As time stretched on and Highstones loomed tantalisingly close, Fernpaw didn't let himself slow down to talk as much as he had been for the journey toward the lungwort. More than ever he was conscious of how long they'd been gone- how much he'd learned, changed and proved. Small and runty still, Fernpaw would however bet he'd bulked up a little- and his paw-pads were not plush, but calloused from travel and travail. What his mind lay on most of all, though, was what they had left behind. What they were coming back to. Would those two things remain in harmony? Or- or would there be some collapsed chaos, more sick than ever- a Clan dissolved, shredded...
He would rather not let himself think about it, and didn't. Instead, he coaxed his thoughts simply to small steps- like remembering everything, just as Steepsnout had asked. Once she was revitalised back to the merry, competitive she-cat he'd always known, he could tell her everything- and Mudpelt, too, would listen. Maybe he'd even gather everyone around in a circle, tell them all in one go, look for the reaction on Sablepaw's face when he spoke about the flowers that bloomed in the freeze, or watch Ravensong when he spoke about how Dovethroat had been adamant to help Stormpaw.
His mind chugged on all the details, especially when he tried to think of a way to explain the scale of the cliff. Steepsnout had wanted to know everything. Fernpaw didn't have a bad visual memory, but sometimes articulating it all often proved a bit of a roadblock. It was there, accessible... it just seemed the moment he tried to seize it, like a fish, it darted from his grasp.
(After all these moons he was a good fisher, now. He hoped his storytelling had improved thusly.)
"How would you describe that cliff we went up?" Someone had sidled to his side, and he wasted no time in engaging them. "To someone who's never seen it?"
He would rather not let himself think about it, and didn't. Instead, he coaxed his thoughts simply to small steps- like remembering everything, just as Steepsnout had asked. Once she was revitalised back to the merry, competitive she-cat he'd always known, he could tell her everything- and Mudpelt, too, would listen. Maybe he'd even gather everyone around in a circle, tell them all in one go, look for the reaction on Sablepaw's face when he spoke about the flowers that bloomed in the freeze, or watch Ravensong when he spoke about how Dovethroat had been adamant to help Stormpaw.
His mind chugged on all the details, especially when he tried to think of a way to explain the scale of the cliff. Steepsnout had wanted to know everything. Fernpaw didn't have a bad visual memory, but sometimes articulating it all often proved a bit of a roadblock. It was there, accessible... it just seemed the moment he tried to seize it, like a fish, it darted from his grasp.
(After all these moons he was a good fisher, now. He hoped his storytelling had improved thusly.)
"How would you describe that cliff we went up?" Someone had sidled to his side, and he wasted no time in engaging them. "To someone who's never seen it?"
✦ penned by pin ✦
