glare at Palekit with an added ferocity as they invaded his mind. Unfortunately, this proved to be a rather poorly timed glare, for it coincided with the younger toms answer and could only have been interpreted as overt disapproval for the felines words – a face not lost on Rabbitfur. But he did nothing to rectify the further hurt that the incident would doubtless cause; merely clung to his scowl as the look in those gold eyes shifted, oozing with emotions that they tried, but failed, to conceal.

The medicine cat snorted again, suspicion wriggling into his narrowed eyes.

For some moments he merely stared at Palekit, his body motionless save for the slow twitching of his tail and steady sinking of his fluffed fur. His eyes and minute movements were the image of calm, but inwardly his thoughts were a whirling mess, his mind desperately trying to see if there was some ulterior motive to that simple question and its nonsensical companion. He could see no such motive, but his suspicion was a powerful force – more than a match for the doubt, the quiet desire to see some of the shine return to those eyes, with which it wrestled.

In the end he chose to solve the matter by ignoring the question; focused, instead, on the statement that had followed in its wake.

“Oh yes,” he growled, somehow managing to strip some of the venom from his growl, “and what sort of ’stuff’ would a mere kit know?”

The medicine cat offered no answer to that, seeing no reason to waste his time or breath in commenting upon a wholly useless response. Instead, he simply stared across at the kit, clearly sceptical and in no way afraid to show it. He didn’t even allow his features to soften when Palekit flashed him a smile, but instead narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow in a frown that didn’t quite reach the bounds of a true scowl, and couldn’t quite keep the flickering threads of his curiosity from view.

Fortunately, this interest was but a tiny speck within the overriding scepticism, and its nature was such that none have begrudged him giving way to it, or even been truly surprise to find it within his features. However grumpy he might be, he could not deny that he still cared about the goings on of his clan, and this meaningless comment struck him as a potential means by which to glean some sense of the kits potential. As medicine cat, he knew he would do well to be aware of which future warriors were likely to be idiots and which were not, for such knowledge would guide his treatment…not to mention his stocks.

It wouldn’t be the first time he maintained an unusually large supply of cobwebs.

Rabbitfur flicked his ears as the kits voice broke the silence again, and found himself fighting against a glimmer of quiet amusement as the young tom first attempted to appear important, then launched into a parody of a hunters crouch. Other medicine cats might have been less aware of the many problems within this attempted stance, or else focused only on the good points, but even now Rabbitfur was unable to give up memories of his own apprenticeship, and found himself losing his interest to scorn. He had trained as a warrior once, many, many moons before, and though he had never been as efficient as others his age, he had been relatively well versed in how such things should be done. It had been drilled into him more than enough, and now he couldn’t help but compare this kit to those long past lessons.

“If that is your idea of ‘stuff you know’, then you know very little,” he growled, further narrowing his eyes as if to emphasise the point he was seeking to make. In reality he was concealing the amused glimmer he was sure must have mixed with the scorn in his eyes, but doubted the tom before him would see it that way – forced himself to ignore this thought even as it arrived. “Next time you want to show off, make sure someone’s taught you properly first.”

Ooc:...I can’t work out if Palekit is winning him over or not .__.

Ooc: Well, that’s alright then, because I can’t see Rabbtfur making life easy for anyone.

Bic:
His assumption was correct.

The words were barely leaving his mouth before the kits demeanour began to change, sliding ever further into the realms of fear and making him scowl even more. Worse, unless he was very much mistaken, his words had allowed Palekit’s distress to combine itself with a generous helping of shame – shame great enough to prevent the youngster from holding his gaze. The kits dejection merely grew more pronounced as the seconds ticked past, and Rabbitfur soon found himself battling not with scorn or irritation, but guilt and the question of whether or not he should try to take back what he had said. Unfortunately, this was a notion that he managed to discard with surprising rapidity, for he had watched the clan often enough to see that they gave such youngsters little but praise and always took back any harder words almost as soon as they had been spat.

That was no way to handle a kit.

In the course of his long seasons he had seen many of the more…outgoing youngsters ignore and outright disobey their elders time and time again, and often ended up being the one that had to put things to rights once the damage had been done. The problem was that there had been several occasions in which there was nothing that could be done, and then it was, of course, always on him that the distraught mothers would lay their blame. He had never really held it against them, but he couldn’t shake the opinion that such tragedies would never have occurred if the clan as a whole were harder on their infants, even if that hardness was little more than resisting the urge to take back their harsher words. It was part of the reason why he tended to greet injured kits with a distinct sullenness; if they feared him, they would be less inclined to get into the situations that might force them to see him. It wasn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but it worked, and it was better to be hated by the young cats than see them injured or killed in accidents that could have been avoided with a little common sense.

The problem was that this tried, tested and despised method would only work if he kept the kits from seeing what existed beneath his general prickliness, which meant that he could not now go back on his words. Instead, he had no choice but to maintain his narrow-eyed stare when Palekit leapt to his paws, all of his fear and shame suddenly converted into outrage at the admittedly unfair statement that had been flung his way. Neither could he allow the harshness of his features – now made harsher still by the youngster’s reaction, and the subsequent loss of his amusement – to fail or even fade at any point in the kits speech, or his voice to be anything but cold when he growled his answer.

“There are kits that have sense enough to learn from their elders and remain polite,” he stated coolly, flicking his tail in not-quite-feigned irritation. “They are those who make the finest warriors.”

He paused, looking on as Palekit turned from him and took up a new position in the corner of his den; shook his head at the indignation, and the stroppiness, that radiated from his fluffy body. Any cat with half a brain would have left his space long before, and none but this tom would attempt to avoid the medicine cat without ever leaving his sight or home. The fact that he hadn’t yet gone crying to his mother was testament to the courage that this particular kit had, and Rabbitfur couldn’t quite help but feel mildly impressed by the display of stubborn spirit, even as he wondered just what vengeance the little creature might be plotting.

“My words were an invitation to speak, not display,” He frowned; wrestled with the notion that his companion had somehow earnt a reward. It wasn’t every day a kit – or any cat – held their ground in the face of his snipes. “Thus your little act was an attempt to show off…and I must say, had things been a little different, I’d be showing you how it’s done right now,”

…Had he said that? He couldn’t have – there was no way such a comment would have slipped from his jaws…was there?

….Ignoring me, huh? How typical

It was true that Rabbitfur wasn’t exactly good at reading other cats – even he wouldn’t deny that – but he was surprisingly good at knowing when a cat was listening to him, or blanking out every word he bothered to speak. This was one talent he had perfected when he was still little more than a kit, and it had severed him well in the many seasons since: had often allowed him to teach younger cats a valuable lesson in a manner they weren’t quick to forget. And, evidently, it was about time he launched into another of these impromptu lessons, and corrected his clans most recent generation.

Luckily for Palekit, he never got the chance.

The elderly medicine cat was just opening his jaws to snarl the first part of that tried-and-tested tirade when the kits huge eyes suddenly locked with his. The movement startled him enough to freeze the venomous words upon his tongue and give the younger tom something of a respite, but it also ensured that he would not recover his intent once he’d adjusted to the change. The look in those yellow eyes was one he was completely unfamiliar with, and that was all it took to make him silence himself and fall into a puzzle frowning; all that was needed to guarantee that he heard the faint shifting of the kits paws and realised that he had turned more fully to face him.

Then Palekit spoke, and the content of those apprehensive words finally destroyed all thoughts of launching into one of his patented rants. Instead, they turned his mind briefly to the past and painted a faint, quietly bitter distance to his grey-green stare – saw him dropping his greying muzzle down into the cushion of his thicker chest fur, and narrowing his eyes in a manner that would have been dangerous but its more wistful edge.

He had been a good hunter, once.

Despite the many problems associated with his small size, Rabbitfur had quickly proved himself fairly adept at Waterclans various hunting techniques and rapidly become a relatively good supplier for his clan. Virtually all of his contemporaries had agreed that he’d had the makings of a fine hunter, and several of his elders had been all but convinced that he might become one of the best suppliers of the clan. Not even Stormfur could pick on him for his hunting, though he had certainly tried, and it was about the only area in which his siblings avoided taunting him.

But all that was before the fox.

“I’d have been a hunting specialist,” he growled quietly, hardly aware that he had said such aloud, and not even sure that the kit stood before would understand the significance of such words. Then he shook himself, and with that motion it was as if he were discarding all of the skills and emotions of that old life – shedding, again, the fragile softness that had briefly wrapped itself around his undersized frame. “My demonstrations would do you no good, this time his words were sharp; made it all-too-obvious that he hadn’t quite heard the question and had simply filled in the gaps himself. “Even a mousebrain like you should know that.”


Ooc: Oh look! Palekit managed to get a straight, semi-nice answer!
...Briefly.
Even though he had a rough start, I figured that he would still have been good at something / had some aspirations as a warrior apprentice, so that's what this post is based on :3

That nod…

Rabbitfur had been so caught up in the tendrils of the past that he had barely noticed the little gesture, but one part of him – the part that had learnt the importance of small details, and was near permanently on alert for them – had managed to catch it as it slipped by. Now, in the wake of his too-sharp ‘accusation’, it threw its knowledge of that movement back at him; ground his nose into the fact that he had, again, said something that wasn’t exactly…necessary. That wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence for him, for he had never been all that good at controlling the temper he used to protect himself, but on this occasions, as was so often with kits, he found himself struck by a gnawing sense of guilt almost as soon as the words were out.

And the young toms reaction – the bristling fur, the hurt flashing in those yellow eyes – had merely given that guilt extra fire.

The reaction had struck him as out of place, for, though he had spoken harshly, he was well aware of the fact that Palekit came to him expecting to be treated harshly. It was simply his way, and this particular kit turned up to pester him often enough to know that: almost never reacted to him, or his words, with such pain. In fact, leaving aside the first few occasions, he hadn’t even responded to him with shock, and that naturally made this event stand out within his mind. Once that happened the medicine cat couldn’t help but analyse the reaction, and it was then that his ever-observant streak flung up that nod, and he was struck by how easily the kit had seemed to believe his absentminded statement.

Realised, at last, that there had been no questioning, no scornful glance to his leg, no scepticism of gaze. Just belief.

Was this the kit-born innocence his clanmates kept speaking of? Was this belief, this lack of question that his words were anything but the truth, the norm for that age? Was this what he had supposedly failed to see at any point in his life?

…Or was it just a ploy?

Confused, and more than a little affected by guilt and this unfamiliar thought track, Rabbitfur abruptly dragged himself to his paws and turned his back upon his visitor. The action was of a decidedly rude nature – even he knew that – but for some reason it was easier than keeping his eyes upon this kitten and his many unexpected responses, just as it was easier to hide than to let another see just how wrong the clan-wide opinion of his nature, his strength, really was. Unfortunately for him, Palekit was by no means done with him yet; did not flee from his den as he surely should, be remained where he had been left.

Uttered a protestation: a grumbling complaint.

Rabbitfur wasn’t sure what confused, or surprised, him more. He knew only that nothing was quite going the way it should, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he liked it, or could even cope with it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it was swiftly becoming evident that he had already lost much of the control over this meeting, for it wasn’t long before their silence was broken yet again, and by a voice that he knew should no longer be within his den. A voice that was too hesitant, to daring in its choice of topic, for him to ignore.

Slowly, reluctantly, the aging medicine cat forced himself to cast his grey eyes back over one shoulder and look upon the kit that was causing him so much trouble. Then, before he really even knew what was going on, he found an answer rolling from his tongue – a slow, uncertain answer, but one that bore the sound of something that had been waiting to be spoken for many seasons.

“In here? Yes.” It sounded cryptic even to his own ears; didn’t seem to answer the question that had been asked of him. To his surprise he found that this didn’t really sit well with him, and it wasn’t long before the words were coming to him again, their slow syllables offering up an explanation, a truth, that he couldn’t remember letting slip since the early moons of his apprenticeship to Hawkfeather.

“…But I did not consider becoming a Medicine Cat. That came…later.”

Ooc: Palekit is being waaay too cute there.

Bic:
The eyes that met his were devoid of the messages he had half-expected to see. Were, in fact, devoid of any message at all. Theirs was a neutrality capable of adding to his growing turmoil, despite the fact that he was familiar with such a look – had seen and used it many times before – and this newest addition to the load simply pressed still more pressure upon his body, teasing out the signs of his age even further than before. He was not yet aware of it himself, but the situation and all its unexpected turns were making him look weaker than he had ever allowed himself to appear, and revealing, perhaps for the first time, the edges and depths of the wound he had been hiding for so long.

But there was no explanation for that semi-ancient wound. Despite everything, he still bore enough control over himself to keep the nature of the problem from sight, and it wasn’t long before he was beginning to regain an awareness of his own stance. This was a slow, reluctant knowledge bought first by the kits frown – misread as scorn – then hastened as further facts fell into place. And, naturally, once that information had arrived it was only a matter of time before he was pressing himself back into his more typical shapes; forcing the rigidity of strength into his spine, and the hostility of that old shield back into his eyes.

By the time Palekit spoke again, the image was virtually complete.

But it was still just an image.

He had not had time to correct the inner turmoil, and fortify the shaken walls of his defences. As a consequence it was easy, too easy, for the kits words and movements to strike him with unusual force and again send him awry – though this time, to his relief, the effects of those too-wide eyes and overly eager words were withheld from his outward airs. Mostly.

There was no hiding the shadow that flashed into his eyes when those words had been spoken, or the slight prickling that raised his fur as he misinterpreted, again, the nature of the tone. Neither could he conceal the slight hunch into which he was again pressed, but this time he could console himself with the knowledge that none of these responses were as prominent, that they might just be missed – probably wouldn’t even register on the radar of such a young tom. Of course, that couldn’t be said of all his reactions, for he had also turned his eyes from the cat in the moments following the exclamation, and he made no effort to return them in to moments that followed.

“Yes,” he growled angrily, though he couldn’t quite say to what this anger was directed. He said no more after that, instead remaining silent, and unmoved, as Palekit attempted to correct the mistake of his own brashness, then gave up and took to his paws. This last was something that he greeted with a dim kind of relief, for it told him that the younger tom had finally decided to do what he should have done long before, and leave him peace – and none too soon. However, there was also something else mixed into that relief, and this was an indistinct response unusual enough to catch his attention and often analytical mind. A response that he did not get the chance to unpick.

Instead, Rabbitfur was jerked from his own thoughts and turmoil by a light touch to his paw; an inadvertent action that served to snap his eyes back to the kits face, and ensured that he would not miss the smile that the little creature offered him. In it was a hesitancy great enough to give him real pause, and a source of yet more surprise – surprise that proved surprisingly welcome, for this was something that could not be interpreted in anything but a positive light, and a novelty that struck him as unusually…favourable.

The medicine cat frowned at that revelation, but by then it was already far too late for him to escape from the charms to which it was attached. The sheer novelty of it was enough to ensnare him even before he could recognise the danger it might carry, and it wasn’t long that he found himself offering up another set of words he had never thought he’d speak, though these arrived in the wake of a far greater fight than their predecessors.

“Two moons.” Simple, short; the manifestation of the brief battle that had been required to drive them from his jaws.

Ooc: ...I think you broke him...

Ooc: Yeeeah, I guess it is. But now I’ve gotta fix him XP

Bic:
What was contained within that look? Was it scorn again, or something else? Something more akin to sympathy or grief? Was it some dim understanding of the blow that had been struck when he’d been saved from the foxes jaws, only to find that his brother was gone and his leg would never quite be right? Was it the notion that he knew, truly knew, how it had felt to struggle with an apprenticeship for two full moons, and to struggle again in the wake of injury, only to realise that that future had become an impossible dream? That he would never be able to prove his worth to his clan; never please his mentor; never earn his families love, or even their acceptance; never be anything more than The Runt?

No. It had to be scorn. Could be nothing else.

Had Palekit been an older cat, he might have accepted that look as sympathy (and screamed him from his den), but he could not believe it possible of one so young. This tom was barely more than three moons into a life that could last for countless seasons; was so young that the word ‘kitten’ wasn’t sufficient to describe the difference between their ages. Next to the medicine cat, this little creature – still young enough to be smaller than him – was practically a newborn, and an adored newborn at that. Rabbitfur was no fool. He had noted the attention heaped upon the little tom by his parents, and he was wise enough to doubt that the cat had had attachment enough to Redkit to be pained by his death. He had been too young, and that meant that he couldn’t even know what it was to lose kin, not really; meant that there was no way he could understand what it was to face the harder side of the world, let alone be sympathetic towards those who had lived it.

He was just too young.

The speed with which he had looked away was merely a confirmation of this conclusion, for sympathy was not something cats tended to hide, not even on the rare occasions when that sympathy was aimed at the likes of him. It was scorn that one hid, for it was scorn that caused the true damage, and scorn with which this and other cats so often faced him. He was no stranger to that look; had been haunted by it throughout his long life, and freed from its cruel claws only when with Hawkfeather or, later, away from the rest of his clan.

A new shadow clouded his eyes in the wake of these thoughts. They were the natural culmination of the processes that had preceded them, but also ensured that he was in no frame of mind to deal with the kit correctly when their silence was broken again. Memory, and the differences he had detected between the nature of their kit days, had combined with that inaccurate perception to shut down his softer sides, and hand the power back over to his prickly defences. The result was a cat that was unwilling to be drawn back into the grasps of that weakness and its associated pains again, and a cat that was in no frame of mind to interpret this simple statement correctly. Instead he twisted it into a light that was far more familiar to him, reading into it not honesty but mockery, and rapidly trading his grief and brief willingness to respond for sullen hostility.

Fortunately for Palekit, the shifting emotions produced by their conversation had also taken much of the edge off of Rabbitfur’s temper. He was mentally tired and all-too-aware that he still had to replenish his herbs; couldn’t summon the energy to muster a proper retort without wearing himself down to a point that might prevent him from completing the day’s work. This wasn’t a risk he could take – Waterclan’s wellbeing was too important for such pettiness – so he forced himself to reign in his temper in the wake of those innocent words; limited himself to little more than a hardened glare, and a distinctly stiff “It’s time for you to leave.”

Ooc:...That…was unexpected...