pafp got no bark but i’ll still make a sound [advice]

[FALCONHEART]

𓍊𓋼 Falconheart wouldn’t call himself a good warrior, by any means. Sure, he’s fast and agile, and good at climbing, but he doesn’t have the brute strength that Burnstorm has, or the confidence that Raccoonstripe has. Still, he passed his assessment on his second try, so he is a warrior all the same. And though he may not be a good one, Falconheart wouldn’t want to be anything but a warrior. He has a lot of respect for Berryheart and Hailstorm because their skills are invaluable to the clan, but he can’t even begin to imagine himself in their paws. But when Hailstorm asks for his help with changing the moss in the elders’ nests, the cream tabby agrees easily—he remembers doing this frequently when he was an apprentice, and he hadn’t managed to catch anything on his earlier hunt of the day, so might be more useful helping out in camp instead of going hunting again.

"Yeah, of course," he agrees quickly, a genuine smile crossing his muzzle. They set to work, and the smile doesn’t leave his face as he immerses himself in his task. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a patrol gathering to leave camp, though, and his expression falters. Something has been weighing on him for moons now, since he’d failed his first assessment. Burnstorm had said that it was purposely unfair the first time, that he wanted Falconheart to be prepared, but the cream tabby still feels as though he’s an inadequate warrior because of it. Stormfeather had returned to camp a hero, for fighting dogs and returning with the clan’s much-needed lungwort, and meanwhile Falconheart had been busy not graduating at all.

He clears his throat, doing a poor job of hiding the tension in his clenched jaw. "Hailstorm, you seem…" wise, he wants to say. But not wise like an elder, just wise like someone who has been alive for over triple the time that Falconheart has. "You seem like you know a lot. Can I ask you something?" He waits for an affirmative response before continuing, tail lashing uncomfortably behind him. Howlingstar had told him that his strengths laid in his care for others, not his might, but how can he take care of his clanmates if he isn’t strong enough to defend them? "How can I be a… a good warrior even though I’m not so good at fighting?" Surely of all cats to ask, Hailstorm is a good idea—he’s a healer, not a warrior, but he used to be one. Maybe he can help Falconheart figure out what to do.

// @HAILSTORM.​

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[GENTLESTORM]

'CAUSE SOMEWHERE DOWN THE BANK — The lumbering giant cannot help but offer a warm grin when Falconheart agrees to help him changing the bedding of the elders though he cannot help turn his attention to the young tabby warrior when he clears his throat and noting the tension in his jaw. Hailstorm prepares to ask what's wrong but the striped tom begins to speak first so the medicine cat apprentice holds his tongue to listen carefully to see what was bothering Falconheart and what's going on in his mind. "Hailstorm, you seem..." The older cat cannot help feeling his snout wrinkling slightly with amusement dancing in his dark gaze but still keeps his jaws shut until his helper finished "Of course, Falcon. I'll do my best in answering it." His snow dipped paws removing the old bedding carefully as his ears prick forward to show that he's listening intently to the cream tabby and that his attention would not deter from the other even if his eyes shift to his task.

"How can I be a... a good warrior even though I'm not so good at fighting?"

The healer glances up after he pushes aside old moss and his brown eyes focus onto the young warrior soon turning to a gentle, understanding gaze as he let's out a half-chuckle "Ah, I see... But you shouldn't focus on your weaknesses and try to think of your strengths. You are a good warrior," A snow dipped paw motions to the work that they've been doing as he continues, "Everyone's built, learn, and succeed differently. I'm a good fighter and my bulk helps me overcome my enemies but where I'm strong there is something I'm poor and weak at." The white and grey striken once warrior tilts his helm to the side as a sheepish smile crosses his maw as he admits his greatest weakness to Falconheart not caring if there was any listening ears around "I'm quite bad at hunting... My paws much too big and alerting every small animal of my presence. My fur sticking out amongst the brighter and vibrant colors of new-leaf..."

A soft hum leaving him as he finishes tilting his helm to the side, "But that didn't make me less of a good warrior and even now that I'm on the path of healing. So focus on what you're best at and if you wish to get better then practice is the only way. You won't succeed on the first attempt but if you keep trying, you'll accomplish so much." He remembers when Falconheart had tried to climb a tree when he was still an apprentice and the memory itself makes a warm chuckle tumble from his slightly parted jaws "Like when you climbed that tree... You kept trying and you succeeded from determination... And words of advice." He pauses to let the cream tabby take his words and take them to heart only to nod his head in slow affirmation.

"You are a good warrior, Falconheart."

WHERE THE DOGS ROAM ✿ POR LA CALLE QUE TE LLEVA A CURICÓ

• 

  MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING;
  — ✿✿✿✿✿ FLESH WOUNDS
  — ✿✿✿❀❀ INFECTIONS
  — ✿✿✿❀❀ ACHES & PAINS
  — ✿✿✿❀❀ ILLNESS
  — ✿✿❀❀❀ BREATHING ISSUES
  — ✿❀❀❀❀ TRAVELING HERBS
  — ✿❀❀❀❀ BROKEN BONES
  — ❀❀❀❀❀ KITTING
  — ❀❀❀❀❀ POISONS
• 
  ✿ longhaired blue sepia tom w/low white and brown eyes
  ✿ hail is a very warm individual (despite his name) and friendly to those who he meets, he's very social and willing to lend anyone a paw if they need it. he's very patient, gentle, and it's usually rare to earn his ire.
  ✿ 52 moons old; ages the 27th every month
  ✿ widowed/not interested; mated to little wolf
  ✿ currently being mentored by no one
  ✿ easy to befriend/interact with ; hard to anger/upset
  ✿ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ✿ peaceful powerplay allowed

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[FALCONHEART]

𓍊𓋼 His question is answered, and Falconheart listens attentively, his paws stilling on the moss that he’s in the middle of shifting around. Blue-green eyes focus solely onto the fluffy tom while he speaks, ears swiveled to catch each and every word. Hailstorm tells him first and foremost that he should focus on his strengths instead of his weaknesses—which is a frustrating concept, because he has so many. He just wants to feel like he’s serving his clan well. The older tom lets slip his own weakness, and for a few heartbeats Falconheart only stares in silence. He blinks once, startled, and then tilts his head. His paws go back to sorting out dirtied moss, a small frown slipping into his muzzle. Of course Hailstorm isn’t good at hunting, but he doesn’t have to be good at it now that he’s a medicine cat apprentice. He says as much aloud, shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. "That’s okay. You don’t have to be good at hunting."

Oh, he thinks. That makes sense. Falconheart doesn’t have to be good at everything. He’s sort of good at hunting, at dashing through the underbrush and scaling trees. Without good hunters, ThunderClan wouldn’t be able to feed everyone in the clan. Hailstorm once again tells him that he’s a good warrior, and his white-capped tail lashes. "Yeah," he says, but agreeing with the older tom feels the same as purposely driving a thorn into his paw. Everyone keeps telling him that—you’re a good warrior. But what if he’s not? What if he’s a bad warrior, and he’s just convinced them all, somehow, that he’s a good one? What will they think when they realize that his warrior ceremony was a lie, and wrong, and he shouldn’t even be here at all? His breath catches for a moment, thinking of Sunnyday’s exile. Will that happen to him? No, he tries to reason with himself, he hurt his clanmates. I would never hurt anyone in ThunderClan.

"I’ll just have to… keep practicing, then. I’ll never be the best warrior, but I can be a good one." Determination. A willingness to take advice. Those are both good things, but neither will help ThunderClan if rogues attack again, or dogs. But as he thinks back to the fire that his mother has told him about, how hunting had been difficult as the territory suffered and winter blew in. He’d been born that winter—but if he’d been a warrior, able to help hunt for the clan, could he have helped his entire litter to survive? It’s a sad thought, because there’s nothing to be done about it now, but maybe it’s okay.

He straightens suddenly, smiling at Hailstorm. "I think I understand what you mean. Thank you, uh, for the advice."​

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