VALAR DOHAERIS [ cloverjaw ]

[SILVERSMOKE]

A sudden burst of bad weather took away the promise of hunting. He'd never been fond of dreary weather and that morning was no exception, the pitter-patter of rain atop the warrior's nook a constant reminder to all that newleaf still had its share of bad days. Tired eyes watched the outside world grow greyer and greyer, the maine coon settled away from his usual nesting spot in favour of one closer to the entrance of the den. It was empty enough to justify stealing someone else's place for a time, the storm had only started once dawn patrols had already departed - keeping to her word, Orangeblossom hadn't sent him off with Slate. He didn't know if she was aware of what transpired the day before or if everyone present had been able to keep their mouths shut and stick to the story that it had been a dog that had caused a commotion. Lying should've been beneath the sharp-tongued warrior, but he'd struggled to speak to anyone after the incident, even Auburnflame, whose betrayed look felt worse than any wound Slate could've given him. He'd broken his promise to Blazestar as well, perhaps that was enough for Silversmoke to feel shame.

But, he knew it wasn't just those two he had hurt. A shift of nesting material behind him and Silversmoke was reminded that Cloverjaw was also seeking shelter. He'd avoided looking at Slate's brother as best he could, offering curt answers where possible and changing the topic if the other tried to bring anything up but the weather. He chewed the side of his tongue, his tail sweeping away strands of moss around him like a broom. He sat more upright as he swore Cloverjaw's eyes were on him (maybe it was a false feeling, they'd been full of them for a while), posing as he'd seen his mother do for twolegs. Eventually, and with the strain of expectation upon him, the rain's white noise grew too much to bear. Silversmoke cleared his throat to give the air a far more pleasant sound - the sound of Cloverjaw's voice, he decided (though Silversmoke wasn't sure if that was from a friendly place, or from gnawing guilt). "I've been meaning to apologise for dragging your name into my argument." He turned his head to the side, the corner of his pupil settled on the silver tabby. "I was angry and... it wasn't right. I am sorry."

@CLOVERJAW


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[cloverjaw -]

TAGS — Cloverjaw thinks he has a talent for optimism. And if it isn't optimism in the traditional sense, then perhaps it is just some ability to find beauty in the little things-- including the little raindrops that pound the roof of the warriors' den. He'd felt it in his jaw before the rain had come. It's sort of fun to imagine some connection between him and nature, then, some silver thread that they communicate through, though of course he knows it's not true. Perhaps the scent of petrichor can be enough beauty to keep his aches at bay, then. There are several aches, after all: the absence of so many SkyClanners, the memory of Kuiper's mauling, the dog attack they'd all endured just a short time before. And, of course, a certain warrior's words were on his mind.

Silversmoke is at his back, and he can't help but think about the way he'd twisted him into a knife. He thinks that, maybe, he's more bothered than he ought to be-- maybe in the heat of the moment he would have done something similar. He's said things that he regrets now. But he would never hurt Slate, and he doesn't take kindly to this attempt otherwise. And somewhere deeper in him, insecurity grasps at the tips of his ribs. This is Silversmoke's idea of an easier life? Cats going missing, cats dying, battling each other and hunting for food even in the barest winter? He knows that he'd been pampered as a kittypet, but he only knows it in retrospect. That had been easy. He likes this life more, but if this is the harder of the two of them, did that make him inept? Does Silversmoke really see him as an equal? They've been in SkyClan for nearly the same amount of moons, and yet doubt takes root in his heart.

He's staring still at the rain when Silversmoke speaks. Apologizes. Cloverjaw's ear twitches, acknowledging it as he thinks. But there is a wide basket full of forgiveness in his chest, and he can't keep it to himself for long. "It's alright," he replies, turning his amber gaze to meet the other's. He can't help but glance over the scars that blind the lead warrior, though; he can't help but imagine Slate's claws being the ones to tear through that flesh. It's different. He knows his brother is not a paragon of peace or virtue, but his heart is good. What had happened that he'd taken an eye from Silversmoke? But then, what had Cloverjaw done to deserve the scar he was named for?

And though his forgiveness calms him like chamomile, there is still something uncomfortable that he can't reach; a pea beneath his mattress that he can't sleep on. Cloverjaw's lips purse; his gaze darts back outside as he thinks. "It's just..." and he trails off, because the anger that had boldened him to speak his mind has fizzled out beneath the weight of weariness. He needs to try, though, doesn't he? "Well, I know you and Slate aren't friends- obviously -but I'd never hurt him. Ever. Y'know?" That might be direct enough. Hopefully Silversmoke can understand-- and if his words aren't enough, then the look in his eyes might be more telling. "He's my brother." And he'll leave it at that.

Plumy tail twitches as he considers his words, but it soon comes to curl around his paws. A beat of rain-filled silence passes between them. The weight in his chest seems to dissipate-- though not completely. There's still something bothering him. Cloverjaw leans quizzically, imperceptibly forward, posing his question: "What happened between you two, anyway?" He thinks he's pieced it mostly together already, but he'd like to hear the story in full-- and perhaps with less heat behind it.​

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[SILVERSMOKE]

Cloverjaw forgives him easily, too easily. He turned his head fully to the other, eyes blinking wider and wider in a display of surprise that his muzzle refused to cooperate with. The pair went back and forth a lot, similar to the lover's quarrel passersby liked to call his problems with Slate, different in that he truly bore no ill will to the silver tabby no matter how often they disagreed. A weight felt lifted off of the Lead Warrior's shoulders, a grateful nod offered to Cloverjaw, but there was a pause from the other that made him wonder if he'd celebrated too early. 'The hesitance is deserved,' he reminded himself, shuffling his body around until his back was against the den's exit. Still as regal as a showcat, his cheek was pillowed by the fluff upon his chest as he angled his head, expecting some sort of rebuttal from the other silver tom. Smoke wasn't far off. A reminder of the shared blood between a tense friend and a mortal enemy, a promise that no matter what, Clover's claws would never pierce that bastard's skin. He simultaneously understood and didn't understand, a conundrum brought about by one with fierce loyalty but no sibling bonds to speak of.

"You may not hurt him, but if he does betray SkyClan, I only hope for both our sakes you don't defend him." Cloverjaw's loyalty may one day be tested by his wily brother, but Silversmoke's would always be to the home that gave him purpose and life. It was a line that separated them, a line that if crossed, could have devastating consequences. But, Cloverjaw wanted to move on, and so did Silversmoke. There was no point talking hypotheticals when everyone tried to assure him that such a day would never come.

The topic-changing question was hardly any easier though. It was a question asked thrice now. Blazestar had gotten the full version of events, Auburnflame had gotten a summary. Cloverjaw... Silversmoke didn't know what Cloverjaw would get until he opened his mouth. He bunched his ivory paws closer together, his lashing tail increasing in voracity. "We were hunting the same rat a long time ago. We didn't know each other, yet when I got the kill first, he came at me like a mad dog with accusations and demands that I hand it over. I must've told him where he could shove such requests and then... after a brief spat, he tried to blind me. All over prey that would've lasted cats our size a day at best." It was luck that Slate had only succeeded in taking one eye, the spotted tabby thought. Though, his emotions had been so frayed at the time that even he wasn't sure if he was telling Cloverjaw an objective truth. All he knew was that he'd seen that same desire to maim yesterday, a blast to the past that would've ended in teeth in someone's throat had it not been for the dog their argument had brought over. Despite it all, he'd still tried to save Slate's life. He wanted to chalk it down to instinct but... the spotted tabby didn't know for certain, nor was he fond of blaming his actions on anything other than a selfish desire not to see a cat eaten alive.

His fur bristled in ripples. "I understand why he did it. Blindness is a fight-ender, disable an opponent so you may live free of injury. Selfish, but better rogues have done worse things. But when you are on the other end of those claws and all you see is red, all you feel is a white-hot agony that never seemed to end no matter how much you screamed. When that pain comes back in flashes and you can't see your clanmates through that eye, only their clouded, blurry shapes telling you that a creature capable of doing that is actually a 'good guy', it's not pragmatism, it's torture."

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