private TROUBLED BY THE EMPTINESS — ravenpaw

[BEESONG]

the days following the raid pass by him in a blur. the world doesn't even feel real, like everything that's happened is just some horrible nightmare... clearsight's death, his pillaged stock, the stench of moor and blood that doesn't seem to leave no matter how much he cleans his den. he wishes he was naive enough to believe that it was all a dream. that would be easier to accept than the truth, at the very least. he could carry on with his duties without all of this guilt, anger, and grief buffeting him until he can't feel anything at all.

beesong finds it easier to lock themselves away in their den, fussing over the countless injured and busying their trembling paws with the surmounting work. they didn't want to go out and see those grief-stricken faces, or look out at the clearing and see clearsight's broken body adorned in blood. but even if it is preferable, it isn't even remotely enjoyable. their den is too quiet. gloompaw's absence is felt in every corner of their life... funny how they'd gotten used to her company so quickly; she'd always fill the silence, making dumb jokes as they reorganized or asking about a herb as they put it away. funnier yet is how they've suddenly decided they hate the quiet when they've never minded it before.

that unnerving silence is all that beesong could focus on, as he changes the cobwebs on his own shoulder. it threatens to crush him under its weight, so he presses hard on the cobwebs until the sting of the claw marks has him scrunching his eye shut and gritting his teeth. and when he finally releases and opens his eye, when the air feels just a little less oppressive, he notices; a pair of green eyes, watching him. their owner melds with the shadows of the den, but beesong can make out the silhouette of large, rounded ears enough to recognize ravenpaw. he snorts, surprised even with the sheer number of patients that he has an audience of any kind... the cinnamon tabby has changed cobwebs so much over the past moons it's become almost as natural as breathing when he does it. he forgets that to those outside of his own profession, it isn't second nature.

seeing an opportunity to break the silence, even if for a moment, beesong tilts their head. "you need something?" their voice rasps, scratches uncomfortably at their throat, and they're reminded that they should probably drink something soon.

@RAVENPAW. ​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Ravenpaw dreamed of his claws raking into Gravelpaw's fur every night since the invasion. This night, when he reinvented himself kicking his hand-claws into Gravelpaw's stomach, swarms of bugs had fallen from the ripped wounds. Ravenpaw's spine and pelt prickled with unease and fear as he shoved himself away and blinked awake.

The sting of his wounds followed his waking conscious. He was better off than most, with the worse damage being done to his left eye.By some miracle, it continued to function, and the torn tear duct and eyelid was a reminder of the price he had paid for Hyacinthbreath's choices.

He sat close by Beesong, eyes tracking the medicine cat's movements with no subtlety. With the disappearance of Gloompaw, and the staggering amount of injuries, it did not take long for any cat with half a brain to know he was struggling in his own way. WindClan could still come back at any time—with their warriors injured and one dead, it would not take much. He had not thought much about what it meant to be a medicine cat—so determined was he to prove the Clan wrong about kittypets that he had forced himself on the path of an apprentice, even though he failed at every swimming lesson.

Those green eyes blinked, paws unfolding from underneath him when he was addressed. "No, I was just curious." He mumbled, averting his eyes. His wound began to bleed again, softly. He raised a paw to pick at it before sighing. "And wondering... Beesong... is there any cure for stupidity?" His teeth set firmly, still thinking of Hyacinthbreath.

​

 

[BEESONG]

beesong hums at ravenpaw's answer; just curious. it isn't an unusual one. many of his clanmates look at his work with furrowed brows offset against wide eyes. he would typically brush it off, leaving them to their curiosities unless verbally prodded. but something is different, today. maybe it's gloompaw's absence or the reminder that life could be taken away in the blink of an eye in the form of freshly disturbed dirt sitting in the graveyard. no one lives forever, not even him, as terribly integral to his clan as he is.

whatever it is, beesong leans slightly closer to ravenpaw, though he is careful to maintain a comfortable distance still. "what're you curious about?" an idle black paw rises to a cobweb dressing, and beesong frowns. they seem to be doing more and more of that, lately. "try not to mess with it." it'll heal slower if picked at, though the healer doesn't mention that out loud.

ravenpaw's question takes him by surprise. the cinnamon tabby jerks back, barking a laugh that's far too dry to be humorous. a cure for stupidity... how he wished such a thing existed. his mind cuts to windclan with a bitter huff, his eyes narrowing. the barbaric clan would've needed at least two doses if there was a cure and their crazed leader would've needed even more. or maybe sootstar would be too far gone for any magical remedy to fix.

"'fraid not... unless you count death as a cure." beesong finally mutters after a pensive pause. they wonder if ravenpaw thinks of the moorland clan as they do... but aside from a tip of their chin, they don't allow the question to surface.​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Ravenpaw had always had a lingering curiosity about the duties of a medicine cat, but those curiosities had not gotten him far in actually pursuing them. This was mostly due to his intensive focus on becoming a warrior. That was what every wild cat here wanted, wasn't it? Ravenpaw, as it turned out to be, was not the best warrior material. Caught in a strange limbo between longing to go home and seeking a place to belong, Ravenpaw felt himself slipping with no resolution in sight. He was terrified of the idea of his assessment.

Now, with the battle in the background and the chance to see Beesong work up close, organizing herbs and making poultices required a different sort of talent—one that worked the brain and spiritual side in a way that a warrior could not fulfill. He felt drawn to it, but was too shy to admit that he had been fearfully wrong about the first path he had tried to take in life.

"How you know... what to do for all these injuries." His large ear twitched backwards. "And even further, why plants make cats feel better. It is strange." He mused, tucking his paws back underneath himself at Beesong's soft rebuke to keep his claws away from the wound.

A tight-lipped smile appeared on the dark cat's face when Beesong laughed. He looked down at the ground for a moment, contemplative. "Maybe not." He remarked. "But for a clan so close physically to StarClan, you might think they would have been a bit more blessed with brains." He said wryly.

​

 

[BEESONG]

beesong hums appreciatively as ravenpaw tucks his fidgeting paws beneath him. a twitch of his curled ear acknowledges that he's heard ravenpaw's curiosities, but even so, the cinnamon tabby remains silent for heartbeats following. there's an idea brewing behind his half-lidded eyes, and he agonizes over whether he should give it a voice or not.

eventually, beesong does answer. "i've learned a lot over the moons," they reply matter-of-factly. and i've still got a lot to learn. they leave it unspoken, unwilling to plant any seeds of doubt in ravenpaw about their knowledge... or lack thereof. beesong smiles at ravenpaw, but it doesn't quite reach their eyes. there's another short lilt in the conversation, the medic glancing at where gloompaw's nest once lay. a shadow falls over their expression, but they shake it off as quickly as it came. "would you like to learn, as well?" the invitation is offered, and beesong looks back to the raven-furred boy.

another snort is expelled from his nose at ravenpaw's wry remark. it's something that he's wondered, himself. sootstar claims to be an avid follower of starclan, and she crowns herself as someone who carries out the stars' will. but beesong does not see anything holy or righteous in her actions; all that the blue-furred queen brings is death and heartache. that could never be starclan's will. the cinnamon tabby shoots a withering glare at his depleted stock. many herbs have been put to use patching up wounds, others destroyed by the claws of a windclanner. "you would think." beesong shakes his head, forcing himself back into an expression of neutrality. he tries not to let bitterness creep into his voice as he adds, "but some feats are impossible, even for starclan, i suppose."​

 

[RAVENSONG]

His breath comes out in a tiny exhale. No doubt that Beesong had been learning for so long. In a way, Ravenpaw supposes, a medicine cat never stops learning. Something new could come up—something that worked before might not work again, or maybe a better remedy would be found. Suddenly Ravenpaw found himself presented with all the paths a medicine cat could take when presented with an injury or illness. To him, it was a puzzle to observe, diagnose correctly, and treat correctly. His perfectionist nature yearned for it to be flawless. Indeed, a mistake made by medic paws could turn into life or death for a cat. The responsibility must be heavy on Beesong's shoulders.

He too, suddenly thought of Gloompaw and cast his gaze toward the empty nest. He had never known her more than cursory, but her loss had been felt by everyone. When the Clan needed her at its worst, she could not be found. Dead? Alive? There was no answer.

Then the question is asked and Ravenpaw gives a start. Once again, the images of those paths and mazes presents itself in his mind. His eyes, wide, blink up at Beesong. He imagines his mind traversing those secret paths, silent intelligence developing in an area he could thrive in. Knowledge of life and death at his paws. Heavens and earth.

"Could I really?" He breathed, as if he was afraid being too loud would make the suggestion vanish from existence. Pride blows, inflates his chest. "Because... I would."

He can hardly bring himself to care any more about Sootstar in this moment.

​

 

[BEESONG]

ravenpaw starts at his question, and maybe it's deprived hope, but beesong swears that there's excitement glittering in the other's wide eyes. the ebony apprentices breathes out a question that's almost too soft for the healer to hear... but a curled ear twitches, catching it just barely. could i really? "yes," beesong answers, quicker than he usually would. riverclan needs a successor to shoulder his duties when starclan comes to claim him... and as much as beesong wants gloompaw to return, he couldn't wait for her forever. he couldn't even say that she would return.

ravenpaw claims that he would fill that void left by gloompaw, and beesong lets out a breath they hadn't realized they'd held in the momentary silence. but this weight isn't completely lifted from them, not yet... "i'll speak with cicadastar, then, if you're sure." it isn't an easy path. their shoulders ache from the burden of the clan's wellbeing that rests upon them, always worrying over every minor limp or slight sniffle. but if ravenpaw wishes to walk this path with them, they wouldn't pass up the opportunity. not with a war brewing on the horizon.​