private NO MORE TEARS \ smokethroat

[FERNGILL]

Freedom hardly felt like it, for... he was sill Fernpaw, but now worse for wear. At least, for the moment. Maybe he would adapt to it, like Mudpelt had insisted- like Mudpelt had promised. But that felt like something he wanted to believe, more than something he felt like he should believe. What the fiery tom had arrived on as some sort of solution, some attempt made to soothe his blazing doubts, was to ask someone who had a bit of experience in the matter. His sister, maybe... but as he scanned camp, he could not spot that overtly familiar pelt. No, instead the snow-splashed other option caught his eye.

Smokethroat was the deputy, now- as if Fernpaw could possess any more depth of respect for the tom, there was that. He'd trained his much more capable sister and was one of the most perfect pictures of a good, brave RiverClan warrior. Therefore... they shared only one similarity, really. And that was the missing eye. Blinded eye. Same difference.

"Uh, Smokethroat?" The older tom seemed unoccupied... though Fernpaw still felt odd approaching him, taking up what was potentially valuable time. It was hardly something he would have doubted before the failure of his warrior assessment. "If you're not busy. Um... can I ask you for advice? On how to adapt to... this...?" He motioned to his injured eye, a hopeful smile finding its way onto his face, against the odds.

\ @Smokethroat ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

He's really the last cat most seek out, deputy or not he was intimidating and he knew it; something one could not really change because that was simply just how he looked. The scars were layering now bit by bit, soon he would be just an overlapping mass of them at the rate he was going and hardly a soul would consider him approachable then; but when he bled it was for RiverClan's sake and they would understand that in time. Or not. Frankly, he didn't care-Smokethroat was here to defend his clan, not their morals.
When Fernpaw approaches he is staring off into space, single orange gaze narrowed thoughtfully; he had a lot going on in his head as of late and it was often difficult to sort it all out in a way that made sense. His new position was still something jarring to think about, the recent events up to and including Beesong's death had him rattled in a way he couldn't really comprehend save for passing moments of realization and grief. In addition the newest occurence going on was a matter he had not stopped dwelling on since he had an inkling of its presence and it was only a matter of time before he had to face that.
So the orange tom's interuption of his musing was a more than welcome distraction.
Smokethroat turned, a slow bink from that single blazing iris as he honed in on the hesitant apprentice. He was awkward, unsure in his words, but eventually he pushed out the question and an uneasy smile that pulled the new scarring of his face back enough to shut that eye into a squint. Surprisingly, he offered a rare, calm smile in response. He'd arrived back to camp from his own patrol in time to see the aftermath, the bloodied ginger face and Mudpelt's harried expression twisting a claw into his chest more tenaciously than he thought it might; the very real fear of losing a kit before you never stopped being present even as they grew older it seemed. It was terrifying in a way.
"It's good to see you out of the medicine cat den." He was relieved for Fernpaw that his stay had been a farcry from his own, he still thinks of the lucid days trapped in his own head, sickly sweet infection scent filling the den, "...already trying to get back into training are you? Good. It's admirable."
The dark tom slowly rose to stand, making a point to roll his shoulders with a soft and barely audible pop as he stretched.
"...it...takes time. I still find myself trying to rely on it even knowing its not there." The scars that replaced his own left eye were far less pretty to look at than the bloodied line that marred the apprentice's face; he wondered what was worse. Having the eye and it being useless or losing it entirely.
"But it's something you can overcome with practice...can you see at all with it?"

---

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[FERNGILL]

Smokethroat's maw curving in a smile was a surprise, but a pleasant one at least- the sight did not make Fernpaw recoil in shock and awe, but rather return a smile of his own. Despite how hesitant he had been, there was a sturdiness about his smile, and it was no lesser a part of him than it had ever been. He nodded- already back to training, indeed. What else was there to do? It felt like he had more to prove than ever; he had to show RiverClan that he was more than a struggling failure, more than a forever-apprentice.

He blinked thoughtfully as Smokethroat spoke about his experience, watching the deputy's face with his working eye. Still find myself relying on it- then, it was possible he'd never entirely be used to it. He supposed it was the same as any change in life; just a shift that you'd eventually grow numb to, but one that would never really go away. His jaw tightened a little, face shifting. "Nope. If I shut this one..." he said, doing exactly that with his un-marred eye, "It's just nothing. S'like..." and he opened his eye once again, "My vision just got... smaller, I guess." He imagined Smokethroat's situation was largely the same... he was lucky, really, for not having lost his eye entirely as the deputy had. ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

The tom hummed to himself, unsure of how to feel. How strange for the eye to be intact and not work but he was not very well-learned when it came to injuries and the like; he left such things to those with the skill for it. His own had been very cut and dry as far as diagnosis went; it was gone. There was nothing any plant nor even the most skilled of medicine cats could do to bring it back and he had not wasted a lot of time being bothered by it. It was a trial to overcome, like most things in life.
"I asked because I can't tell that you can't see out of it. Could very well be just a scar over your eye as far as anyone else knows. Your inability to see won't be something most cats know then, which you can use to your advantage well." In fights he had noticed that since losing his eye claws often swung from his blind side to strike him, cats often moved to his left to gain the upperhand; he fought to not let them through this way, constantly spinning and turning in combat. The orange apprentice might struggle a bit more than he did simply because he was not very combative to begin with but it wasn't as though it was entirely impossible to develop a knack for managing his now single-eyed scope of the world. Smokethroat stood, slowly circled along around Fernpaw as though gauging where best to start, "Had Mudpelt taught you the places you should guard best in a fight?" The throat, the belly and downward still, the soft places where a cats life might drain in an instant if allowed to cut.
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[FERNGILL]

Smokethroat's verdict, his throey- it made Fernpaw's expression lighten a little with the illumination of thoughtfulness, nodding slowly as he let his mind sit on the matter. He couldn't poke holes in the logic, though (not that he'd be much good at that)... even if it was clearly marred, he supposed the look of the eye was not quite mangled enough to be clearly unsighted. Unconsciously, his head tilted as he thought on it- attempted to commit it to his memory entirely. It'd be a good idea to tell Mudpelt that, definitely.

Something to use to his advantage. In the wake of an injury, it was an odd thing to gain- he'd never really had an advantage before.

His focus snapped back into place, eye following Smokethroat as he moved, spinning a little himself to try not to lose sight of the midnight-snow deputy. Jaw tightened, he nodded. "Yeah- yeah, he has. Throat 'n belly. It's..." he paused, unsure even if he should admit it. He supposed it was no secret he struggled in combat, despite his passion. "It's just, I'm not very strong. At Sunningrocks, I got pinned, and- I'm lucky that Thunderclanner didn't want to kill me, to be honest. She could've." He'd been attempting to guard his belly with kicks of the hind legs, but- it had been something he'd initially forgotten. Maybe it was a morbid thing to say, but as long as he was asking for advice it was probably best to mention. What he needed to learn was agility- skill, probably. He'd spent all this time trying to be strong, when he just wasn't. ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"You're already adapting. Turning to keep your good eye on me at all times, that's the proper way to do it." The dark deputy's tail lashes in thought, "Keep them in your sights, even if you must spin about to do so. If they see an opening they will take it. Our enemies will not always show an apprentice mercy."
He thinks of the young lives cut short in the Great Battle, the reason why cats are trained to become warriors with such earnest as soon as they showed themselves capable.
"...when it comes to your life, Fernpaw, fight with as much tenacity as the clans of old; do not relenquish it so easily." Smokethroat raises a paw to examine, white dipped and blackpadded, his first fight had been a loss, "Some cats aren't physically capable, rather than force it you must find what you can do and hone it to precision." He was a fair enough swimmer, most RiverClan cats were and the other clans were very rarely capable of handling themselves in the water. Utilizing your skills and your clans specialty was not an underhanded tactic but one gifted to them via their territory; if ThunderClan didn't want to be drowned then they need not pick fights at the river itself. But you didn't always have that and he was aware of it. The scrawny orange tom was slim enough he might be able to out maneuver a larger cat with ease but it would be something he needed to sort out with his mentor. The deputy only offered advice, he would not step on the toes of another's training unless asked by the trainer themselves but he understood why Fernpaw sought him out.
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