private HAPPIER IN HELL [cotton]

[SCORCHSTREAK]

༄༄ The battle has been won, but it has not come without its losses. Luckily, very few of Sunstride’s supporters had been killed, but those who live are injured. Some wounds, like Featherpaw’s, will likely never be forgotten. The sheer number of cats lying in the medicine den makes the dirt-speckled warrior worry—the fewer healthy bodies out hunting the moorland, the fewer mouths the clan will be able to feed. The calico has taken it upon themself to go hunting at every opportunity, dragging back as much winter-thin prey as they can manage, even as their muscles continuously ache from overuse. Today they’ve struck gold, returning to camp with a particularly plump hare; it will make a perfect meal for those being treated by Wolfsong and his apprentice.

Their night-dappled form slinks into the den silently on silent paws, shifting to stand before one of the nests. The scent of blood permeates the air in here, and it kills any appetite that the warrior may have had. "Here," they mutter, depositing the meal before one of the nests. "You’ll need to eat to recover your strength." She turns, then—fiery eyes settle upon Cottonfang for a single heartbeat, and then slide right past her. She says nothing, though her jaw clenches tightly at the proximity. She cannot decide where she stands with the smoky-furred she-cat. She cannot decide whether she has forgiven Cottonfang for the crime of not being her apprentice any longer. She offers only a dismissive wave of her tail, and then turns to stalk out of the den.

// @cottonfang​

​

 

[cottonsprig]

She works hard. She feels she must to make up for the sins of her existence - her blood, her foolish youth, her hopeful ignorance. If there is a place Wolfsong or Sunstride or - anyone for that matter needs her - then she's there. The hours that drag on are long, and Cottonfang feels her eyes close for a few heartbeats, yet they stutter open when she hears shuffling nearby. It's hard to miss Scorchstreak's blaze-spotted pelt, even as she slips away, but its easy to see that the other aims to leave with no consequence.

Before she knows what she must do, Cottonfang is on her paws, quickly moving to follow her former mentor. "Scorchstreak...!" She calls, hoping to halt her from another hunting patrol. She knows the mantra - not many able bodied hunters, not much prey, et cetera and so on. But surely... surely the lead warrior will lend her their ear? "Can we just... talk, for a second?" Her tone reads with inward pity. Even if the other's gaze graces her for only a few short seconds, Cottonfang elaborates, "I know - I know - I messed up, but we're on the same team here. You can't... you can't just keep ignoring me anymore." It hurts, and she feels odd to admit that now as she stumbles into adulthood.​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

༄༄ Before she can slip out of the den, she hears her name called out in a voice both familiar and foreign. Mismatched ears flatten against her skull and she pauses her steps, but she does not turn back around to look Cottonfang in the eye. Now is not the time to have this conversation. Not when so many clanmates are injured. Not when Soorstar still lives, holed up in her den as a prisoner. Not when Scorchstreak still hasn’t had the time to sift through her own emotions—from the journey to the stolen kits to the rebellion and the horseplace, there simply hasn’t been time. And, truth be told, Scorchstreak does not want to confront the fact that she still feels hurt by it, still feels inadequate. "No." The one-word response slips out quickly, and she moves to walk out of the den.

But then Cottonfang speaks again, insisting that she cannot keep ignoring her—which is incorrect, because Scorchstreak has grown used to stuffing her feelings into boxes in her mind to be sorted through later. The calico’s paws shuffle a bit, twitching to escape, but she holds herself still with some effort.

At last, Scorchstreak turns around to face the younger WindClanner, but she avoids meeting Cottonfang’s eyes. We’re on the same team, Cottonfang says, as though she hadn’t remained at Sootstar’s side, been given her full name while under the moorland snake’s rule. But she sees no point in responding with accusations. "You didn’t mess up," she says plainly, her face a mask of stoicism. Her attempts to seem unbothered fail her, however; her tail and paws both twitch, a clear signal of the anxiety that crawls its way into her gut.​

​

 

[cottonsprig]

The initial 'No,' is heard, felt in her chest like dirty claws tearing through it, and swiftly discarded. If they are to fix whatever Sootstar ruined, then they must all be on the same page, on speaking terms, so on and so forth. Cottonfang doesn't feel any bit mature making this stubborn decision to chatter on - she feels like a child, begging for her mother to look in her direction again. Scorchstreak is nothing like Sootstar (not anymore, at least,) but she supposes the dismissal had triggered something in her chest.

"I did," she presses. "I didn't leave as soon as I found out what happened, I stayed. I made the decision to heal the cats that hurt those I love and remained a medicine cat underneath Sootstar's claw. I -" a pause, and her lips press into a thin line, "I accepted StarClan's sign to be a medicine cat in the first place. Do you think that a mistake, Scorchstreak?" It's not accusatory, though maybe if she had any clearer thought, she would've worded it better. "Please, talk to me. That's all I ask." She sees how the other fidgets but says nothing of it, for surely her own nervous ticks are on display. And on display they are - her ears tilt back and her tail lashes behind her, each subconscious action filled with uncertainty and hope.​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

༄༄ The other she-cat lays the facts bare, speaking her crimes into the space between them. She’d become a fully-named medicine cat under Sootstar’s rule, aided her mother from behind the front lines of battle. She’d likely laid marigold to Hollowcreek’s injuries while Scorchstreak’s own wounds ached and bled. Her indignation flares for a moment, and then settles once more. "You did." She echoes Cottonfang’s sentiment, dark ear flicking swiftly. She is uncertain of how to respond when Cottonfang asks if StarClan choosing her was a mistake, though. Fiery eyes shift to the den’s floor, unwilling to meet the other cat’s gaze. "I am not one to question the will of StarClan. They chose you because…" Because they thought I was incapable of training you.

She can see, from the corner of her eye, the smoky-furred feline’s tail lashing. A sign of nerves. "You would know better than I why the stars chose you. Did you speak to them when you were named?" She doubts that Cottonfang would have skipped such a central part of becoming a full-fledged medicine cat, but if Sootstar defied the stars themselves, then she may have denied Cottonfang the visit. Which begs the question—is Cottonfang a medicine cat at all, if she never went to the Moonstone? The thought makes the tunneler’s temples pulse with the beginnings of a headache.

After a few heartbeats, she settles onto her haunches. Her night-dappled tail lashes once more, and then tucks its thickly furred length tightly around her forepaws. "What is there to talk about?" Her question is genuine, now. They are no longer mentor and apprentice—they are tunneler and medicine cat in training. They have little to nothing in common, even if they both rebelled against Sootstar in the end. What is there for the two of them to talk about? Are they meant to be friends?​

​

 

[cottonsprig]

[ this is a super late reply so literally its ok if u don't want to continue this thread LMAO it just felt awkward to leave alone </3 ]

Cottonfang's breath doesn't hitch when Scorchstreak asks her a question. It gets lost somewhere in her lungs, and her lips part though no air escapes them. Did you speak to them when you were named? The answer is easy yet the grey she-cat struggles to admit the truth. The mottled tunneler before her could just as easily ask Whitepaw or Snakehiss how she was named; both experienced the ceremony after all. So why is it so hard to admit it?

"No," she says, but her tone is not blunt nor is it emotional. It's clipped and uncertain and somewhere in the mess of a single syllable, its begging, like a child pleading with their mother to simply understand without being told the circumstances. "Sootstar - she decided it was time for me to earn my name. Highstones was barred, even from me, so StarClan... has not approved of... me, not yet." The possibility of 'not ever' scares her a little. The fire that blazed in her lashing tail dampens only as she speaks, Scorchstreak finally easing herself to sit and accept a conversation. And yet, suddenly, Cottonfang's mind is blank.

"Well, I..." she looks to the wayside, almost as if she wasn't sure she'd get this far. Another pause, and before the lead warrior could escape her, Cottonfang says, "I suppose very little. But - but - if Sunstride keeps you on his council, which I have no doubt he will, then we will remain in the same circles for longer, Scorchstreak. We can't keep... ignoring one another. It will not be good for the future of the Clan if the standing figureheads cannot even have a normal conversation." She pauses, and her ears press back. Her ranking feels ambiguous, especially with the knowledge that Sootstar christened her with blood and fealty.

"I feel guilt in the fact that I was removed from you," she says, "but we should not feel shame that our paths have diverted from one another. And that's that."​