cry me a river [redhawk/spottedpaw]

[hannah]

redhawk ;[/font]

Redhawk groaned. His fur, dappled with rain, clung to his ginger fur. He staggered to his paws and shook out his pelt, ears flicking away the tiny beads still hanging desperately.

The world around him seemed fuzzy. But then, it always did. He could only see outlines of the cats around him, blurred as they glided majestically over the terrain. Ever since the badger attack, he had been left partially blind and deaf. He was lucky to escape with his life.

Faint words sounded from behind him before he realized that it was a fellow elder just behind him. He ignored them, pretending he hadn't heard. He noted that the elder sighed and slumped back into their nest. He rolled his eyes. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't a warrior anymore; he didn't have to care for the elders -- he was an elder. He chose to retire from his duties. He knew he would be a burden to his Clan - in battle, at least. How could a blind and deaf warrior possibly fight? And win? He figured it to be impossible. The elder, he deduced it was probably Pebblestep, would have to live with the fact that they were stuck with him, no matter how much he bothered them with his constant tosses and turns in his nest in the middle of the night.

He padded blindly out of the elder's den, but he knew exactly where he was headed. He may have been blinded, but that didn't keep him from remembering where the fresh-kill pile was kept. He could pick it out, not just because of the scent, but because he had seen it many times before he lost his sight. He knew exactly where it was. With places in camp and just outside of camp, Redhawk fared well. It was further out, in unknown territory, that he lost his sense of direction.

He trotted towards the fresh-kill pile and nosed through the blurred shapes, decidedly scooping a frog in his jaws. He padded away quietly, settling himself just outside of the elder's den with the prey between his paws. He stared down at it without really seeing it - literally and figuratively - because his mind was on other things.

His claws tore into the earth as he was yet again reminded that he was no longer a warrior -- the warrior's den, on the other side of camp, was no longer a place for him. He could have remained a warrior, but he knew better than to fool himself like that. He was not a warrior; a warrior had to be able to see his opponent. A warrior had to be able to see his prey. He couldn't do any of that. No, he decided. It's better this way.

He picked absently at the frog, quiet as sunrise turned slowly to sunhigh.

[shakestir]

The cold air outside would not have chilled Spottedpaw so easily had it been dry outside. The medicine cat’s apprentice licked the precipitation off of her shoulders and shook the loose water droplets from her pelt. Her forest green eyes were tired of looking for pieces of dry moss for the elders’ den. They would have to be satisfied with what they had for the time being. No matter how much she wanted to help them, there was very little she could do to dehydrate the moss. With a wide yawn that revealed sharp, ivory fangs, the small cat turned away from the large boulder she was trying to extract the water-soaked moss from and made her way back into camp. The clearing was fairly deserted, save for a few cats who were keeping out of the rain as best they could without hiding out in their respective dens.

The scents of damp fur and fresh meat combined as Spottedpaw passed the fresh kill pile and made her way to the elders’ den. She had spent much of her time in that den, tending to the elders with poppy seeds and mouse bile. Often, when sleep would not come right away, she would be able to find some occasion to enter the elders’ den and pass the time. The she-cat’s tail twitched as she caught sight of Redhawk taking his meal just outside the den. ”R-redhawk!” she mewed, stopping in front of him and sitting with her tail curled neatly over her paws. ”How are you today?” the question was added softly to the end of her exclamation.

The she-cat sat before him, her fur sleek from the rain, her mostly white paws muddied, as usual, and her forest green eyes trained on the ginger tom cat. She could remember the day he’d been torn apart and how devastating it had been to see such a young cat retire. Spottedpaw had chosen the path she had because of Redhawk, the tom who’d shown her that starvation and disease were not the only things to fear. His dreams had been stolen from him and, though it was an unfortunate circumstance, his loss had caused Spottedpaw to find her place within the Clan. Prior to the attack, Spottedpaw had not had any ambition. She had been a she-kit, about to be apprenticed, with very little interest in the things that her littermates were interested in. She had been content to sit and watch ShadowClan progress through the day, muddle through the moons of famine and illness. Although she had been inclined to believe her purpose would be best served on patrols, her heart did not exactly pound wildly at the idea of fighting for the Clan. It was not until Redhawk’s dreams had been stolen that Spottedpaw had realized where her heart was.

Since, Spottedpaw had done her best to keep her dreams close. If Redhawk could not have his destiny as a warrior, Spottedpaw was determined to live out her dreams as if they, too, were about to be stolen. The apprentice had also made it her personal goal to take care of him, even if he was sometimes harsh or ungrateful. Spottedpaw hadn’t yet told the retired warrior how she’d come to the conclusion that his loss was the reason she’d wanted to train under Raintail. For some reason the she-cat was nervous that he’d dismiss the idea as ridiculous. Hearing any other cat call her dreams ridiculous would simply cause her to work harder, but if Redhawk said it, Spottedpaw was sure, she would most definitely shake off the title of medicine cat apprentice and let some other cat have a shot.

[hannah]

redhawk ;[/font]

Redhawk could sense the she-cat before she arrived. Heavily relying on his sense of smell and the ground beneath his paws, his scenting abilities had improved dramatically. He could pick out a cat's scent from a cluster of other cats. And here, he could sense Spottedpaw. Surely, it would be moments before she greeted him.

He could vaguely make out her figure approaching him in greeting, and he drew himself up to curl his tail around him. His ear flicked; he wasn't sure what she had said, but he figured it was some sort of greeting. "Spottedpaw," he greeted with a yawn. His shoulders heaved in a massive shrug, "I'm okay, s'pose."

I'd be a lot better if I could actually see, he thought grumpily. He could tell the elders were beginning to rub off on him. He almost snapped at Spottedpaw to fetch his bedding; cleanse him of ticks; retrieve water from dampened moss. He restrained himself; Spottedpaw was not a normal apprentice. He wasn't sure why she wanted to be a medicine cat, of all wretched things. She was apprenticed only a moon after his accident, and she wanted nothing more than to train under Raintail. He didn't understand: after his accident, why would she want anything to do with the ways of a medicine cat? Even Raintail hadn't been able to help him, and he sat for a full moon in the medicine cat's den as herb after herb was tested on him. Why would she want to do that? Didn't she get bored of herbs? Think that the herbs' overwhelming scents were downright foul? He did.

He grunted. "Could be better," he finally admitted. "Falloweye insists I'm still a warrior." Personally, he thought she was slightly crazed anyway; her opinion didn't matter much to him. Still, he wondered if the other elders - if the Clan - still considered him a warrior. He wasn't. Part of him was glad he no longer had to do tasks for the elders. Part of him was saddened that he would never fight to defend his Clan as viciously as he had before.

He flicked his tail dismissively, "But she has bees in her brain, what does she know?" he gave a hearty purr. "How are you, Spottedpaw? Raintail mentoring you well?"