private and california never felt like home to me

[RAVENSONG]

The medicine cat den is more crowded than Ravenpaw had ever seen it. Without Beesong, though, it feels terribly empty.

Ravenpaw woke. It was a normal nightmare, relatively harmless. He had seen yet another patrol come into camp. This time their wounds were festering in strange and colorful ways—with flowers blooming out of them. Ravenpaw was perplexed. When he woke up, if he were any more of a numbskull, he would have thought it was a sign from StarClan. He stretched his paws out so his toes reached the end of his nest. One eye opened to see the battle-battered form of Dovepaw across from him. The deep mark that Ravenpaw had fretted over seemed to have opened again—there is a red stain in the cobweb/

"Are you up, Dovepaw?" He whispered. It was one of the first times he he had spoken more than two words to the other apprentice since their fight.

@dovepaw.

​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw feels empty. Without Ravenpaw, he had only been able to find some sort of solace in Hyacinthbreath. She was the only person who seemed to talk to him with any sort of respect, and type of earnest affection. And now she was gone. She is not indisputably dead like Beesong is, but Dovepaw cannot help but feel like it is effectively the same. For all he knows, Cicadastar (the psycho that he is) sent someone off to kill her the moment she left the territory of the clans, or some rogue promptly picked her off. He cannot know, and he never will know—not unless he stumbles across her corpse, like Ravenpaw to Beesong.

He had a nightmare that woke him up what must be hours ago, but it is less specific than Ravenpaw's—all he remembers was himself being chased, surrounded by flames on all sides.

It is far less special. Perhaps Ravenpaw simply is touched, and Dovepaw is meant to be mediocre until he dies unceremoniously.

Trying to brood, Dovepaw fails to not flinch when Ravenpaw's whisper tears through the stale atmosphere of the den. Nobody else is awake, and he can tell. He does not want to talk to Ravenpaw, but he knows he cannot pretend to be unconscious. It's evident he is not.

"...Wh-Why?" Dovepaw decides on replying with. It's rough, but not completely useless. And most of all, it is just one word—one utterance.

[⋆]​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Ravenpaw was glad he had some sort of ounce of sanity within them. His thoughts about Dovepaw when Hyacinthbreath was chased out of RiverClan with screams and claws had not been charitable as his mother would so often put it. It was easy for him to think that way, as he had never felt such a deep connection with the former WindClan cat. He could not hate Dovepaw for Hyacinthbreath's mistakes—as Ravenpaw knew him before he was apprenticed to her—but he could guiltily relish in the anguish that those who felt the most betrayed by her actions.

That triumph was short-lived. Ravenpaw had no word for the karmaic force that struck down upon his head. It was almost so blatantly parallel that he could almost think StarClan above had sent it in the form of his mentor washed down by the river. The ache was still there, but the wound was being treated. It had never occurred to him that Hyacinthbreath could be dead.

"Your wound has opened up again." Ravenpaw grit his teeth, his strangely accented voice cutting through the silence. He dragged himself out of his nest and coming closer to inspect the cobwebs on Dovepaw's flank. "If you would quit squirming, it would not do so."

Had Dovepaw been squirming?

​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw did not hold any ill will against Beesong; despite everything, he was mature enough to recognize that he had no right to. It was a pretty hard reality to deny that he had wanted to be medicine cat apprentice, as well, but his real ire was directed at Ravenpaw. The reasons for such were well known—rehashing them was pointless.

There was no feeling of triumph in Beesong's death. From what he had heard, Beesong had fallen from a high place. It was a pointless tragedy, and sometimes those were the saddest of all. If Dovepaw were feeling particularly cruel, he would have some words to say about the opinions his former friend held about Hyacinthbreath.

But he couldn't read minds. Maybe Ravenpaw can, he thought bitterly.

"I h-haven't b-been squirming," came Dovepaw's grumble, not even knowing if he was telling the truth or not. Had he been wriggling? Even he didn't know. "Wh-Why do y-you care," he said in a weaker, hoarser voice. He did not even turn around. Despite his better judgment, his ego wanted Ravenpaw to respond. That probably wasn't good.

[⋆]​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Taking to Dovepaw's back was not new to him. A lovely back it was, perhaps, if it were not riddled with scars and injuries that he had to upkeep. It was easier when there was a second set of paws with him. Ravenpaw was no child, but he knew very well that he was not as prepared for this graduation as he ought to be.

The first remark earned only a huff from Ravenpaw's lungs. There was nothing he had to say to that. His second mew immediately offended Ravenpaw. A jet-black paw flashed out instinctively, aiming to cuff Dovepaw's left ear. The force was not enough to hurt terribly, but it was not a kind one.

"I am the medicine cat..." His voice cracked. "Apprentice. It is my job to care. Even if I dislike you." A blue-green gaze hardened, demanding to be seen. "Now, move so I may fix it, or it will get infected and I will waste another dose of herbs for you."

​

 

[dovethroat.]

That always annoyed him. Ravenpaw always said that there was no reason to reply to certain things, or whatever. It infuriated Dovepaw to no end, and Ravenpaw's obvious lack of a response made him twitch in annoyance. Unsurprisingly, that only brought on a greater amount of pain to his side. The cuff to his hair made him jump and instinctively hiss. "Ow. S-Stop that." He grumbled, his gaze finally flickering up in that one moment. "You're mean."

Though his gaze was undeniably annoyed, the creaky nature of Ravenpaw's reprimand did bring some sympathy to his face. He wasn't heartless. "D-Do I have to ac-ccept care from a h-healer I don't like?" He grumbled, obviously being rhetorical as he heaved himself half-up to better position himself. Hissing in pain, he lowered himself down once he had gotten himself into a position where Ravenpaw could probably tend to him.

"Is th-that good?" He asked, voice tired and flat.

[⋆]​

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[RAVENSONG]

A satisfied huff left Ravenpaw's lungs when Dovepaw hissed. Now then their eyes finally met and Ravenpaw held the gaze for as long as he could, perhaps a bit transfixed. Then it was torn away again. Once again, Ravenpaw offered no reply to Dovepaw's accusation. He stuck fast to keeping to a few words. It was easy to get bored of winded monologues when one lived in RiverClan. Ravenpaw knew how to get his point across quickly, even if he had to use his paw.

"I do not imagine you would prefer to die." Ravenpaw scathed, though he and likely Dovepaw, too, knew that his wounds by themselves were not fatal. They could be if they got infected.

"Despite how you whine about the world." His lips curled in a faint smirk as he prodded Dovepaw's spine roughly as he worked around to get to the wound near his flank and belly. Pulling apart the cobweb, he could tell it had reopened. Ravenpaw sighed and dipped his paw in a new cluster of webs, getting to work again.

​

 

[dovethroat.]

The smirk on Ravenpaw's face and the satisfaction that was palpable in his voice did nothing but further the irritation visibly coursing through Dovepaw's veins. "Wh-Why do y-you never r-reply," he grumbled, hardly even inflecting it as if it were a question. "Just t-to make me l-look s-stupid, prob-bably." His voice was not improving in any capacity that measured chipperness—or any other sort of positive-sounding word.

"L-Loaded assumption," Dovepaw spoke bitterly, barely hiding the disdain in his voice. It was not as if he was particularly trying to, but it was worthy of noting. He bit his tongue and seethed at Ravenpaw's teasing, yelping at the prod. "I'm s-sorry I h-have ideals and m-morals I h-h-hold myself to. I kn-know that m-must be i-inconc-ceivable." Being difficult for the sake of it, he was.

Trying to steady his breath, he winced with every slight movement from either Ravenpaw or from himself.

[⋆]​

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[RAVENSONG]

"There are some things I do not need to spend breath on." Ravenpaw shrugged as if the answer were obvious. "Body language can show a lot. And I despite words meant for the sake of decoration." He forcefully rolled the cobweb into Dovepaw's fur to make it stick, ignoring his yelp. The tips of his claws slid harmlessly out for a moment. "The best way to humble someone is to give less than what they give to you." His ear twitched at Dovepaw's wince, but he finished up his new dressing and took a step back to look at his handiwork.

"We do what we can to survive." Ravenpaw replied. Only a few moons ago they had sat under the stars and expressed what it might be like if they were somewhere else. If he looked back at his self then, and then at where he was sitting now—Ravenpaw knew that since then a part of himself had died.

"Your Hyacinthbreath did not understand that."

​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw squinted, trying to force himself to not hiss through the pain. He did not like making too much noise as work was trying to be done, even if he found Ravenpaw loathsome and his disdain for words one of the worst symptoms of his personality. When Ravenpaw made such a point, he decided to say nothing at all in response to what he said. Just put on the cobweb, he would have liked to hiss at him. But he didn't.\

"I'm s-surviving," he said on instinct, flat and tired. He tried his best not to think about what he had felt toward Ravenpaw those moons ago. It was not a pleasant thing to mull over—the loss of what was essentially ones' only friend. The only other person he had felt anything resembling a connection to in the time since then was his mentor, and that...

...well, Ravenpaw had certainly felt like mentioning her by name.

In an instant, he grit his teeth. He spoke without feeling—in his worst, his brain took over. It was curious, really. Biting, cold, emotionless remarks were how he dealt with anger. He did not always huff and puff and grow furious when vexed like this. Only when Ravenpaw had cornered him, he thought. Only when he had nowhere else to go; but when he had some amount of security, it was different. "Y-You know, I h-have th-the tact—the t-tact to know that y-'your Beesong would h-have done well to g-get b-better balance' w-would be t-terribly rude," he spat. "Now t-take y-your own a-advice," now confronted with what he was saying his voice wavered. Emotions had come back in, his heart had taken over.

"—a-and l-let's just... j-just n-not talk." It was for the better, he tried to convince himself. He knew he was lying.

[⋆]​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

He knew he would be striking a nerve. To think otherwise would paint Ravenpaw as a fool. Yet, he was still surprised by the insult hurled back to him, his heart wounded deeply with the offense. Beesong's passing had not scarred over, so it was like tearing into an already fresh wound. It hurt. Ravenpaw's lips curled up over wild-yellowing teeth.

"Beesong did not die because of insolence. He did not die with Cicadastar's screams in his ears." He shot back. "It was a tragic, unfortunate accident. Do not even try to make it seem like it was anything compared to her. She chose her grave. He did not. If she really wanted to stick around, she would have made a greater effort to hide it like any else of us! Head down, understand she's not the hero." There were no heroes—Ravenpaw understood. If there were any, they were baptized in blood and mental anguish. How he longed to be great, but the closer he got to greatness, the more he realized he was giving himself up.

"For all anyone knows, she could still be alive." His voice had toned down and he seemed to gather himself. His seafood-colored eyes blinked away the beginnings of anxious and stressed tears. He looked away, lapsing into silence when Dovepaw bitterly suggested to not talk.

He realized how much he had missed the days when they were not like this.

​

 

[dovethroat.]

If Ravenpaw had not wanted an angry answer, he should have not so deliberately gone out of his way to make such a provoking comment. Dovepaw felt a pang of regret in his chest, but his ego told him that Ravenpaw had it coming. With every word Ravenpaw said, Dovepaw's annoyance that was festering in his chest grew stronger and stronger, and the feeling of bitterness began to take over his whole being. When he had decided he had heard enough (about three quarters of the way through Ravenpaw's rebuttal), he opened his mouth in an attempt to interrupt. He failed, seething and thinking as fast as he could.

"I'm g-glad y-you s-support—that you sup-port Cicadastar, wh-who is absolutely m-mad," Dovepaw grumbled. "S-See how f-far that gets you." Dovepaw could emotionally understand the desire Ravenpaw likely had to cling to any sort of acknowledgement he could get from the leader. But the bleeding heart he had was not exactly control at the moment. "I'm s-sorry she was not c-cruel enough f-for your s-standards. I know B-Beesong was a t-tragic accident, but—I—I d-do not c-care about h-how much you—you hate m-my mentor." His ex-mentor. "T-Tell someone e-else." He snapped.

He let out an unhappy huff of air. "Sh-She may as w-well be." He said coldly, his voice wavering in between something that sounded like himself and something that sounded put-on and artificial. "None of us w-will ever see h-her again, unl-less we discover her corpse or b-become deserters."

[⋆]​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

To be told he supported an insane leader was an uncomfortable offense to Ravenpaw. Since he had grown up with RiverClan as an orphaned kitten, he had heard tales of the iron rule of WindClan. Those cats and their leader were everything a Clan ought not to be—that was how the narrative went. They were more savage than other Clans—scarring their high positions' chests and turning out traitors like a cat shedding. Non-action was considered compliance, he understood that. Surely the stars would not fault him for having to bow his head to injustice every once in a while to soften his own pain he had to suffer under leaders' paws which were StarClan-blessed

So for that statement against Cicadastar, Ravenpaw silently attempted to cuff Dovepaw on the ear once more. "I will not allow you to say such things in my den." He said lowly. It was for Dovepaw's own good. Unless Dovepaw wanted to follow in his mentor's footsteps, he could not speak like that. Even if he even half-agreed with Dovepaw's observation of their leader, he would not entertain conspiracy in his den. He was the last living healer of RiverClan. There were cats who depended on him. Ravenpaw had to keep his head.

The silence would not be broken by Ravenpaw, and he did wonder what had happened of Hyacinthbrath.

​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw had heard it all—of course he had heard it. His mother had also never particularly instilled such thoughts in him. In fact, it is possible she had called such notions ridiculous once or twice. Surely it can't be that bad. Maybe that's what compelled Dovepaw to have some of these thoughts. Though he felt intrinsically outcast and alone most of the time, he was a born and bred RiverClanner: there was no valid reason to deny his status of that. Ravenpaw was a drypaw, kittypet-born, and was now in a position of power. His words would be more scrutinized.

It must be so hard to be important Ravenpaw, Dovepaw wanted to his. Do you realize how much of an asshole you sound like right now?

He grumbled pointlessly, letting out a yelp of displeasure when Ravenpaw cuffed his ear. "S-So you're a c-coward," he grumbled, speaking even lower. "And e-e-everything I s-said that n-night is s-still true. Maybe ev-ven more."

Dovepaw returned to silence after that, obviously more displeased than he had been before in every way.

[⋆]​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

He had not woken Dovepaw thinking he would bat at him two times, but here he was. If Ravenpaw was of a less solid black and more mottled and white, Dovepaw would have been happy to receive a cut. If anything, Hyacinthbreath's exile had taught him that RiverClan warriors could turn around to kill someone who had been living alongside them, if that someone met certain profiles, and their sentence was called down upon by their leader. Call him sentimental, a fool, whatever one would like, but Ravenpaw would find no joy in watching Dovepaw be torn to shreds.

"Morality," Ravenpaw's eyes glittered, his lips curled back. "Is made up. We create it. The warrior code itself is being formed in our very lifetime. That accusation of yours holds no weight to someone who does not believe in them now."

He let out a sighing huff before abruptly turning away and leaving Dovepaw to be. The slinky siloheutte of the medicine cat apprentice busied over some holes in the ground. Sorting herbs, perhaps, until a dead mouse was hurled at Dovepaw's neck. It was a silent command. Eat. Not only herbs would make one grow healthy again.

​

 

[dovethroat.]

The warning that Ravenpaw was trying to instill did not seem to dawn on Dovepaw immediately. He let out another humph of unhappiness at the response he was provided with. "Th-That sounds l-like a g-great excuse to d-do whatever y-you want," he muttered under his breath, not at all interested in conceding any ground to Ravenpaw. Even if he could argue that Ravenpaw made points that held weight, the thought of admitting it felt bad in his brain and his mouth all at once.

Settling back with a sigh that gave hint to true exhaustion as Ravenpaw left, Dovepaw very nearly immediately fell back asleep. However, his reprieve was rudely interrupted. Perhaps he should not be so surprised—he constantly told himself he had such a low opinion of Ravenpaw, and yet every time Ravenpaw made him angry, Dovepaw was somehow shocked. The realization that he was being dishonest to himself should have come to him, but it didn't. He couldn't get everything right.

"...'m n-not hungry," Dovepaw huffed quietly, lying as he stared at the mouse.

[⋆]​

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[RAVENSONG]

The irrefutable proof of his claim was before them. Dovepaw had pointed it out. Ravenpaw had no interest in steering the philosophically blind. Though, he was sure Dovepaw knew what he meant, he just would not admit it. For such a withdrawn and quiet cat, he was one of the most stubborn ones Ravenpaw had met—and there was quite the selection in RiverClan! There were those who were in power, there were those who bid their time, and there were those who became crushed under their own ideals. Ideals, because that was all they were.

"Yes, you are." Ravenpaw replied flatly without glancing around. He was not surprised Dovepaw was rejecting the offer. "Would you like me to pick some other cat to throw it at you? Would you eat it then? Who shall it be, hm?"

​

 

[dovethroat.]

Dovepaw had never thought he could be this stubborn, this unwilling to compromise. Ravenpaw brought out something in him, and he was not sure if it was the best or the worst. Regardless, he knew he was annoyed. Even if he could think of what Ravenpaw was saying to him on a more conceptual level, he refused to. He was too annoyed; still too betrayed. Why could Ravenpaw not just level with him, or admit some sort of wrongdoing?

"Oh, sh-shut up," Dovepaw grumbled. "How d-do you know th-that I'm h-hungry? I've n-never had a b-big appetite," Dovepaw let out an unhappy huff of air, still refusing to eat. "Nob-body. The only p-person I still trusted got k-kicked out. I don't f-feel like eating a-anything f-from anyone anymore." His stomach growled almost comically on-time, but he refused to relent.

He stared straight up, blowing out a sigh.

[⋆]​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

"I don't know you're hungry." Ravenpaw replied curtly. His brow furrowed over his severely-featured face, but he still refused to turn around and face Dovepaw just as he was subjected to last time. "It was a simple calculation and conclusion of the mind. Besides, if you do not eat, you will not heal." An ear flicked again in disinterest, noting the loud growl of Dovepaw's stomach. He would make the idiot eat that mouse that he had given to him.

Something turned in his mind then and he felt the bitterness in his throat suddenly unloosen and a terrible smirk wormed its way onto his features. He knew from gossip and the stares of what other cats used to think about them. He did not know if Dovepaw was privy to those whispering. Most cats were polite to not say anything unless it was confirmed. For Ravenpaw, he had always told himself he did not care.

"I know you despise my character, but is my face really that terrible that you refuse my care for you, friend?" He rumbled, finally twisting his head almost as if he were an owl to grin at Dovepaw. His teeth were showing, blunted fangs glistening.

​

 

[dovethroat.]

He let out another huff of air. "Wh-Why offer, th-then?" Dovepaw asked, knowing he was being difficult but having not even the slightest desire in his heart to change that course of action. "I d-don't w-want to h-heal. I don't w-want to be a warrior, I d-don't want to do a-anything. This whole p-place is awful." He spoke with a mix of a flippant tone and almost too-intimate of phrasing; it was clear he wanted to seem like he was making a dark joke, but it failed—giving some insight to himself, instead.

Despite being horribly self-conscious, Dovepaw could also be a touch clueless. He had hardly heard any of the whispers about him—probably because most people were whispering about Dovepaw from further away. He was more of a spectacular failure, and Ravenpaw was an undeniable success. Nobody had anything nice to say about Dovepaw, he would have thought with a bitter curl in the back of his throat.

It would be a lie, however, to say that he had not heard rumblings.

Watching Ravenpaw eerily crane his neck to face him, Dovepaw was more confused than anything else. His face heated up in embarrassment, and he looked to the side of the den as if to confirm that he had not fallen asleep and begun dreaming. "...Y-Yes." He said flatly, his voice trying to maintain a severe and lofty tone but ending up wavering and unsure. "I—I d-don't think, uh," he stammered, blushing if he could have. "I f-follow."

[⋆]​

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